#tr collection.

[8aji]

too busy saving everybody else to save yourself. // s.s.

to think of a life without him filled you up with such sorrow you thought you'd let yourself drown just to be with him one last time. — or, an account of the events that transpired after the night of august 14, 2003.

pairing. shinichiro sano x baji!reader

wc. 18k

tags/cw. MDNI, angst with happy ending, fluff, hurt/comfort, best friends to lovers, baji!reader (reader is baji’s sibling), manga spoilers, shinichiro lives, anxiety/panic attacks, smoking, mentions of death, characters cry a lot, mentions of head trauma + hospitals + needles + blood, reader gets called 'nee-chan' a couple of times but other than that its pretty gn, very suggestive (one make/out sesh), takeomi is clowned a lot + please let me know if i missed anything!

a/n. its finally done sob i spent so much time polishing this as much as i could and what was supposed to be a 1k drabble mutated into this lmfao but all in all this fic is my baby, my child, and i love it so so much i just hope y'all will like it as much as i do !! a massive thanks to @tetsutits for betaing and to @mosviqu for letting me run the storyline through her !! hope all of u enjoy lots n lots !!

m.list ˖ tags ˖ byi/dni

One step, one blink, one breath, one step, one blink, one breath; like on autopilot, the pattern repeated itself over and over again. You could feel it beating inside your skull; the pounding of your heart resonated throughout your body, acting as the fuel behind your every move. 

Your blurry gaze amplified all of your other senses, sending your brain into a downward spiral of emotional overwhelm; the loud keyboard clicking, the obnoxious chatter, the drinking and munching of coffee and donuts, all of it made you want to tear your ears off. How could the world keep turning, people existing like normal, while you were being consumed by the tightness enveloping your lungs? The thought made you want to light up the whole building, watch it burn as the flames simmered the concrete to ashes to relieve the turmoil brewing inside your body. 

“I'm coming for Baji Keisuke?” You asked, barely managing to string the words together in a coherent sentence, head going a thousand miles per hour. “He’s my brother.”

The officer behind the desk pulled down his magazine, looking you over and taking in your dishevelled state. “Ah,” he sighed as soon as your brother's profile appeared on his screen. “Baji Keisuke, the little rascal with the breaking and entering charges, huh?”

lips forming into a thin line, you nodded, biting your tongue so as to not insult the man in front of you who, for some reason, couldn't help but chuckle, as if a twelve year-old kid being detained was funny. 

“Can I see him?”

He gave you one last obnoxious glance, before typing on his computer.

“He’s currently under police custody,” he explained condescendingly as if you didn’t know, pulling a manila folder and pressing the button on the printer, handing you a pen in the meantime. “He's only got a minor charge compared to the other brat he came in here with,” He let out a quiet cackle, not wanting to attract anyone else’s attention. To you, it was like he acted this nonchalant to rile you up, make your blood boil. And, in spite of your reluctance to admit to it, it was working. Being in his presence made you want to punch him. “We’re betting on whether the other kid’s gonna get charged with manslaughter or not.

“And just between us,” he made a come hither motion, but leaned forward on his chair at your lack of reaction. “I’m betting in favor of manslaughter, so I'm crossing my fingers for the guy to die soon, ‘ya know?”

Had you been wearing long sleeves, he would’ve been able to see you rolling them up, emotionally prepared to be charged with aggravated assault against a police officer

Fortunately, another officer called out your name, catching your attention before you could act on the violent scenarios coursing through your brain. You didn’t bother excusing yourself before leaving to find your brother.

He looked small, smaller than he actually was, as he sat on the floor with both his knees close to his chest. His eyes were puffy and red, it was obvious he had been crying; though by the looks of it, he had yet to stop.

The cell door sounded like nails against a chalkboard as it scraped against the floor. It made him flinch in surprise, snapping him out of the borderline-dissociating trance as he looked up at the intimidating officer, trying to gauge his intentions while gathering all the energy he had left in his body to fight off the man just in case he needed to. But as soon as he made eye contact with you he could feel himself lowering his guard. 

He didn’t even hesitate, his body moved on his own, running past the officer and straight into your arms, letting the harsh sobs he had tried bottling up rack his body, along with muffled apologies and incoherent explanations.

“It's okay,” you mumbled against his hair, trying to calm down his heart wrenching cries. He nuzzled his face against your neck, trying to get impossibly closer to the sound of your voice. You waited for him to nod, still clutching at your clothes with all the remaining energy he had. “He's strong, he’ll be alright.”

Though at this point you were unsure whether your words held any weight against the grand scheme of things; hopefully all your promises won’t turn into bold-faced lies.

You made your way out of the cell together, holding his left hand as he used the other to rub at his eyes, itchy and dry from all the crying. The two of you walked past a couple of cells before he stopped for what seemed like a millisecond, mumbling something under his breath in weak anguish. Had you not been hyper aware of everything going on around you, you wouldn’t have noticed the slight tug at your hand.

Kazutora sat on the floor the same way Keisuke did, knees pulled up to his chest, biting his cuticles raw to stop his brain from looping the traumatic set of events like a broken film; still, it wasn't enough to stop his whole body from trembling in shock. The distress fresh in his eyes made you want to drop everything just to hold him close, comfort him like you did with Keisuke. 

But you didn’t have much time, the officer behind you pressured the both of you to move, and considering Keisuke remained under police custody, you weren’t willing to risk him getting locked up again now that you had him by your side.

“Wait for me over there, okay?” You said, pointing at the waiting area. “I just have to fill out some paperwork and then we can go home.” He held your hand even tighter in his grasp in response, as if he was scared to let go. “I’ll be quick, promise.”

Reluctantly, he dragged his feet as he walked, not wanting to stray far away from you. At least there was still some sort of stubbornness left in him. You’ve never seen him act like this, uncontrollably crying and apologising, devoid of the mischievous glint in his eyes. Knowing the Keisuke you knew was still there comforted you.

“How, uh, how much is bail gonna be?” You asked once he had made himself at home on the plastic chairs. Thankfully it was someone else behind the desk instead of the asshole you had the misery of interacting with. 

You knew it wasn’t going to be cheap, already having a grasp of fines and bail costs thanks to your friends getting into trouble, but even with this knowledge, their response sent a shiver down your spine.

Maybe you could use some of your own savings, or part of your college fund. Using your mom’s money was also an option, but you didn't want to put the burden on her. If you skipped a semester it could give you some time to earn the money back, but you were already behind in a few classes, and the minimum wage from part time jobs wouldn’t stack up too much, so was it truly feasible?

Fuck, you knew they were children but you couldn’t help but curse at their recklessness, their stupidity and naivety. Did they actually think stealing a bike would be that easy? And now you have to pay for the consequences, quite literally. Of course, you could always leave him here, let him face the consequences straight on. There was nothing forcing you to bail him out. But who were you kidding, you’d kill for him, of course you were going to pay.

Making sure he was still where you left him, you looked over your shoulder back at him. He was slumped over his knees, aimlessly playing with his fingers as his eyes fixated on the corridor leading to the cells, a solemn sadness washing over his features. 

No. 

You weren’t going to. You were going to pay for your brother’s sins, or whatever the cheesy line says, and leave to never look back. You didn’t owe this other kid anything, most certainly when you couldn't afford it. But, after knowing him for so long, the thought of him staying in the middle of four cold walls until further notice broke your heart.

“Actually,” you sighed. This was gonna cost two semesters instead of one. “Could I pay for someone else’s bail as well?”

At first, he refused to acknowledge your presence, biting harder into his fingers. He tried self-soothing through slow back and forth rocking motions and the unintelligible words that spilled from his mouth, hugging himself tighter the closer you got. 

He didn’t move, frozen in place as if the lack of movement would make him invincible to the naked eye. He didn’t cave in no matter what you did, not when you kneeled in front of him nor when you whispered his name in hopes he would acknowledge your voice.

It only took a couple of seconds after that for him to shyly meet your gaze, warming up to you in an instant and clinging onto you just like Keisuke had done, though he did so with a lot more desperation, this sort of comfort foreign to Kazutora. He felt so small in your embrace, burying his face in your shoulder, the only thing he could do was claw at your body for reassurance. Other than that, he didn’t speak, didn’t cry, he almost didn’t move, to the point it had you questioning whether he was actually breathing. 

Once you coaxed him out of the cell and got a hold of your brother, your sole focus was on guiding the boys beside you out of the precinct as fast as possible, one hand holding Keisuke’s while the other rested on the back of Kazutora’s head. They didn’t need to spend more time than necessary in this place, surrounded by grimy cell blocks and seemingly socially inept officers who couldn’t keep their rambunctious laughter down.

Wakasa was sitting on his bike outside the police station waiting for the three of you, and though initially it was supposed to be just the two of you riding along with him, he wasn’t surprised you paid for your brother’s friend’s bail. He kept a fairly laid-back exterior, lit cigarette hanging from his fingers replacing his preferred strawberry flavored lollipops, inhaling back the smoke that seeped from his parted lips and freaking out on the inside.

The two of you were hanging out when multiple calls blasted through your phone, prompting you to rush to where you were now. First it was one from the hospital, one of the bearers of bad news that didn’t let you dwell on the fact that Shinichiro had written you down as one of his emergency contacts. Then came the call from the police station, sinking your heart down to the bottomless pit in your stomach.

“Everything alright?” He asked, putting out his cigarette, smothering the stick with his boot along with the other three he had finished while you were inside. 

You hummed in response, words dying in your throat. The silence around you itched and burned, made your skin prickle with discomfort, and even so, no one dared say anything besides the occasional noise of acknowledgement. They weren’t dumb. They were one-hundred percent aware of what they were doing, and this wasn’t something you could blame on their age either. Yes, they were kids, but a twelve year old should be able to discern right from wrong; aware that stealing is bad and that murdering people is wrong.

And deep down, you knew this was even more fucked up than it appeared to be. You knew Kazutora wouldn’t have cared for the victim had it not been Shinichiro. The only reason he was shaking like a leaf, flinching when Wakasa fastened the belt of his helmet against his head, was because he hurt Mikey’s brother. That’s not to say Keisuke was innocent, it was clear he wasn’t. Intentionally breaking into someone’s shop to steal a very valuable, very expensive, piece of equipment and potentially complicit in someone's murder. 

You wanted to tear your eyes off at the thought. Did they really think they could get away with this? That it would be as easy as stealing some candy or gum from the corner store? You wanted to curse them out for being so stupid, so naive. But looking down at their sunken faces, eyes bloodshot and teary as they sweated fear from every pore on their fragile skin, it made you want to excuse all their horrid behaviour, ignore the fact they committed a crime and in the process they mortally wounded an innocent man. 

You held down an involuntary gag at the violation of your principals, the memory of what had just gone down stirring unwanted bitterness inside your stomach. You were no one to criticise the two kids sitting between Wakasa and you. They could be stupid, but you were the weakest of them all.

“Let’s get going then.”

You could question your moral compass later, first you had to get them home.

The voices of the characters talking in the background faded into an uncomfortable white noise as your muscles dissolved along with your bones, breaking through your skin and seeping into the cushions of the couch. Each time you breathed in the more stressed you became at the uncertainty of your friend’s mortal status. 

You hadn’t received any news from the hospital, and though you knew that if they hadn’t called by now, they probably wouldn’t at least until tomorrow morning, that didn’t stop you from imprisoning your phone close to your chest. Maybe if you channelled all your strength into your hold then you’d lose the urge to cry.

In spite of their initial resistance, it didn’t take long to put the kids to bed. The two of them drifted off to a bitter, yet hopefully replenishing, sleep as soon as their heads hit the pillow. It wasn’t surprising, the whole incident had drained the both of them to their core.

“‘Sure you’re okay?” Wakasa asked, and had it not been for his voice you're sure you would’ve dissociated the rest of the night. Maybe the kids would find you the next morning still sitting on the couch, frozen like a statue as you stared at the ceiling, and freak out because they’d think you had died along with ‘Shinichiro-nii’. 

You hummed, it was the only response you could muster it seemed, with your eyes zeroing in on his shoulders, then his cheeks and then his earrings. Looking straight into his eyes would do you no good. It’d blow your cover in less than an instant, and though it’s fair to say it was a shit cover, amplifying your grief through your dejected silence instead of toning it down, it made you feel safer from the imminent doom. Still, shitty cover up or not, Wakasa knew you weren’t okay. You wouldn’t be able to fool him even if he was stupid, and at this point, he’s convinced you wouldn’t be able to fool anyone; a single glance your way was enough to tell you were silently crumbling. 

He let his head fall backwards against the back of the sofa, sighing in acknowledgement. No matter how many times he asked, deep down he knew you would only cave in at your own account, But at least his question somehow managed to bring you back down from the maze your brain had started fabricating to earth. And maybe, just maybe, if he gave you enough space that’d prompt you to speak. He didn’t mind waiting. Not for a couple of seconds, or the couple of minutes those seconds turned into, or the couple of hours they mutated into next, and so on until days and weeks and years had passed, until the scarcity of time felt infinite.

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” You broke the silence, biting the edges of your words as if you wanted to hide them back inside, voice shaky and heavy against your tongue. 

He hesitated, sharing a seat next to you inside the same sinking uncertainty boat, “Shin-chan’s stronger than you think.” He tried reassuring you, or himself he wasn't sure, but at this point the more he tried to tell himself his friend was still breathing, the more it felt like a lie. Shin-chan was stronger than the two of you thought, but was he really? “He’d be heartbroken to know you had little faith in him.”

At least he got you to chuckle, “I’d be heartbroken to know that I was right.”

You fell into an uncomfortable silence not long after, the stakes of the conversation too high, and if you continued talking you’re sure you’d end up giving Shin up for dead. But like this, maybe you could finally force yourself to get some sleep. The weight of your eyelids had doubled, eyes growing heavier against your will, and though you didn’t want to, just in case something happened while you were unconscious, you knew you’d be of no use without at least a few hours of rest. Plus, you promised yourself you’d never lose any sleep over a guy, ever, and you weren’t about to make an exception for Shinichiro Sano.

Not even an hour in your slumber, you almost threw your phone to the other side of the room as its desperate cry pierced your ears. You’re sure Wakasa almost had a heart attack with how fast straightened up next to you, and it wouldn’t be a surprise if it somehow managed to wake up both Kazutora and Keisuke, although your brother was more of a chronic heavy sleeper.

“What are you waiting for? Answer it!” Feelings heightened in his barely awake, panicked state, the desperation was palpable in his words. And though uncommon for him to act in such an erratic manner, he had bottled everything up the whole night, it was time for the stoic facade to break. 

But, even so, in spite of your friend’s heartbreaking desperation you didn’t move. Not after the third ring or the fourth. You didn’t dare move, staying frozen on the couch, groggy from waking up yet hyper-aware of everything going on around you despite your mild dissociation. The sole thought of moving towards made your brain press against your skull, screaming at you to stop. 

Not answering meant that Shinichiro could stay both simultaneously alive and dead, his fate linked to whether you picked up the call. If you didn’t, maybe he wouldn’t die after all, he’d stay stuck in the unknown limbo of immortality until you made a call. 

But then again, this was your only chance to get an update on his status. And it wasn’t only you anxiously waiting on any sort of news. Wakasa was waiting; Keisuke and Kazutora, although asleep, were as well, and you could only fathom Benkei and Takeomi’s reaction. Mikey and Emma were probably up to date, the hospital must’ve called their grandfather before they reached out to you. And looking back at the people that depended on you, it really wasn't fair to put your own self-indulgent selfishness over the needs of others, was it?

It wasn't. Of course it wasn’t, but after putting everyone before you for as long as you’ve lived, didn’t you deserve to be selfish? At least once, when it pertainted the condition of the unrequited love of your life, didn’t you deserve at least that much?

“Hello?” Wakasa answered through furrowed brows and twitching lips. From the way he spoke, you could tell he was biting on the inside of his cheek to release some tension, putting enough pressure to draw blood. “This is Wakasa Imaushi speaking,

“–can’t get to the phone right now, can’t you just talk to me?” Voice getting progressively louder, he challenged the person on the other side of the call. “He’s my best friend, don’t I deserve to know whether he’s alive or not?!”

Only when his voice broke at the weight of his own desperation did you manage to snap out of your trance, snatching the phone out of his grip, ignoring his glassy eyes as you spoke into the receiver, mumbling your name through a shakily put together voice.

You’re not sure whether you imagined it or not, almost choking on a withered sob, but you could feel the moment your teeth sunk into the skin of your hand, digging hard enough for blood to prickle to the surface, preventing any other noise from coming out. 

With your vision blurry and a tightness in your chest you could not describe, your body had gone completely numb, and yet your nerve endings were scorching under any semblance of atmospheric pressure, forcing you to feel everything, everywhere, all at once.

Had Wakasa not been there to catch you, you’d have collapsed on the ground, a pitiful wailing mess. Tears soaked through the fabric of both your clothes as you held each other close. For what felt like hours, the two of you stayed like that. Face buried against his neck and his against the top of your head, he rocked you back and forth in his arms until your tears stopped mixing themselves with your spit, sharp inhales tuning down into soft sniffles. And though his eyes burned with unshed sorrow, he kept on humming at your unintelligible mumbling.

“See? I told you he was stronger than we thought.” He whispered, though it sounded closer to a whimper, and nuzzled his cheek further against your hair. As if trying to ground himself, he gave you a tight squeeze, still in doubt whether he was trying to convince you or himself. 

Only after a while, once both of your breathing had evened out, did you raise your head up from its hideout, hesitant footsteps catching your attention.

“Nee-chan?” You heard a tiny voice coming from the hallway, a little insecure, as if he didn’t think he deserved a proper response. 

“I’m sorry ‘Tora, did we wake you?” You peeled Wakasa’s arms from your body, rubbing the haziness of your eyes away. He shook his head in response, carefully moving away from the shadows after acknowledging your lack of anger.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

His puffy eyes shimmered red under the soft moonlight coming through the living room window. He took meticulous steps in your direction, side-eyeing Wakasa and still wary of you, not knowing how you would react after his intrusion. Each one was lighter than the other, the wooden floors refused to creek underneath his weight, almost as if he had trained himself to become weightlessly invisible.

Slowly as to not startle him, you stretched your arms in his direction, beckoning him towards you and silently encouraging him to trust you. Even after drying out his tears once you tucked him in bed, holding his hand a little longer while Keisuke slept next to him, you’re sure that wasn’t enough to reassure him you wouldn’t blow up on him. For Kazutora, interacting with most people felt like trying to navigate an active minefield.

Hugging him close to your body, you pulled him on your lap and softly rocked him back and forth; the same way Wakasa had done with you. He nuzzled closer to you, letting himself relax against your touch once he registered you weren't a threat, basking in your warmth. 

The silence the three of you fell under was deafening, uncomfortable even, though you didn't intend for it to be. Kazutora had this question stuck in his throat, sitting heavy against his vocal cords while the bitter taste of bile stained his tongue.

“Is…” he trailed off, still doubting whether he deserved to be asking such a question. “Is Mikey’s brother going to be okay?”

He tensed up at the lack of immediate response. The lack of positive reassurance that he hadn’t completely messed up everyone's lives made the grip he had on your arm grow tighter in fear of you letting go. 

You didn’t. You weren’t planning to do so. Even if nausea piled up at the end of your oesophagus as the conflicting set of emotions brewing at the pit of your stomach, you were sure he needed you as much as you needed him to keep yourself grounded 

“He will.” You brushed your fingers through his hair, lips curled up into a smile once you felt him relax against you once again. “Right now he’s resting, we can visit him in a couple of days, if you’d like.” 

The silence amongst you became heavy once again, but inside Kazutora’s head the cacophony of your words bounced against the thick layers of bone and skin like worthless cries of distress. What he did was inconceivable, and in spite of that you still cared.

“I didn’t mean to,” barely a whisper, the words died out before they could be properly enunciated. They prickled and ached and stung at the walls of his throat. Something he couldn’t name but feel deeply inside his bones stopped himself from vomiting it all out. But mess after mess, like building blocks stacking one on top of the other, they piled up and pulled him down like a ball and chain made out of his own flesh and when he tried to pull at it to set himself free he could feel everything spilling out in a tangled cry. “I didn’t mean to hurt him, I’m sorry!” he cried, clutching onto your shirt and arms, anything he could get a hold of to ensure you wouldn’t leave him alone. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

Holding him tightly and shushing his cries, you could do nothing more than let his tears wet at your shirt, mumble that it was okay even if it truly wasn’t; even if the two of you knew it was a lie. The weeping child in your arms did nothing but pull at your heartstring, conflicting feelings arising in your chest. In spite of the fondness you felt for the kid, the same fondness you felt for all of your little brother’s friends, you had unconsciously developed a grudge towards him, bitterness and resentment for hurting Shinichiro. 

His lashes rested against his skin, casting thin shadows under the sunlight streaming through the window. He had always looked peaceful when he was sleeping, chest rising and falling as if following a metronome’s tempo. You can remember taking long summer naps next to him and the rest of your friends, you always being the first one to wake up. Every summer the three of them arrived late to at least five Black Dragon’s meetings because they had slept in. Shinichiro had developed this antsy habit of arriving weirdly on time yet slightly late ever since then, he couldn’t tolerate the idea of letting down whoever was waiting for him; you wonder how he’d react if he knew the shop wouldn’t open today.

So peaceful yet fragile., never in your life would’ve you remotely imagined you’d be sitting next to your best friend’s hospital bed, eyes puffy and droopy while his head laid covered in bandages. The beeping of the monitor filling up the unnecessary silence that wouldn’t have otherwise been there had he been awake. 

Had he been awake, he would’ve talked to you non-stop, retelling everything that went down to the most insignificant detail, sprinkling hyperboles as much as he could just to appear a little cooler in front of you. But it's not like he had to try anyway, to appear cooler, that is, you already thought he was the coolest person in the whole wide world; though you’d go as far as saying he was the coolest person to ever exist. The sole idea made you smile, tears welling up in your eyes as you wondered if he’d blush once he found out how highly you thought of him. 

And of course, had he been awake, he would’ve been worried about everyone but him. He would’ve asked about Mikey and Emma, if they had slept over at the hospital or at home with his grandfather, who he would’ve proceeded to ask about. He would’ve bitten his tongue to prevent himself from even mentioning the economic implications of his stay, but you would’ve been able to read right through him.

Then, had he been awake, he would’ve asked about Keisuke and Kazutora. He would’ve be worried about them, berated you with a flurry of questions, emotions switching from anger to guilt in less than a millisecond; angry at your deplorable encounter with the police, guilty because he was the one that called, and maybe if he hadn’t, then Mikey’s friends wouldn't have gotten in trouble.

He would’ve asked about the shop, if anyone was there watching over it while he was resting in the hospital, deflating a little after finding out it wouldn’t open for the day. He would’ve asked about Wakasa and Benkei and Takeomi, ask if they were aware of what happened, if they had already started making fun of him after finding out a twelve year-old sent him straight to the ER; he would’ve sighed at your response, shaking his head because instead of making fun of him his friends were worried. 

Finally, he’d ask about you. And maybe you would’ve cried or laughed or screamed. Maybe tears would’ve pooled in your eyes, the fact your friend was breathing finally sinking in. Maybe you would’ve giggled at your past unjustified worries because he was here now and you never should’ve doubted him, not even for a second. Maybe you would’ve broken down, fatigue deep in your bones pulling you to the ground until you could do nothing but lay cold and empty and happy on the floor because you had not dared sleep but at least the existence of his consciousness remained.

But the only one speaking was the wind blowing through the curtains, kissing his forehead and messing up his hair just to give you the opportunity to put it back in place through the insecure brush of your fingers

Resting your forehead next to the palm of his hand, you sighed in defeat; maybe you should’ve let him rest alone. You had spent the whole morning next to him, ignoring any hunger cues alerting you it was time for breakfast or lunch or any sort of meal time that could fuel your body from complete exhaustion. Still, even if you wanted to fall asleep, it was like your subconscious wouldn’t let you. Every time you closed your eyes and felt yourself slip into a deep slumber, you were jolted awake to your own dismay. 

Not being able to rest had started to eat away at your own sanity. Only eight hours had passed, but every second felt like a thousand and at this point, you had become a walking contradiction; hungry but unable to eat, tired yet unable to fall asleep. Your body was failing you, unable to react to any sort of external or internal stimuli, and you’re sure wouldn't be able to cry no matter how much you wanted to do so.

But even then, apparently you could still scream.

The weight of his hand on top of your head caught you off guard. It almost made you fall from the chair and smack your head against the bed’s metal skeleton. Maybe if you got a concussion and slipped into a weird pseudo-coma after a harrowing God-knows-how-many-hours-long surgery he’d feel guilty enough to make up for the tachycardia that had your heart beating where your brain should be.

“Hi.” He smiled, words a little slurred as the remaining anaesthesia wore off.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Oh, I see ‘you missed me alright.”

And you did. Even though less than a day had passed since the accident, picturing a whole lifetime without him was enough to permanently alter your brain chemistry. But he was here now, he was back and he was safe and the toothy grin he sported reminded you of home.

“Don’t ‘cha know it’s rude to eat in front of someone who can only chew on ice chips?” He joked, flinching as the nurse adjusted his IV drip.

You were forced to leave the room after a flurry of hospital staff came running at your volatile reaction; Of course, you were quick to reassure that your friend had only woken up and that everything was fine, before leaving for the cafeteria; giving them some space to work on Shinichiro would be good. Plus, not that he was ‘okay’ and you weren’t worrying about his health every second of every minute of every hour, you could address the sudden pangs of hunger poking at your stomach. 

“I’ll buy you dinner once you get out.” You smiled, scooping some of the jell-o into your mouth through your innocent smile. But, again to your dismay, the mischievous glint in your eyes ratted you out. Shinichiro knew that ‘dinner’ meant the cheapest ramen you could find, maybe add an egg to spice it up, and ice cream you’d eat directly from the tub; a long lived tradition between the two of you. “I’ll even add chives this time.”

“Gee thanks,” he mocked, as if he’d rather do anything else than eat stale ramen with you. As long as he got the chance, he’d do anything. He’d probably lick the floor for you—not that he’d ever let you know, but if you asked he would, no questions asked. That’s what happens when you love someone. You’d be willing to do anything and everything for them even if it's irrational. “Can I choose the ice cream flavour at least?”

You hummed, focusing on scraping the plastic spoon against the plastic container in your hands to avoid his gaze. “Only this time though, so don’t get used to it.”

“Everything’s looking good so far, we’ll do another check up in a couple of hours.” 

Right, you were still in here. Talking like everything was seemingly normal made you forget that you were still in the hospital, watching over your post-op, bedridden friend. 

“Lay with me?” he asked, not before the both of you thanked the nurse who excused himself after gathering the remaining equipment. “Please?”

You shouldn’t, something inside your head made sure to let you know even if the urge to hold him close was overpowering. He had just barely woken up after a long emergency surgery, and you taking up space would be of no help for him to get the rest he needed. But the silent plea in the puppy dog eyes you had trained yourself so hard to resist, the subtle pout and the cute dopey-ness that had yet to wear off were far too tempting to resist. 

His little celebratory cheer made you inwardly squeal as you slowly moved to his side, watching him wince in pain while he slowly shuffled himself closer to the edge in a clumsy attempt to make some space for you.

The thumping of his heartbeat reverberated in his chest, the stress melting from out your bones. You couldn’t help but sigh in content once you laid your head on his chest. Now that you were wrapped in each other’s arms, it felt like you could finally rest.

“Tired?” He mumbled against your hair, breaking the silence that had settled in the room as you basked in each other’s presence. You hummed in response, nuzzling your cheek against his body and almost purring like a cat at his warmth. Letting your eyes close involuntarily, you couldn’t help but be lulled to a premature slumber. With how comfortable you looked, and because your obnoxious yawning was too contagious, he wanted to do nothing but follow in your footsteps. 

Instead, his eyes stayed wide open and stuck to the ceiling as if the off off-white paint that covered the concrete was the key to shutting down his brain long enough for sleep to take over. It didn’t matter that his blood had been infused with what felt like at least twenty hundred thousand milligrams of various pain-deafening substances that were sure to knock him out in a matter of seconds, falling asleep seemed to be an unattainable goal.

Whatever they had injected into his body increased his senses’ sensitivity, multiplying it times a hundred instead of dulling them down to nothing. And it didn’t stop at the uncomfortable overtly bright fluorescent lights or the suddenly deafening sound of unoiled wheels from hospital carts being rolled around. It was the way he could feel you barely resting your weight against his body, as if scared the least amount of pressure would make his heart stop. The way he was met with your now dull eyes, almost bloodshot but not quite, sunken with a thick coat of desperation, or fear, or some sort of premature grief, as soon as he woke up. Or how, in spite of only being gone for less than a day, it seemed like you had spent a lifetime unable to exist alongside everything you held dear.

Hyper aware of all those little details and more, it hit him without warning, and suddenly, he could feel the overwhelming urge to cry.

It prickled uncomfortably at his eyes, the skin around his charcoal orbs itching like it was on fire. His mouth felt cottony, smothering his airways and cutting his airflow while his tongue rested uncharacteristically heavy in his mouth with the weight of unsaid words. It broke all his bones at once, leaving him numb on the ground, still like a corpse, and unable to suppress the dooming feeling of his own life spilling from his pores, mixing with his blood until the air around him turned thick and metallic.

In the blink of an eye he had been one step closer to the grave, barely hanging onto a thread of consciousness as the view of his shop turned blurrier and blurrier, and now he was breathing. His lungs had finally regained consciousness and he could feel everything around him overwhelmingly loud and clear and close and real. 

Now awake, he could feel you laying on top of him, almost passed out due to the immeasurable amount of stress he had put you under. And maybe if it wasn’t for his reckless habit of parading around life with his guard lowered or for the lack of proper security measures at the shop—because who on earth would rob him? There’s no way he could be that unlucky. Impossible. Or maybe it was his inability to dodge, to hold his stance in a fight because even if he was strong, without proper technique he was rendered useless and, holy shit– he could’ve died.

He could’ve died and then Manjiro would’ve been forced to grow up way too soon because he would have to take care of Emma and grandpa—although knowing both his siblings, Emma was more likely to turn into the head of the house. And then his friends would’ve been left to grieve his death, make sad speeches about the best moments they had together and, fuck was Takeomi terrible at writing; his speech would just be a big mess of incoherent words stuck together. And what about the shop? Who was he leaving the shop to? And what about Inupi? Inupi was just a kid and he can’t just leave him all alone; he had promised to himself to take care of him the same way he took care of his siblings— fuck, Izana as well. Who was going to look after his brother? He was planning to introduce him to all of you guys soon. The two of you would’ve gotten along so well and,

And you. 

What about you?

You looked beyond heartbroken. Words couldn't begin to describe exactly what somberness mulled deep within that brain of yours. If this is how you reacted to the possibility of him dying, then how would’ve you reacted to him actually doing so?

A choked sob rips through his lips, the sound painful as it breaches its forceful containment.

“Shin–”

“I’m sorry.”

“What…” you trailed off. The strained cry had erased any speck of slumber. For a second you thought you had dreamt it, that your brain had finally gone off the rails and you were hearing imaginary voices. That was until you looked up at him, eyes welling up with unshed tears, body stiff as if to prevent them from falling. “What’re you sorry for?”

“I just remembered the beach trip we were planning for Manjiro’s birthday,” he sniffled, “and I think we’re gonna have to cancel.”

“That’s okay, we can reschedule—”

“Yeah but I– I know he was really excited for it, all his friends were.”

“We’ll talk to them, make sure they understand—”

“And you were excited about it too,” avoiding your eyes even after you had tried to coax him into meeting yours. He felt so far away, almost unreachable despite laying right next to you. “And I know how much you love the beach and I really wanted to go with you even if we were gonna have to chaperone six hyperactive children,

“And, and I know the guys were gonna come with and we had it all perfectly planned out with this huge dorayaki cake thing and now we’re gonna have to cancel because of me—”

“Wait,” you shush him as gently as possible, sitting up and holding his hand tightly between yours. “What do you mean ‘because of me’?”

Almost as if he had never started, your question managed to shut down his rambling like forcefully closing a water faucet. He had this estranged, far-off look darkening his face, eyes glassy, almost as if he were dissociating. It made your stomach churn with anxiety. Never in your many, many, years of friendship had you seen him lose himself like this.

“Because,” he paused, trying to swallow down the knot grappling at his throat, fighting off the urge to tear it off with his bare hands. “Because it's my fault we’re cancelling.”

“I– What’re you talking about?”

He groaned in desperation. Why was this so hard to explain? 

“I’m the one who’s bedridden.” Still dizzy after waking up and to the best of his ability, he tried sitting up, wincing in pain to then give up and lean into his forearms. “I’m the one with random needles poking through my skin, fresh off the ER because my skull was bashed into with one of my own tools and maybe, just maybe, if I had been more aware at the time, I could've avoided the hit.”

“Shin, this wasn’t your fault—”

“But it is! Can't you see?” 

“Shin–”

“D’you know what I did when I heard someone break the glass?” He looked at you expectantly, voice raised in frustration. “After I called the cops; do you?” You shook your head in response, knowing that any attempt to help him calm down would be futile. “I grabbed a wrench. 

“After the operator told me to hide and wait for help because I told them it sounded like more than one person was inside, I grabbed a stupid wrench and decided to face them,

“I decided to face them even if I'm well aware I wouldn’t be able to take two people at once.”

And though he seemed to be dead set on believing that somehow he managed to land himself in the hospital,  you wouldn’t allow him to give himself up to the restless thoughts, no matter how badly he wanted to indulge the bitter part of his brain that had gotten used to putting himself down. 

“Someone hit you from behind,” you tried, “you were ambushed, of course you wouldn't be able to take them on.”

His defeated sigh gave you some sort of uncomfortable comfort. Knowing it made you glad that he had finally given up was a conflicting feeling you wish to never re-examine or experience again.

You sat up, swallowing the foreign relief down, and scooted further up the bed’s backrest. Your elbow rested well above the pillow where he laid, and you couldn't help but use your leverage to gently brush your fingers through his hair, only relaxing once he visibly melted against your touch.

“You didn’t do this to yourself, this wasn’t your fault.” You whispered, fingertips soothing his worries as they ghosted the skin of his forehead. “You’re not responsible for every single thing that goes wrong, no matter how much you try to convince yourself you are.”

He can’t recall a single moment in his life in which he felt like he was relieved from his self-imposed duty—the duty of an older brother, primary caretaker, and practically a parent. Someone who must put everyone’s needs above his own well-being. He’s responsible for everything going on around him, the good, the bad, the neutral, the everything. It only made sense that the break in and the subsequent series of events were, in part, his responsibility. 

And he knew it was irrational thinking because how on earth would he have known what was going to happen? But he couldn’t help it, not when all the consequences of his actions reflected on the bigger picture; everyone relies on Shinichiro Sano, and it was his duty to fulfil. 

“And I promise you no one is disappointed in you. Not a single one of us.” You press your lips against the top of his head, smiling through your own teary eyes at the little hum he involuntarily let out. “We’re all so, so happy that you're awake and talking and I bet Manjiro would rather move his beach birthday party a hundred years from now than lose his brother six days before his birthday,

“The beach is not going anywhere, and neither are we, okay? We are not going anywhere.” 

And you knew it wasn’t not enough. Your words weren’t enough to shut up the swirling negativity spiral in his brain. But at least it was enough to calm him down, enough for him to fall asleep in spite of the dampness kissing his skin; he might have successfully managed to suppress the heart wrenching sobs, but he was not strong enough to hold back the tears that cascaded down his cheeks.

You follow through not long after, head lolling to the side in an uncomfortable position that would for sure leave your neck aching for days. But you wouldn’t have it any other way. There was no dreaming this time. No nightmares or worst case scenarios crafted deep within your subconscious. In spite of the gloomy circumstances, the two of you had fallen asleep. Finally, being in your arms was beyond comforting. Plus, indulging in the rest your body had craved for hours made it easier to regain consciousness once Manjiro decided to jump on the two of you in surprise, never minding the possibility of further injuring his brother by mistake.

Being on the receiving end of his lovable violence hurt more than you thought it would, one of his hands landing straight on your stomach and the other on Shinichiro’s chest, but you couldn’t blame the kid. Based on what Keisuke had confided in you last night, Manjiro had witnessed both his best friends’ arrest as well as his brother being pulled out unconscious on a stretcher out of the shop.

Beyond a muffled apology, he didn’t utter anything else, like his voice had given in. He clung onto Shinichiro’s body like his life depended on it. 

A swift knock on the door caught your attention, though Manjiro didn't even bother looking up, face tucked against his brother’s body, letting himself relax as his brother’s fingers threaded through his blond locks. 

Emma poked her head from behind the wall, hands holding onto the door frame for balance. From where you laid you could see how her eyes were almost as puffy as yours. They were rimmed with a bright red, the same shade that was splotched all over her cheeks and nose. Mansaku stood beside her, holding onto his hat.

You could physically feel the relief washing over Shinichiro the moment he saw his whole family entering the room. He laid lighter next to you, with a brighter smile decorating his lips. It was like his body had melted from hard concrete right into a puddle, your previous conversation seemingly forgotten as a twinkle of warmth returned to his pretty eyes.

Careful not to let Manjiro fall in the dent you were leaving as you stood up, you beckoned Emma over. She cuddled up to Shinichiro, clinging onto him while her soft sniffles filled the silent room, and you swore you had almost started tearing up again at the sight.

Mansaku placed a hand on your shoulder, making you flinch in surprise as he acknowledged your presence. Like a wordless thank you, he nodded at you before stepping closer towards the bed, letting his hand rest on Shinichiro’s, and gently squeezed as if making sure his grandson was truly there. 

In no way shape or form was it the perfect family meetup—a perfect one wouldn’t entail the eldest-grandson-slash-parental-figure stuck in a hospital bed. But by the way they huddled together, Shinichiro pinching Manjiro’s cheeks, the latter not even fighting him off like he usually would, and patting Emma’s head in reassurance, with Mansaku displaying the ghost of a smile as he stood next to his grandchildren, the four of them gave off the feeling of everything being okay.

The familiar warmth between them left you to watch the scene like an outsider in a third-person point of view. It made you feel like you were intruding, messily glued to one of those fancy family portraits. 

In spite of both your families spending the majority of their lives around one another, you weren’t a Sano. No matter how close Keisuke and Manjiro were, no matter how much Shinichiro and you acted like a married couple with at least five children, you were never going to be one. You knew this from the start, but even so, the knowledge didn’t stop the churning of a deeply seeded loneliness inside your stomach. 

You didn’t bother with your goodbyes. Even if you had promised Shinichiro you’d spend the rest of the day together—pretending to be bothered and reluctant when you sealed it with a ‘pinky promise’ to hide the fact you’d willingly play nurse whenever he needed it—something from within told you it was your time to leave, you weren’t that important after all.

The question swirled inside your skull, bitter as it scratched your bones, as you leaned against the walls outside the hospital. At first, you intended to camp out in a waiting room, maybe join them after you had finally calmed down, but instead your legs had taken you right outside, landing you in a secluded area between the building and the many trees surrounding it so you could confidently retrieve the crushed package from your back pocket without disturbing anyone

Your thumb burned as you attempted to roll the sparkwheel of your zippo lighter, the metal forming uncomfortable crevices against your skin. You had to hold back the urge to bite down on the cigarette you had clumsily stuck between your teeth instead of your lips, frustration welling up and threatening to burst from the seams that clumsily held you together. 

Waiting for the uncomfortable itch to burn at your throat, you traced the outline of the red koi fish at the corner of the lighter, eroded after thumbing at it like a nervous tick over the years. Every time you felt your eyes water you made sure to compulsively take another drag, as if the smoke could cloud your thoughts, mixing them up with the familiar nostalgia.

Anyone would think that after incinerating your taste buds with each stick you burn, you’d get used to the taste. Whoever said it gets easier the more you do it was a liar. They were as disgusting as ever, flavour the exact same as those you had tried when you were younger, fooling around with your friends. It first started when Shinichiro and Takeomi brought a couple of cigarettes they had stolen from his grandfather to one of your hang outs. It prompted the three of you to continuously choke and make fun of each other for doing so until there were only mustard coloured butts squished on the floor. 

Neither Takeomi nor you had really enjoyed the experience, but for some reason, Shinichiro was quick to grow fond of the taste. He made sure to carry around a twelve-pack wherever he went, lighting up cigarette after cigarette in strategic places so the smell wouldn’t stick to his hair or clothes. Not soon after, the rather unhealthy habit had extended to the remaining two of you, who couldn’t help but carry your own packs to satisfy your newly birthed cravings. 

Looking back, you’re sure younger-you did that to be a little more like Shinichiro, just like Takeomi, and for other even more childish reasons like appearing more mature and attractive in his eyes; you clearly remember him having a thing for older women for a while. Sure, the two of you were the same age but still, you felt like he didn’t see you like you wanted him to, and the only way for you to change that would be to gain some more common ground with him right? 

So yeah, just like Takeomi, you wanted to be more like Shinchiro, but unlike Takeomi—as far as you know—you had started buying cigarette packets mainly to share back and forth with your best friend in, what you would call, a weak attempt at flirting. 

At least the cringe memory managed to rip you out from the insecurity whirlpool you were being sucked into, making you groan while softly hitting your head against the concrete wall. Thank god Wakasa existed to berate you into stopping the unhealthily embarrassing habit. Back then you were just a kid, but were you being for real? Were you seriously intending to build your whole life around a man to the point you’d indulge in one of the most common and deadliest habits in the world for a slim chance at a high-school romance? Fuck, was younger-you so painfully stupid to even think–

“One of you is already in the hospital, we don't need you to auto-hospitalise.”

The old man’s voice made you jump, fumbling with the cigarette until it fell to the floor. You tried to hide the coughing fit to the best of your ability while frantically stomping on the lit stick laying on the ground. It didn’t matter that you were an adult, you were still terrified of getting caught smoking by the man.

“Would you mind sharing one with me?” He asked, ignoring the way your face morphed into a confused frown. With nimble fingers, you opened your cigarette pack once again, handing him your lighter when he was unable to fetch his from his pockets.

“You still smoke?” You questioned, adding a hasty ‘sir’ once you noticed how informal you had sounded. 

He chuckled in response, taking another puff. “I only stopped doing it in front of the children.”

This time it was your turn to chuckle, playing with the gravel underneath your feet to avoid looking at the man at your slip-up. Still, even with your gaze fixated on the ground you could tell he was looking at you in curiosity. 

“I didn’t mean to laugh it’s just,” clearing your throat, you stumbled with your words, debating in your head whether you should come up with one of your horrid cover ups or tell the truth. “You always smoked around us when we were little, like you didn’t care.”

You thought he would’ve left you alone after that, knowing you were purposely disrespectful towards him. It would’ve been better that way. Then you would’ve been left to wallow in your own self-pity in peace, with no one to stop you from finishing the seven remaining cigarettes. But he didn’t, taking you aback as he stayed rooted right by your side. 

Had you been anyone else, he would’ve called them out. To cover up his own embarrassment or to make up for the disrespect? Not even he could be sure. But he had seen you grow up next to his own grandchildren, sharing your love and caring nature with them along with your mild irascibility and your talent for keeping Shinichiro on a tight leash. He couldn’t help but grow fond of you, even if most of your one-on-one interactions had consisted of you running away from him before he managed to scold you. 

He had only stopped smoking once Manjiro was born, self-awareness finally sinking into his thick skull as he watched his two grandsons play together. No one had questioned him back then, letting him sit on the couch undisturbed while he read the morning paper. It was only after Sakurako had passed away, that he had started to notice the many areas he was lacking, watching both Shinichiro and you fill the gaps in each other’s broken homes while he alienated himself from the responsibility of taking care of his family. The two of you worked so in sync, he would be of no help—or at least that was what he had told himself.

“I wasn’t the best grandfather.”

“You think?”

“I know.” He smiled at your attitude; snappy as always, the only difference was the way you now recoiled in embarrassment at your slip ups. Using his fingers to get rid of the ash, he tapped on the back of the cigarette before taking another drag. “Thank you for taking care of them when I couldn’t.”

Not even a noise of acknowledgement, your vocal chords had closed themselves shut at the man’s sudden mild vulnerability. Out of all the things you expected him to ever say to you, a ‘thank you’ was never on the list. He was always sporting his characteristic cartoonish frown, speaking to everyone in a clipped tone with pointed words.

“You’re more important to us than you think.” He stepped on the cigarette butt. “That is one of the reasons why I can’t let you believe what happened to my grandson was in any way your fault.”

“‘Sorry?” You mumbled in confusion, his words pulling yet another frown onto your face; did you miss any pivotal points in the conversation? How had the conversation switched from his apparent familial issues to you? 

“I know you feel guilty for what happened, even if you weren’t involved.” He sighed, not bothering to look you in the eye before continuing his speech. “You’re not responsible for your brother’s doing.”

“Yeah,” you scoffed in mild amusement, as if that wasn’t something you’ve been trying to tell yourself; all Bajis share their fuckups. But then again, of course he wouldn’t understand. “Easier said than done.”

This time you didn’t try to make up for the way had snapped at him. And bless the man for being able to read the room, because he didn’t push the conversation further. Deep down he knew you needed the outlet; you may have already cried, but all your anger was still pent up inside of you. And after everything you had done for him and his family, it was the least he could do for you. 

“It doesn’t matter what we believe, we’re always responsible for everyone’s mess.” You scoff in dismay. “It’s like we were born for our families to have a provisional caretaker. 

“So thank you for trying to tell me I didn’t break into Shinchiro’s shop, I know I didn’t, but it's still my mess to fix.” The aftertaste of the words laid heavy in your mouth, trickling down your throat like bitter bile tearing through the tissue. You didn’t like how they sounded; they were too impersonal, too selfish. You took a deep breath, holding yourself upright in spite of the pang in your chest. “Not that i wouldn’t have taken care of Shin if someone else had been responsible for what happened, I lo– I– I care too much about him to just leave him be but its just—”

You cleared your throat, “If I had made sure I knew where Keisuke was going or, or if I had actually tried to listen to him when he told me he didn’t know what to give Manjiro for his birthday then maybe– just…” 

You trailed off, unable to finish your sentence without breaking down the walls of the dam you thought you had finally managed to piece back together. You didn’t want the responsibility of rebuilding them back up, you don’t think you’d be able to do it as quickly as you’d want to. But you weren’t venting your sorrows to the wind. Mansaku Sano was still standing next to you, hands locked behind his back as he waited for you to continue, and though he was well aware of the times in which he had to remain quiet, he also knew when it was time to speak up. 

“Then what?”

“Then,” you swallow, “then none of this would’ve happened, and he would’ve been okay.”

Your body itched for another cigarette, pawing at your skull for you to smother down the tears spouting from your eyes, even if the smoke would make your eyes teary once again. But with Mansaku Sano standing next to you, you didn’t dare touch a single one; it didn’t matter that you had just finished spilling your pent up emotions, you drew the line at smoking with Shinichiro’s grandfather. The thought sprouted a melancholic smile on your lips; Shinichiro would have a field day when he finds out what just went down.

The only thing left you had to ground yourself was the cold metal of your lighter, already starting to heat up at the warmth of your skin. You ran your thumb over it once again, the pattern already engraved in your mind. The habit had probably developed out of your need to be comforted by familiarity—of course the lighter was the right candidate, from its colour and texture, size and temperature, you had everything about it memorised like the back of your hand. 

“It’s a really nice lighter.” You hadn't realised you were playing with it until he spoke up; twirling it between your fingers over and over again, flipping it open and close, lighting it up before shutting the lid and extinguishing the flame. 

“Thanks,” you sniffled, and right after you finished speaking, your voice hoarse and tired, you regretted ever doing so. You felt like a child once again; like when your mom tried to comfort you after you had scraped your knee, or when a couple of older middle-schoolers had beaten your friends up. A child like when the day was finally over and you had to go back home from a play-date, or when your favourite toy had fallen inside the river while walking over a bridge. You regretted speaking the minute you had discovered your voice sounded as weak as you felt, and yet, at the mention of your beloved trinket, you felt the warm giddiness wash over your body forcing you to speak. And so, once again like a child, you did. “I got it at a summer festival, Shin got it for me.”

“I thought you said you wanted to come visit him.”

For a minute Keisuke didn’t speak. He looked straight at the ground, feet planted on the floors like roots had grown out of him as he held your hand.

Earlier this morning he had clung onto your waist while angry tears rolled down his cheeks. The moment he caught sight of you putting your shoes on the genkan he had broken into a run, letting his body smash against yours, and almost making you lose your balance. Both you and your mom had tried your hardest to calm him down for what felt like hours but to no avail. He persisted, begging for you to let him accompany you to the hospital. 

Outside of Shinichiro’s room, it was a whole other story. All of a sudden he had decided he didn’t want to see him eye to eye. His reaction made you internally groan in frustration. Had you listened to your own gut feeling telling you Keisuke wasn’t ready to come with you, it would’ve saved him the stress of making a choice for himself. Instead, you were too weak to his puppy dog eyes and wobbly pleas, and now his eyes had started to water as he tried to hold back his own hiccups. 

“I promise Shin-nii isn’t angry at you,” you cooed, kneeling down to the floor and looking up at him. When had he gotten this tall? When had he grown this much? Were your efforts enough to shape him into a decent person? “and if you truly don't feel comfortable we can go home, I promise I won’t get angry.”

He rubbed at his teary eyes with his free hand before nodding at you, trailing behind you as you stood up and knocked on the door.

“Hey!” you poked your head into the room with a smile, one that faltered as you tried to keep your mouth from falling open in awe once you noticed how the sunlight streaming from the window kissed every inch of Shinichiro’s skin as he quietly read the book you had given him as a joke. He looked up at you, pearly whites all up for display, and mumbled a soft mumbled a soft ‘hey’ right back at you; he looked so pretty he could be mistaken for an angel. “I brought Keisuke with me, ‘that okay?”

He hummed in response, marking the page he was reading before setting it aside. Even after the events that took place at the shop, you knew he wouldn’t mind your brother visiting—he had a soft spot for him after all. The verbal confirmation was more for Keisuke’s sake, who prompted by it, let go of your hand and walked into the room, a tinge of fear staining each step he took. 

Shinichiro grinned, gently waving his way. And though the both of you had always found some sense of comfort in the warmth of his smile, it took less than a second for Keisuke to burst into tears. Sobs wracked his body as he stood frozen in the middle of the room, frantically drying out his cheeks with his forearms in vain. Tears kept pouring from his caramel eyes down to his cheeks until they stained his striped shirt.

At the sight of his distress, Shinichiro tried standing up as quickly as possible, almost ripping off his tangled IV. Thankfully, you managed to stop him before he could; the moment your brother had started crying you were already by his side wrapping your arms around his fragile figure.

Much like you had done the past few days, you combed his hair with your fingers while shushing his cries. It had become almost like a habit, Keisuke running to you in the middle of the day, hugging you close while you dried his tears for him. You’d think he’d ran out of tears by now, but something you didn’t take into account was how similar the two of you were, always feeling everything too much, all at once.

“You’re okay,” you whispered into his hair, “you’re okay, and Shin-nii’s okay, see?” you asked him, holding his tear streaked cheeks and motioning his face to meet your gaze, waiting for his breathing to even out before you coaxed him into looking at Shinichiro. “We’ve got you, the two of us, we've got you.”

He smiled at him once again, though you could see a twinkle of sadness in his eyes, as extended one of his hands for him to take. Warily, he warmed up to the invitation, wiping the remaining tears from his face before dragging his feet to the edge of the bed, asking if he could sit with him in a very un-Keisuke nature; it was unusual for him to ask before acting on his impulses.

Shinichiro softened once he felt Keisuke nuzzling his cheek against his chest. He ran his fingers through his dark locks, and as he did so you couldn’t help but think how his hair kept getting longer and longer with each day; hopefully no one from the school office would call you letting you know it was time to chop it off once classes were back in session.

In between hushed whispers, they talked amongst each other for a while. At first, Baji kept giving one word responses, still insecure in spite of your reassurance, but it wasn’t long before he started to loosen up, giggling between sniffles at Shinichiro’s questions and mocking his ‘honorary-brother’ back with teary jabs.

It was a solid dynamic they had been able to build after years of trust and consistent interaction; your two favourite boys extending their love to each other like they were flesh and blood. In that way, the two of them were similar, fiercely loyal and willing to give themselves up for those they loved. You were grateful that Shinichiro was there for Keisuke as he grew up, unknowingly making up for everything you lacked.

The mumble of your name caught your attention, popping your nostalgia blown bubble. Keisuke and Shinichiro alike were beckoning you over, the latter extending his arm as the two of them scooted over and patted the free space next to him.

He held your hand like you were a princess stepping onto a carriage, gingerly helping you keep your balance as you toed-off your shoes. You let out a sigh once you plopped yourself on the bed, letting his arm curl around your shoulders while he kept your hands interlocked, rubbing the skin with his thumb. In spite of the giddiness warming your stomach, you forced yourself to roll your eyes in response when he teasingly asked if you were comfortable, pretending to be bothered by his apparent clinginess 

“‘Your sister made you try the jell-o cups already?” he asked Keisuke, the younger boy looking up at him through puffy eyes and wet lashes, and once he shook his head in response he whistled, turning towards you as if disappointed. “You haven’t made him try ‘em yet?” 

“‘Came straight to see you.” You brushed off, pretending you didn’t feel his body tense beside you and smiling to yourself in subtle victory when he gulped.

“You should’ve gone to the cafeteria first.” He scolded jokingly, clicking his tongue as if that would help him hide his blushing cheeks that hurt from his own shy affection. Soon after, he switched his attention to your brother, ruffling his hair before speaking, “Remember those jell-o cups you used to share with Manjiro and Haruchiyo? The ones they sold at the konbini?”

“Yeah, but they don't have ‘em anymore,” Keisuke pouted, brows furrowed in thought. His sharp canines poked at his bottom lip, tilting his head up at Shinichiro and grinning. “Mikey almost fought the cashier guy when we found out they stopped selling them!”

“Yeah, I remembered that.” He chuckled, recalling the time he had heard the employee complain about Manjiro’s sudden aggression on one of his morning milk runs. “But guess what?” he sat on his forearms, dragging out the silence to build anticipation. He waited for the two of you to raise your heads from his chest, sharing an evident impatience as you urged him to continue. He took a deep breath before grinning once again. “They still sell ‘em over here.”

“No way! Really?!” The boy stood up in less than a second, forcing you to grab onto the neck of his t-shirt to prevent him from falling flat on his ass while he cried in glee, tears seemingly forgotten. Those jell-o cups in particular had been a staple of everyone’s childhood; you had been eating those snacks for years and years. You can clearly remember the clear disappointment in his face when he told you they had been discontinued, his somberness rubbing off on you.

“Yeah!” Shinichiro exclaimed back, scooting closer to your brother and placing one of his hands on the bed railing behind your brother, aiding you in your task of preventing Keisuke from falling to the ground. The memory had suddenly made its wake into his consciousness after mulling over ways to comfort your brother and coming up empty handed, until he had suddenly turned to his bedside table where an empty plastic cup sat with a flimsy disposable spoon. “Manjiro and Emma got a bunch from the cafeteria to take home, you could do the same.”

You were almost taken aback by the speed he used to turn his face towards you, surprised he didn’t give himself whiplash before he asked you with as much excitement he could muster, “Can we?! Please, please!?”

His pleading words made his bronze eyes sparkle under the fluorescent lights and though you know you shouldn’t, you can’t find it in yourself to say no. You smiled and nodded without a shadow of a doubt that you’d do anything in your power to keep the toothy grin you missed on his lips.

“Does that mean I can go get one now?” He pleaded, tilting his head and yet again putting on display the best puppy-dog eyes he could muster. “Please? I haven't had one in years, I wanna know if they’re the same as I remember.”

“Knock yourself out.” Shinichiro said before you could respond, ruffling Keisuke’s hair before the latter jumped down, ignoring the fact you didn’t give him a proper response before running off to the cafeteria.

You sighed unimpressed, turning towards the man beside you and letting yourself slump against his figure. His chuckle only made you roll your eyes.

“What? Were you planning to say no to him?” 

He knew you too well for your own good.

“Shut up.” With a gentle push you force him back down on the bed, elbowing him lightly in the process and pressing your head back against his chest. You almost hum in satisfaction when he let himself fall back down without resistance, caving in under your touch. “I could’ve said no.”

“Yeah, right.” This time, he was the one rolling his eyes, mocking your mannerisms and chuckling when you smiled, hoping the apparent ‘nonchalance’ would mask his now increased heart rate, and the faster beating coming from the vital sign monitor.

“I could’ve!” You tried to sit up in retaliation, pretending to be annoyed, yet you didn’t resist when he pulled you back down. He held down his own giggling once he felt you cuddling up closer to his side, tracing random patterns on his dotted hospital gown and realising too late how close both your hands were. The proximity made you nervous; even if the two of you were practically laying one on top of the other, holding hands felt like a foreign act of intimacy. 

Subtly enough, you tried reaching out for the tip of his fingers, moving what seemed like less than a millimetre per minute. Soon enough, he took notice of your plan; hesitantly, he moved his own towards you, letting your fingertips rest against each other for a couple of seconds, like he was asking for your permission, before interlocking his fingers with yours.

“You really can’t stay away from me, can you?” he teased, gaze focused on your entwined hands through his lashes as he felt too shy to look anywhere near your face. It seemed that hiding the pink-ish blush staining his cheek had become his number one priority; you were so close, so everywhere, he wouldn’t want it any other way, even if the closest he’d get to you would be through friendly teasing, bordering the line of ‘definitely, a 100% and unmistakably platonic’ flirting. 

In your mind, you were desperately scavenging for any semblance of a comeback, preferably witty and with the same energy he was giving you.Instead, all you did was sigh.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

You blamed the gusty confession on a moment of weakness, likely born out of your depleting energy mixed with the way his hand fit against yours like two perfectly carved puzzle pieces. You weren’t sure why you had said what you did, the way you did; voice softening as the longing you had suppressed your whole life coated every syllable that rolled down your tongue. 

He hummed in response, giddy and satisfied, before backtracking in confusion. The lack of sarcasm or annoyance lighthearted mockery caught the two of you off-guard, though it seemed to have a bigger impact on him as his body tensed up for a moment. If you were to look up at him, you’d probably see his head tilted to the side, with warm cheeks and the ghost of a frown clouding his features.

And that’s exactly why you don’t. 

Not like this; you wouldn't allow yourself to do so, wouldn’t even dare. Not when the stakes were this high, multiple worst outcomes served on a silver platter for you to choose because once you look up at him he would notice the way you see him, like he hung up each individual constellation up in the sky on his own and then all of it would be over for you.

For the both of you. 

“Do you, uh,” the slight shake in his voice made you gulp, like you had an inkling of a very possible question he could ask. Maybe this would finally be the end of your friendship which, to your own dismay, could be very easily broken by other things that weren’t death itself, “do you know if Keisuke has talked to Manjiro yet?”

You cleared your throat, holding back the sigh of relief, and shook your head. “I don’t think he knows how.”

“He’s scared?” 

“I think so,” you pondered, “they’ve been friends since forever, I think he’s scared of losing…him.”

Knowing that both you and your brother’s situation overlapped in so many ways felt weird; both Baji siblings were scared to lose their respective Sano brothers. It sounded funny, almost cute, like both Bajis and Sanos were meant to stick together generation after generation. You would’ve giggled at the thought, explain the parallels between the two relationships to Shinichiro and laugh at the silliness of it, yet the fear that had taken possession of your body the last couple of days lingered at the thought. 

Scared of losing him.

You almost choked on the words sitting heavy in your mouth, like you had confessed to a crime. Had you been alone, maybe they would’ve urged you to cry.

“Hey, ‘you okay?” You hadn’t realised that the worry had bled onto your face, dripping down your cheeks and coating your eyelashes with sorrow until he spoke up, tearing you away from your trance. But you couldn’t help it, the lingering torture you endured at the hands of your brain replaying past events, from the bailing your brother out of jail as he sobbed to having Wakasa answer the call for you, Kazutora crying in your arms and Shinichiro blaming himself for his own accident, the more you felt like losing yourself in his embrace, tightening your hold on his hand. “You left me there for a second I thought–”

“No.”

“What?”

“No, I’m–” you stuttered, “I don’t think I’m okay, I–”

Rejection after rejection, you’ve seen what felt like an infinite amount of his confessions go sideways, and yet he handled each and every one of them with grace. You’d attribute his resilience to the amount of first hand experience he’s had with it, and though at first it had taken a big toll on him. By now, rejection was nothing to him. He could make a fool of himself in front of anyone and he really wouldn’t care; he has told you so himself. 

But you were not Shinichiro, and you could never be him.

You were resentful and impulsive, oftentimes reacting way before you think. You were impatient and whiny, though you tried your best to suppress that particular trait to no avail. You were a selfish, self-destructive being that somehow managed to keep the insecure neediness brewing inside on the down low. 

And you could go on. You could go on because you were stubborn, volatile, melodramatic and a part of your brain really does think you were just setting yourself up for failure listing every single negative character trait that comes to mind. But it didn’t matter because that just further proves you're not Shinichiro Sano, that you were never going to be Shinichiro Sano because you were weak.

Too weak to answer the call, too weak not to try and escape uncomfortable situations, too weak to hold back the urge for a smoke, too weak to forgive Kazutora, too weak to confess your feelings for your best friend even after bawling your eyes out at the thought of a life without him.

Too weak, too weak, too weak. 

Being weak is all you’ve ever known. 

The thoughts poured and they wouldn’t stop, crashing against each other like the same bumper carts you rode along with Shinichiro at the funfair with your siblings. Back then, you were all smiles and laughter, and right now you wondered if the two of you would’ve held hands if it wasn’t for Emma sitting in the middle of you both.

And he was so warm next to you, not pressuring you to clarify whatever word-vomit you just spewed instead of a proper comeback. So sweet as he squeezed your hand to let you know he was there to help in whichever way he could to lull your worries to sleep. So kind as he took care of you when you should be the one taking care of him. Always so him.

You had no right to be a coward, at least not in front of one of the strongest and bravest people you’ve ever met. It wasn’t fair. Listing your flaws from the top of your head would never justify your body preventing itself from spilling the truth just so you could try and grasp at the fragile strings of self-pity to sew yourself back together as unspoken words necrotize your tongue. 

The same way you wouldn’t dare look at him, you wouldn’t dare stay away from him. It’d kill you just to try. So fuck every martyrish thought in your head, fuck the burned cigarette butts stained with indirect kisses, fuck the many nights the two of you spent stargazing in his garden, the infinite amount of chocolates you bought him for valentine’s day to make up for the emptiness of his locker; and the countless times he had dropped everything he was doing for the chance to spend just a couple of minutes with you. Fuck the worn out red koi fish engraved on your lighter and the possibility of breaking the promise you two made of never straying away from each other.

“I can’t stay away from you,” you took a deep breath, “I think I’d rather die than live a life without you,

“The sole idea of losing you almost sent me over the edge, and even after you were out of surgery I was a mess,” you stopped yourself again, giving yourself the chance to swallow down the knot in your throat; it didn’t work. “I was going insane without being able to talk your ear off because even when I talk about something you couldn’t give a shit about you still give a shit, you give so many shits when it comes to me, too many,

“You’re loyal and gentle and charming and you’re always smiling, and it's like, it's like you're absolutely everything good and even then you genuinely have no idea how wrapped around your finger I truly am, 

“And I don't think I’ve ever properly thanked you for existing because I don't think I’d be the same person I am right now if it wasn't for you, and even if I'm not perfect, I- I wouldn't trade myself for a better version if that meant you wouldn’t be in my life.

“So, yeah, I guess you’re right, I don’t think I can,” you let your shoulders sag, like the confession finally burned years upon years of cover-ups and excuses and fake scenarios you had come up with before bed stored in the darkest depth of your brain. “Even if I wanted to, I wouldn't be able to stay away from you.”

Pensive, he melted further against the pillows, letting his muscles melt at the sound of his own sighing. Even if you weren’t directly looking at him, you hear his smile reverberating throughout his body, and the sole idea of him possibly reciprocating your feelings made you impossibly giddy; a little too giddy. It was easy, after all, to get your hopes up once you lose yourself in him, his warmth and comfort. And for less than a second, you can see your hypothetical future with him pass right in front of your eyes, forcing you to accept a premature victory. But as the silence between the two of you started to drag itself out, you couldn't help but reluctantly welcome the acrid heartbreak tearing through your skin.

“I’m sorry,” you tensed up, “I shouldn’t have–”

“No, no, it's–,” he blurted out tongue tied as if your words had snapped him out of a trance, mirroring the same giddiness you had displayed with the same hint of hesitancy, “no one has talked about me like that, I guess it just caught me off-guard.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, I don’t– don’t think I'd be able to stay away from you either– not that I want to, of course it's just– sorry give me a minute.” Looking off to the side, he tried to collect himself, clearing his throat and pinching his cheeks, the skin already stained with all sorts of shades of pink. For him, it was inevitable not to become all shy and flustered, the least he could do was bite his tongue so as not to break into a fit of giggles, prevent himself from swinging his legs and twirling his short strands of hair like a lovesick middle schooler. All because of you. “Just, um, just to be clear before I look like an absolute fool, not that I don't look like an absolute fool on a daily basis, but this is a confession, right?” 

You raised your head up in confusion, tilting your head and furrowing your brows. Had you not been so baffled by his self-explanatory question you would’ve fawned over this version of him, giddy and soft and in love with you because just by looking at his eyes you could tell he was looking at you like you hung the moon up in the sky—it was easy to decipher; after staring at him the exact same way countless times, you were bound to familiarise yourself with such display of devotion. And had he not looked this adorable, you would’ve teased him for being so painfully and hopelessly dense, but you didn’t have it in you to do so, only managing to nod in response.

“So you like like me?” He continued, waiting for your reassurance, either a nod or a smile, or any signal that he was right. “So you are in love with me?”

“I mean, I wouldn't say I'm in love but if that's what makes you sleep at night.” The more you stared at his face, the dimples on his cheeks, the creasing of his eyes at your words and the giggle he couldn’t help but contain, the wider the smile creeping at his lips became.

“Will you say it then?” He prodded, moving closer to you, now unable to hide the twinge of pink that grew what seemed like a thousand shades per second.

“I don’t know,” your legs innocently dangled from the side of the bed, trying to win back control of the situation by cutting down on your proximity, and sitting up properly from your half-lying position, “will I?”

“Please?” he begged, cupping one of your cheeks with the palm of his hand and pulling you closer until you could feel each other's breaths. His skin was warm against yours, the roughness of his palm from working non-stop at the shop offset by the tenderness he carried around for you. 

And though you wanted to drag this on, enjoying the back and forth, you were so whipped for this man that you couldn’t stop your nonchalant act from crumbling as soon as you heard him once again let out a shy giggle after he nudged your nose with his.

“I love you.” 

Voice dreamy and saccharine sweet, like confessing to your lifelong desire, you whispered, and just before your lips touched, through lidded eyes and uneven breath he whispered back ‘and I love you’. 

After his own confession, you were unable to pay attention to anything that wasn’t him. All your senses were muted as his soft lips gilded against yours. The taste of the honey chapstick you applied almost compulsively melted against his tongue, and he wondered if like him, you could still faintly taste the strawberry chapstick you had gifted him a while ago; the same one he hadn’t stopped using since, going as far as asking the hospital staff to retrieve it from the pockets of the jeans he was wearing the day of the accident for him.

He bit back a whimper when he felt you bite down gently on his bottom lip, unable to ignore the way you smirk against the kiss once your hand makes its way up to the side of his neck to rest on his pulse point, in the perfect position to feel his heart doing somersaults underneath your touch. It made him want to melt right against you; the more you wandered down his body, the bigger the urge to hold you grew.

His calloused yet delicate fingers traced your skin, running from the apples of your cheeks down to your chin, coaxing you to fully give into him as he traced the tip of his tongue against your lips. He could feel himself grow hard once you gave him permission to enter, basking on the hidden whine you let out at the feeling of the warm muscle enveloping your whole body, drool pooling at the corner of both your lips.

Away from your face, he trails his hands slowly down your torso confidently ghosting the skin before the facade is broken the moment he almost freezes up once he gets to your chest. The blush on his cheeks deepened as you took notice of his apparent nervousness, laughing it off before he continued his path down to your hips, 

He was sure he was ready to die right here in your arms the moment you softly suck on his tongue, his eyes almost rolling towards the back of his skull as you hands grazed his clothed dick. The teasing touch made him groan, the vibrations against your lips feeding the urge to get closer to him. And almost like he had read your mind, you shivered at the tight grip of his hips guiding you over lap until you were resting flush against him.

“‘Want you so bad.” He panted in between giggles, nudging your noses together and pecking your lips over and over again. You barely managed to catch your breath between his kisses; when he leaned away you pulled him in, and when you did so he tried to follow the path of your lips until they were once again interlocked with his. The two of you ignored the satisfying burn of your lungs like the feeling of your bodies close against each other was good enough of a replacement for oxygen itself. “–Waited so long for this.”

He pulled you down a little harder against him, bucking his hips against your. Mewling into the kiss, you wrapped both your arms around his shoulders, perhaps taking too much enjoyment in the minimal friction against your core. The sensation of him rutting desperately against you forced you to meet his attempts for more with an equal amount of want.

“You feel so good.” you cooed, whimpering as he sucked at the skin behind your ear. “Shin, Fuck, you’re so good at this.”

Before he could stop himself, he was groaning at the praise, peppering kisses along your jaw and neck and refusing to come back up to meet your lips to hide the raging blush tinting his skin, spreading from his cheeks up to his ears.

“You like that? Like it when I say you're doing a good job?”

He hummed, though it sounded more like a whimper, and waited no time to pull your face back against his, connecting your lips again in a messy kiss, to, presumably, stop you from teasing him. He took the opportunity to indulge himself, once again tracing the outline of your lower lip with his tongue and nipping at the supple skin in retaliation.

In spite of your own reluctance, you broke the kiss first, finding the way he tried to chase your lips with his eyes half-lidded in pleasure, indescribably cute. You took a minute to fully take in this version of him, his breath uneven and with a thin sheen of sweat making some of his black locks stick to his forehead. His lips were puffy, glistening with saliva as they part involuntarily in an enrapturing appetite. 

He looked so pretty like this, you didn’t think you’d have it in you to control yourself. 

Once you had lowered the sheets covering his legs, one of your thumbs proceeded to draw circular patterns on his exposed thigh, chuckling at the way he flinched before relaxing against you. Gently ghosting your fingernails over his skin, you hiked up his hospital gown until you had full access to the band of his boxers, toying with the elastic but doing nothing aside from that.

“You want to do this here?” He pulled back, eyes wide and dazed with need yet frazzled at your sudden boldness, as if nearly dry humping in a hospital wasn’t bold enough. His hands played with the hem of your shirt, sending shivers down your spine every time his fingers grazed your skin. He looked like a deer caught in headlines, a way cuter version of Bambi, and you couldn’t help but nuzzle your nose against his cheek before kissing him gently, once, twice, thrice.

“Only if you want to.” 

“I do,” he swallowed, clearing his throat to keep himself lucid as he felt the tips of your fingers breaching the hem of his underwear, cold against the warmth of the covered skin. “Fuck, I really do, I need you s’bad I–”

“You fucking disgust me.” 

Like a pair of surprised kittens, the sudden interruption had the two of you jumping away from each other, almost falling off the bed while desperately trying to pull the sheets back into place. In turn Shinichiro tried helping you regain your balance, grabbing your arm before you crashed against the floor, nearly pulling down one of the hospital monitors in the process. 

“Don't you know how to knock?” You bit back, taking his comment more personally that you should’ve. 

“Didn’t think it’d be necessary.” Wakasa crossed his arms in front of his chest, shifting the lollipop in his mouth from one side of his cheek to the other. Standing beside, Benkei held a teddy bear and a lavender flower arrangement, mixed along with baby’s breaths and eucalyptus. If anyone had to guess, the bewildered expression he sported only meant he’d rather have his friend die than see whatever blasphemous activities you were performing. But then again, he probably expected to see his friend bedridden and weak instead of the free front row tickets to your ‘dry humping a post-concussed Shinichiro’ expectale. “‘Thought the worst thing we’d come across was him sleeping.”

“Why did you think coming across me sleeping d’be the worst case scenario!?” Shinichiro butted in lightheartedly, though you wouldn’t rule out the possibility of him actually being serious. “Are you saying I look ugly when I sleep?”

“No, you dumbass,” Wakasa deadpanned; even with his usual unbothered facade you could tell he was grateful for the ordinary banter, questioning his stupidity with a hidden smile. “How’re we gonna talk to you if you’re asleep.”

“Wait, what happened? I didn't see,” Takeomi joined in, panting as he held a couple of balloons that had ‘it's a boy!’ written all over them. “These two assholes left me while I was getting something to eat.”

The two of you groaned at the sound of his voice, pressing the heels of your hands against while Shinichiro hid his eyes behind his forearm. Even if you wanted to be lowkey about the whole situation, sweep it under the rug to avoid facing the embarrassment over again, you knew you wouldn't be able to hide it from anyone, not even Takeomi, and he wasn’t the brightest. 

Shinichiro’s hair was a tousled mess and his skin was dusted pink. Both of your lips were puffy, glistening under the fluorescent lights, and your breathing was uneven still. No matter how much the two of you tried to regulate it back to normal, it seemed to follow the rapid rhythm of each other’s heart beat.

“Nothing happened.” You grumbled, willing to attempt a lousy cover up in spite of your friend’s, including Shinichiro, giggling. Once he found out, it would be impossible for him to let it go. But even so, it took a lot of effort not to join in your friends’ laughter; it was funny to fuck with him—not literally—his puzzled frown as he borderline begged for someone to let him only feeding in your teasing. Still, once he found out. “We were just talking.”

“Yeah, talking about fuck–”

“Wakasa!” “Dude!” 

The two of you exclaimed as the blond tilted his head to the side, making his earring jingle. A teasing smile stretched on his lips as the four of you waited for Takeomi to process what was just mentioned. Knowing the speed in which the neurons within his brain transported information, it’d take a little while.

To everyone’s surprise, it only took him a couple of seconds to do so. You could visibly see it in his expression, morphing into one of amazement the minute realisation hit him straight in the face

“Did’ya– No way, you finally fucked?” And though his lack of decorum made the two men beside him laugh louder and the two of you groan as if to muffle his voice, he paid your reaction no mind other than using it as an affirmative response to his question. “No way, congrats dude! Who would’ve thought you needed to almost die just to lose your virginity.”

“I hate you so much.” Shinichiro playfully complained, a stupid grin threatening to make its way onto his lips disproving his claim. Seeing his four best friends standing around him right after waking up from what could’ve been a tragic accident made him feel all sorts of things he found himself unable to explain. It almost made him want to cry once again—happy tears this time.

“Anyway, now that you’ve got someone to stay with,” you changed the topic, interrupting yourself to fix the stray hairs sitting on top of Shinichiro’s head before caressing his cheek with your thumb, “I’ll go check whatever Keisuke’s doing, I‘ll be back in a sec.”

“Wait no, don’t go…” You had to resist the urge to give him another quick peck at the way he dragged out the ‘go’, and instead, grabbed your phone from his bedside table to respond to the missed messages coming from your mom. “Don’t leave me with these people.”

“Very funny Shitty-chiro.” Takeomi fake laughed, letting himself fall on one of the chairs nearby, stretching his arms before fully slumping against the backrest and looking at you. “But’s fine, I left Haruchiyo in charge, Senju’s with them as well.”

“Well that doesn't make things any better, does it.” At your snapping voice, he raised his hands up in surrender, as if the idea of letting a 13 year-old in charge of two 12 year-olds didn't have multiple flaws. Doing a 180° turn, you turned towards Shinichiro, grabbing his hand and giving it a squeeze. “I’ll be quick, promise.”

“Wait, before you go,” Wakasa interrupted, stopping you from slinging your bag over your shoulder. He took the bright red candy out of his mouth with a pop, using it as a little wand to emphasise his speech, before he continued. “Who confessed first?”

“Yeah!” Takeomi sat at the end of his seat, gaze switching from Shinichiro to you and vice versa. “How did Shinichiro confess to ya’?”

Again, faster than the usual processing speed of his cognitive skills, he managed to string the hints together, gasping at the silence that settled between the two of you as you tried to silently decide who should say what. Shinichiro opened his mouth like a fish, as if trying to come up with something to appease his friend’s reaction before giving up and averting his eyes, pointing at you with his thumb.

Wakasa’s smirk only grew the more Takeomi seemed to sink back into the chair in dejection. “‘gotta pay up Omi-omi.”

The ruffling of bills and the complaints birthed out of the apparent loser’s mouth distracted you momentarily. You were about to laugh at the scene in front of you, two of them waiting with their hands stretched out as Takeomi reluctantly placed the wrong amount in his palm, grunting when Wakasa noticed it wasn’t the amount they had agreed on, before it clicked in your head.

“Pay up,” you mumbled to yourself, “Pay up, pay up? Wait, did you three bet on us?”

“Kinda,” Benkei sent you a reassuring smile, counting the hundred yen bills that were handed to him once again; when it came to money matters, Takeomi wasn’t someone you could trust. “We bet on who’d confess first.”

“And you didn’t bet on me?!” Shinchiro exclaimed, a little louder than he intended.

“Sorry man, ‘didn't have faith in you,” Wakasa folded the five crinkled bills in half before stashing them in his back pocket. “After your failed attempt I kinda accepted you weren’t going to win, Benkei was always betting against you, though.”

“But ‘ya admit it!” Takeomi jumped from his seat, waving his now empty wallet in the air like he was fencing with the worn out leather rectangle. “He did confess first!”

“Hell no, it only counts if it was a successful confession.”

“So the bet wouldn’t count if one of them got rejected? What's the point then!”

Wakasa groaned, pressing his temples with his thumb and middle finger, “It only counts if the two of them understand whatever was done was a confession.”

“But the lighter was him confessing!”

“Takeomi, that was the vaguest confession to ever be seen by the entirety of mankind.”

“What confession are you talking about…?” You interrupted the animated discourse with a question. In spite of enjoying the banter between your friends, you remained in the dark. Shinichiro had never confessed to you, or even remotely tried to do so. You were a hundred percent certain, after all, had he done so you were sure you’d be dating by now. 

“The lighter you always carry around,” Takeomi responded, “the fish one.”

Instinctively, you patted the pocket where your zippo lighter sat, carefully trailing your thumb lightly over the red imprints as you pulled it out. It looked almost exactly the same way as it did during the summer festival. The only difference, aside from the way the metal reflected the cold hospital lights instead of fireworks and paper lanterns, were the couple of dents on the metal and the previously well-defined engraving softening over the years.

“S‘not just a fish,” Shinichiro chuckled, letting himself fall back on the bed while hiding his flustered state behind a seemingly lame explanation. At this rate, he was sure his skin could be permanently stained a pinkish-red. “It's a red koi fish.”

“Wait,” you snapped your head from the lighter to him, letting your mouth fall open in surprise, “you, you meant that?”

“What do you…mean?” Shinichiro poked, voice twisting and forcing the ‘mean’ to come out strained. Watching your shoulders tense up and, somehow, simultaneously relaxed made him wary of the whole situation, like the universe itself was playing a prank on him. And though unlikely, he wasn't ruling out the possibility of random cameras popping up from behind the door or through the window or maybe from underneath his bed with a huge poster reading ‘you’ve been pranked!’.

He had given you that lighter seven years ago, the engravings were probably faded by now, there was no way…

“Red koi fish mean romantic love, don’t they?” 

It took him a couple of seconds to properly run your words through his brain, before his eyes widened in amusement mixed with the mild disappointment his seventeen year-old-self had forced himself to ignore after his confession had gone wrong. “You knew!?” 

“Uh…yeah? We learned that in literature class.” You shrugged with a sheepish smile in an attempt to tame down the laughter that had started bubbling in your throat at his mortified reaction. He groaned at your response, throwing one of his arms over his eyes, the sound mixing with a cry as the movement pulled on the IV digging into his arm.

He licked his lips a couple of times and rubbed the skin above the needle in an attempt to soothe the ache. Stalling, he was trying to buy time before he asked anything that could potentially hurt him. “Why didn’t you say anything?” Aside from flustered and pouty, slightly amused at his own failed attempt, he appeared to be a little sullen, perhaps even sad. It was obvious to you, though you didn’t know why; maybe he was blaming himself for losing the opportunity to get in a relationship with you way earlier. Or, maybe he blamed himself for putting any sort of pressure on you; back then, he wasn’t a hundred percent sure how you felt about him, so maybe you had purposely ignored his advances because you didn't want him. But that couldn’t be it, could it? Less than a couple of minutes ago the two of you were confessing your love for each other, so if that were to be the case, when did your feelings for him start to change? “Did, uh, did you not like me back then?”

Looking at his hopeful yet gloomy expectant features, he appeared so small and vulnerable in front of you, you wanted to give him a hug. The question had visibly caught you off-guard, your brows furrowing as soon as he was done talking. Who would’ve thought that a seemingly innocuous event from your past would come back transformed into an apparent irrational insecurity. It prompted yet another silence upon the two of you. And though it felt eternal, it lasted only a couple of milliseconds, interrupted by both your annoyance and Takeomi munching on the chips he bought at an inflated price on one of the hospital’s vending machines. 

“Do you mind?” You turned towards the obnoxious mistake you had chosen as a friend, snickering as he shrugged in questionable indifference, mumbling a muffled ‘go on’ before motioning you two to continue with a shake of his hand. But at the lack of positive feedback from anyone in the room he stopped himself to explain.

“What? It’s like watching a live romcom,” he shoved more chips into his mouth, “The ones we watch every friday, ‘ya know what I mean?”

“Okay,” Benkei clapped both his hands together, gathering everyone’s attention before he pulled Takeomi into a standing position and pushed both him and an amused Wakasa towards the door. “Seems like all of us are hungry, we’re heading to the cafeteria real quick, we’ll send Baji back up when we’re done, sounds good?”

“Sounds good, thanks, Benkei.” You smiled at him, watching the three of them leave and sighing in satisfaction when you saw the way the gentle-giant punched Takeomi’s arm once they were far enough for his complaints to appear silent. “But to answer your question,” you turned towards Shinichiro once again, sitting at the edge of the bed and resting your hand on top of his. You could see the way he visibly relaxed against your touch, the warmth of your skin coaxing his insecurities away little by little. “I did like you very much back then, too much for it to be considered healthy, I'm pretty sure…”

“Why didn’t you say anything then?”

“Well, I, you know,” you stumbled over your words, suddenly feeling the embarrassment for your younger self was all over you. Why didn’t you say anything? Well, in hindsight, you didn’t think Shinchiro had it in him to use a literary reference as a means of confession. Not because he was stupid, that was Takeomi's role, but because it was very un-Shinichiro. You had been witness to the countless failed confession attempts and nothing included anything as subtle and detailed as the lighter he had gifted you. Back then, he professed his brimming infatuation with an honest smile, the well-rehearsed question ‘would you go out with me?’ and absolutely nothing else. And though the ‘courting’ period included him acting all whipped and soft, he was usually very blunt when it came to asking people out, gentle but direct. 

Although, thinking about it a little bit more in depth, he had always been very romantic, sometimes cringy with the shitty pick up lines, but during movie nights he had always chosen movies with clear romantic subplots, and you can recall that one romance poetry book he kept borrowing from the library, unable to finish it before returning it—at least that’s what you thought, by the amount of times he had taken it home.

When you were both in middle school and high school, he would watch couples holding hands with a gentle smile, sometimes going as far as spacing out and letting a dreamy sigh fall from his lips—he always brushed off the person asking the reason behind his sighing, but you were paying attention to him more often than not, so of course you knew—and of course, you couldn’t forget the many times he had shared hypothetical scenarios with the four of you, most of them consisting of him fantasising out loud the sort of dates he’d like to have with his hypothetical s/o or what he would do for them before being relentlessly teased by all of you.

So, in retrospect, him trying to confess through a pretty much evident symbol extracted from one of your favourite books was a very un-Shinichiro, Shinichiro thing to do, if that made any sense. 

“I think…I might’ve gaslit myself into believing it was a coincidence, didn't wanna get my hopes up.”

“I thought, I– I thought it was pretty obvious that I liked you.” He chuckled, scooting to the side in order to make more space for you to lay, next to him, the same you had done most of the days you had spent here. “Everybody knew I did.”

“Wait, really? I thought you were being friendly!” You let out a laugh, watching him soften up even more at your obliviousness and simultaneously hold back laughter of his own. “Don’t laugh at me! You were flirtier with Wakasa than with me!”

“You can’t blame me!” He finally laughed along with you, interlocking your fingers together and pulling you close until you were squished next to him, and waited for you to get comfortable before continuing his spiel. “Waka’s my best friend, we’ve always been like that, and you know it.” He nuzzled his cheek against your head, muttering the words in the quietest way possible, like he didn’t want to be heard by anyone but you. “Plus I couldn't flirt with you, I'd blush and cry afterwards.”

“Yeah, I’d’ve cried if you flirted with me as well.”

“Hey!”

“I mean it in a good way! Happy tears or whatever.” You sighed with a giddy grin, caressing his cheeks with the back of your hand before smushing them together, forcing a pout and giving him a quick peck on the lips. “I promise I’ll forever be in love with you.”

© 2023 SHINACHIRO ; Do not repost my work. Do not recommend my work outside of tumblr. Do not translate my work. affiliated with @tokyometronetwork

[hai7ani]

THE MEADOW haitani rindou

sfw, hurt/comfort, an extra to the home collection 𖠋

"Mama, a boy or a girl?"

A tiny voice speaks and you're woken up from your little daydream.

Your daughter's gentle voice bounces off the wall of her quiet yet peaceful bedroom. The loud ringing in your ears are put on pause and blood stops rushing to your head -- you feel as if you're sucked back into reality. It disrupts you from the mindless, ruthless picking of the skin around your thumb that's starting to bleed and all of a sudden you're back in the present again -- a wife and a mother, sitting in her daughter's bedroom on a Tuesday night with the sole mission of checking in on her.

Wide, glossy purple eyes that so mimics the man she calls her father and he whom you call your lover, stares up at you from your chest and you smile a little at her expression.

"Dunno yet, 'Kiya. It's still early to know." You reach a gentle hand up to brush her bangs backward and reveal her forehead. You lean down to press little kisses on her tofu-like skin -- two smooches and three pecks -- and she pouts at your reply that has refuted the answer she's wanted to hear. "Mama, Sakiya wanna know now."

"A little longer, 'kay?" You pull away from her head to run a thumb over her temple. She gives slow blinks at your gentleness -- you know it has always succeeded in making her sleepy. But Sakiya seems to know of your little trick, so she leans back, away from your thumb, straightens her spine up a little, and she hums in defeat. But your baby still giggles a little when larger hands of yours move to tickle her sides gently -- an attempt to distract her from making a fuss.

She doesn't, and instead, your baby decides to rest her head back down on your mounds with small arms tightening around your frame and your nose sours a little at her gesture -- it reddens, and suddenly you're reminded again of her father.

And then you hear soft padding behind you both. You don't need to turn around to know who it is, and Rindou plops down beside you both on the floor -- he's still in his work clothes, most probably still working on some leftover paperwork he's decided to bring home with him tonight.

No doubt he's been standing there the entire time. You sort of knew he was there the moment he had decided to eavesdrop on the two of you -- the cologne that was sprayed onto his work clothes selling him out -- instead of coming in to say what he's wanted to say.

What more can he say, anyway?

You can feel his deject before he even opens his mouth, and he doesn't -- Rindou doesn't say a thing and he sits there while relishing in whatever he is currently feeling. Perhaps it is guilt. You don't know at this point, you don't want to assume -- not after the tone he's chosen to pick up with you earlier after coming home in what seemed to be annoyance. Not at you -- at his coworkers. You know that much, but you seemed to have received the end of it. It didn't feel nice -- it made you feel like nothing despite the way he still finds it in him to put away your laundry back in the closet after passing by the couch.

Sakiya doesn't acknowledge his presence outrightly. You don't look at him.

He sighs.

You hear a small clatter against the parquet, and your eyes move to take a quick glance. Your heart stops beating in your chest for a long minute, but you don't make it known.

You've half-expected him to see it -- it's placed in such an obvious place, he'd be an awful fucking husband to not notice. But you did not expect him to bring it to you; to look at you after with so much emotion held that almost makes you want to give in and cry when you peep at his eyes.

The pregnancy test looks so small in between the three of you on the floor compared to how big it seemed when it sat in the safety of your palms back in the morning -- shaky hands belonging to you who was alone, unsure of what to do, with no husband to yell for, and a girl eating sliced kiwi by the breakfast table who is still so young that you don't know what to tell her -- if you should be telling her this soon in your pregnancy that is still yet to be confirmed by a doctor.

But she finds out anyway. Sakiya has always been a smart girl. A gifted one too -- many would say.

And she suddenly tugs on the strap of your nightgown.

So you decide to ignore. You ignore him.

You continue indulging in Sakiya's little blabbers of telling her more about babies and you kiss her cheek after every sentence that you speak. You try to keep it as simple as possible -- that Mama and Daddy fell in love, had her together.

And you think your baby is so sweet when she flashes a toothy grin and soft almond eyes fold into thin crescents at the mention of you and her father -- she's always loved listening to the stories that you and Rindou tell her about the past; your youths, your memories that are still so vivid when playing in both your heads, your love for each other that had eventually blossomed into a little girl named Sakiya . . .

And Rindou's heart cracks a little more underneath those ribs and bones when you still don't acknowledge him, even though he is sitting just there -- right beside you -- and holding his pointer out to which Sakiya had immediately wrapped her little hand around it after seeing.

You aren't looking at him but he knows you are so much more than upset -- you are heartbroken -- and he notices how you try so hard to look at everything but him (you want to look at him), choosing to play with your daughter's hair and nosing at her chubby cheeks instead. He sees the little quiver of your lips that grows a little more rigid when Sakiya turns to him and asks if he knows -- because his eyes has never once left you the moment he'd entered the room.

"Did you know, Daddy? A baby in Mama's belly, again."

He didn't.

Rindou had only found out that you were pregnant again just ten minutes ago when he'd entered the bathroom after finally finishing his paperwork. He pushes the door open, and the first thing that meets his eyes is the white pregnancy stick on the counter with two bold red lines slapping him in the face after he moves closer to take a look.

And his heart drops to his chest.

It all connects, and Rindou leans back against the wooden door with a soft thud, a towel bunched up and sits messily on one folded arm as he holds the test with both hands carefully and thinks about all that he's done.

Because Rindou had been mean to you earlier -- you were clearly trying to tell him something from the way you've been attempting to drag him off to where Sakiya couldn't hear, and he'd brushed you off.

You tried talking to him when he finally came home after work -- smiling ear to ear when you greeted him at the front door and kissing his collarbone as a silent yet intimate welcome home.

Welcome home to us.

And you say while scratching at your scalp that you've just finished cooking dinner -- if he wanted to eat first or to shower first -- while throwing in a remark that you need a shower too, maybe we can talk in the bath. He tells you he isn't feeling that hungry despite the message being sent to you earlier -- asking if you could cook some curry because he has been craving for it lately -- and you nod when he walks away despite feeling a little weird from his sudden change in behaviour because Rindou seldom ever comes home like this, moody and . . . curt.

So you follow behind after making sure that Sakiya is entertained with her TV show that you say in brief and short sentences about you and your daughter's day. You know he is always overwhelmed and tired after work -- you don't want to bombard him with too much information, so you keep it short and simple.

It's a habit how you decide to shift your attention away from your husband who is putting away your laundry in the closet and instead, fidgeting with a pile of his clothes that's yet to be hung up. You figure it's because you're nervous of telling him about the news, so you're finding ways to distract yourself while making the atmosphere less tense and Rindou sighs a little too loudly when you pause to hear his reply to your genuine question.

"Did you finish the bento today? Was the shimeji nice? I got up earlier to make it because it takes longer to cook."

He turns to you and purses his lips before laying a hand flat out with his palm facing the sky, and you stare at it. You blink a few times, unsure of what is it that he wants, so you figure to place your own in his with a cheeky smile. A tease is about to fall out of your mouth until he sighs again.

Rindou clicks his tongue, "the clothes." A deep frown forms on his forehead while he stares at the pile of fabric in your hands, and under the intense atmosphere that he's planted in the room, you're feeling warm everywhere. Not the kind of warmth that makes you all giddy on the inside though, but the one that sends a hurtful pang to your chest and you're forced to hand him the clothes when he snatches it out of your grip.

Why is he being like this?

You grow awkward when he doesn't say anything further after turning his back to you. And you must've been a fool -- a fool to not realise his growing agitation, when you open your mouth to tell him you'll be getting dinner ready.

You should've left. You should've just left him and his stupid attitude in there to get as mad as he wants. You should've went back to Sakiya and helped her in changing the channels -- your baby was calling for you and her father both. You realise then that he hadn't given Sakiya her forehead kiss that she looks forward to everyday.

But a loose thread from presumably one of his clothes swirls around in the air and ultimately, it finds its place on Rindou's hair.

So you don't leave. You and your stupid heart don't.

"Baby, I'll scoop rice. Come eat when it's still warm." You inch closer to pick away the white thread. You're only millimetres away from it -- it is so close to your fingertips. You'll pick away the thread and then leave him alone -- but Rindou turns back around before you're able to do anything.

It was all so sudden. You hadn't expected it. You never saw it coming.

And it seems that your sudden closeness to him had agitated him further.

"Fuck,"

You wanted to end the conversation.

"Can you stop talking?"

He thought you were going to speak more.

And that, with an angry, dark glare, paired with a very deep frown that you don't think you've ever saw this look of absolute anger and annoyance being directed at you before, is enough to make you step back, all silent.

"I'm tired. And you keep on talking. Can you do it later or something?" He spits, words a little mumbly but with a hurtful tut to it. You know he is never one to raise his voice at you or his daughter no matter the situation, especially now that Sakiya is here with newfound emotions that she's still yet to feel and learn how to regulate, but he did it today, and he clicks his tongue another time before swiftly resuming to his task at hand.

So the laundry was a means to ease his mind off things.

But you can see the slight falter of his demeanour when he turns around again -- not fully, just enough for him to look at you, to see the hurt in your eyes as you look at the floor, and upon feeling his attention, you lift your chin up to stare back at him. You gaze into his eyes that once held so much anger and annoyance in them -- it is now full of guilt and shame. Perhaps he is sorry for raising his voice at you, he is sorry for cussing at you, but he doesn't say a thing, and he turns his back to you again.

Though Rindou didn't outrightly yell at you, it doesn't mean that it hurt any less than having someone do it. You think it hurt more than that.

Your hand rests by your side, fingers twitching as you feel sweat gather in your palms.

The pain in your heart is suffocating.

You turn your back and close the door with a loud pang. It was a fury of thought, and it scared Sakiya. You immediately regret the action upon seeing the shock in her eyes, the stutter in her breath as she tries hard to regain her peace. "Sorry, baby. Mama's sorry." You apologise with a shaky voice while carrying her up from the couch and towards the kitchen. She nuzzles her nose in your neck with wide eyes after feeling your comfort while looking back at the door to your bedroom, where Rindou is not present.

He hadn't followed you out. He still hasn't tried to apologise.

So you don't talk to him the entire evening -- not even when Sakiya was tugging on the end of your shirt gently and asking if Daddy wants to eat dinner too through a mouth full of rice and curry. You'd simply wiped away the excess off the corner of her lips and adjusted her napkin hanging on her neck, "Daddy will eat later. We'll eat first."

And it's when you figure that you're done for the day and headed into your daughter's bedroom to check on her and give her some affirmations that Rindou finally heads into the shower and notices the stick on the counter.

It was a slap to reality. He hadn't realised until then that he was being unfair to you earlier -- those mean words and the ugly expression he's given you, it makes him want to punch himself for making you feel so unwanted, because he's always the one who tells you to keep talking, and listens closely as you do. Rindou had promised not to bring work and its emotions back home, and now he's gone and done this. He's gone and hurt you.

He broke your heart.

He'd stared at the stick for quite a long time, with vibrating eyes deciding to take a quick glance at the bin just beneath the counter -- filled with boxes and boxes of pregnancy test kits and they all have the same results.

You are pregnant again, and he sure is a big fool for not noticing it earlier -- how you've been starting to crave the same things you wanted when you were carrying Sakiya, how you've started to speak less as to not get emotional because he knows your sensitivity must be heightened and everything would seem sad to you, how you've been feeling more and more tired lately because of your hormonal change . . .

And he also knows that you aren't ready for a second child -- you'd said it to him one night before falling asleep that even though it's already been 4 years since you've given birth to Sakiya, you don't think your body is ready for another baby yet. The trauma, the pain, the healing for both mentally and physically, it is all too much for you to handle, and he understands. Your recovery process was rough and his heart hurts when reminded of the days you'd cry in his arms that you don't think you're cut out for this -- for being a mother. Baby blues had hit you hard and it'd took a long time for it to wear off on you. And yet he thinks that here you are, being the best mother one can ever ask for.

You've not made any plans together for a second child either, and though it may sound a little harsh and mean, but Rindou doesn't think he is suitable to be a father of two. Sure, his baby is well-behaved, but there are still days where Sakiya herself can be a little bit too much to handle -- she is still a toddler after all.

So to add in another in the family? Rindou is not sure if he can handle it.

His train of thought gets disrupted when Sakiya curiously shakes his hand a little. He gets pulled back to the present again with the motion, and finds that she's staring at him with wide eyes that mirrors his own. She's waiting for an answer. He brings her hand up to place a kiss on the back of her palm before rubbing gentle circles at it.

His gaze focuses back at you before choosing his words -- you're staring at the parquet while playing with a loose thread on Sakiya's Hello Kitty onesie that you got for her a few winters ago. She still fits in it, surprisingly, and it sure is her favourite one to wear to bed while her father pats her back to sleep and you're beside to run a palm over her hair.

"I didn't. Just found out." He decides to tell his daughter honestly. You bite at your lip to stop the quiver, the sadness in you growing tenfold when it finally sinks it after his words -- that this is how Rindou finds out about it. You wanted to be the one to break it to him. You wanted to be there to see the initial look of shock on his face when he realises. But that wasn't how it went, and instead, the reveal of your new happiness growing in your belly was found out by its parents separately, both alone, along with emotions of anger mixed in with a little fear.

This isn't how it should be. I'm sorry.

An endearing giggle breaks you both out of your minds with Sakiya shaking her father's hand and tugging at your dress at the same time. She's so happy at her father's response. "Sakiya found out before Daddy, Mama." She turns her head at you, laughing.

That alone is enough to have you crumble. And you start to weep when Rindou leans forward to rest his forehead on your shoulder. He then presses his cheek to your arm, scrunching his nose playfully at his daughter who is finding joy in pinching her father's cheek, while a hand of his snakes around your frame to find solace on your waist. It moves up and down, slowly, warmly, and he moves closer and closer until he's fully hugging you now. Despite the previous anger and sadness, you still let him do it though, and you too fight the urge to lean back against his chest and cry.

You instinctively hug your daughter close to your chest and press your face in her neck. She is so much more smaller than you are, but you don't think you have felt so safe holding someone in your arms. There is your husband, but he's been feeling a little distant lately.

Sakiya wraps herself around your neck a little tighter at your sudden movements -- as though she had sensed something was wrong, and something is wrong. "Mama." She calls out softly as a habit and you hum, albeit a little broken and hoarse, but she knows that you've responded to her -- she knows that you're here with her -- and it is all that matters.

His chest tightens when you fix yourself quickly -- a little sniffle, a wipe to your eyes, and you choose to push away your emotions. You are still avoiding him -- his eyes -- choosing to focus on your 4 year old who is babbling mindlessly into your chest instead and you're grinning brightly when she tries speaking in English. She's started picking up the language from you, perhaps by listening in on a few of the conversations you'd have with Rindou on the dinner table in a foreign language still not taught to her yet because there are things you don't want her to hear, to know. Bills, taxes, the car loan, are we getting groceries on Saturday or Sunday? Baby's birthday is coming up, do you have any ideas on what to do?

Rindou's moved so close to the point he has his chin on one of your shoulders with both hands securing around you and Sakiya as he listens to the two of you converse, with you trying so hard to avoid his steady breath as it fans over the expanse of your skin. It's so tempting, but you stand your ground.

Sakiya then spurs out a little something cheerfully -- you don't know the word she's trying to say, but it is cute and lovely to hear her try and you pat her butt with another soft kiss to her forehead.

And for a split second Rindou thought he'd seen you in your arms -- your face in your arms -- because despite what you and so many other people tell him, he thinks that Sakiya looks much more like you than she looks like him -- she's got your smile, your chin, your hair, your grace, your silliness . . .

Yet she also looks so much like him, and he finds his fleeting mind wandering further and further whenever Sakiya would sit on his lap and look straight into his eyes with a big, toothy smile. It is as though he is staring into a mirror -- at a reflection of himself, and through her eyes he sees so many things, like the young boy from Roppongi who is still so little with so many high hopes to so many new things in life, and always, the one thing that stands out the most is love: a warmth that has a bit of a red and orangey tinge to it when she hugs him as he carries her around, the flower of her father's name that she scribbles with coloured crayons on A4 papers daily to practice her 4 year old handwriting, and she's calling for you to come look at this 'new' scar on Daddy's eyebrow that has actually been there for the past 20 years.

He'd smile a little at the vision -- he doesn't think it's weird. Of course he'd see love in her.

Because Sakiya is love. It is evident with the times she'd randomly high five strangers in public, in restaurants with other kids her age, in daycare where she's almost friends with everybody her age due to her cheerfulness, and especially the times she'd sleep in your bed -- squeezed and coddled between the both of you -- with small arms still holding onto the bunny her father got her when she was still a newborn. She refuses to let you wash it too.

A total contrast of her father, and yet she's so much like him.

"Baby, you look so much like your Daddy." He hears you whisper to your daughter who is grinning widely in your arms with both little hands now covering yours that cups her cheeks. It makes him start chewing off the skin on his bottom hip when he sees the soft look in your eyes as you point out the similarities of him and your daughter. He was so mean to you earlier; mean for no damn reason at all, and his guilt starts eating him alive when Sakiya lulls her head to the side with eyes that are about to close.

"Mama, dodo." "Dodo? Okay."

You start moving at it, and Rindou watches with a careful yet loving gaze hidden behind half-lidded eyes as you carefully manoeuvre her body properly into your arms and stand up. He notices that you're avoiding your lower abdomen a lot, and despite being sleepy, Sakiya is also careful when positioning her little legs -- he figures that you've already briefed her a little by yourself on what not to do now that you're pregnant and your body is a little more vulnerable than usual.

A part of him screams for him to do it instead -- to stand up and put Sakiya to bed instead of letting you who is in a much more vulnerable state to do so.

And the other part of him doesn't let himself move to put your daughter to sleep despite it being something that he always does -- he is always away during the day for work, so you let him have a little space for himself to spend some time with his daughter alone at night. The sick part of him wants his eyes to admire the pretty outline of your body -- your alluring back, the way your neck looks when faced under the moonlight from the curtains that you leave open just a little because Sakiya doesn't like the dark a lot, your bottom that he loves touching at so much but he resists his itchy hands for now.

You're cradling your daughter warmly as you bounce her gently in order to coo her into sleep faster and his mind travels back to the times when Sakiya was still a newborn -- all those sleepless nights of waking up abruptly at 3 in the morning to her cries, and you'd shush her gently with a kiss before pulling up the top of whatever you're wearing to breastfeed and pat her back to sleep with tired yawns and droopy eyelids.

Caring for babies were still new to the two of you and yet Rindou would always stay up with you while rubbing your sore back despite being told to go back to sleep because you can handle it. He remembers vividly the way you've always looked like an angel when cradling your newborn in your arms as you hum a soft lullaby that Granny had always sung to you when you were still her age.

And Rindou thinks you look so pretty when your nightgown sways a little with you as you bounce and rock your baby in your arms, humming the same lullaby to her ear as she finally falls asleep.

His wife, the mother of his children. His lover -- you.

"Goodnight, 'Kiya." You kiss her forehead before placing her back in her crib and she hums tiredly. "Night night, Mama."

Sakiya doesn't say it to Rindou. He feels a little hurt, but eventually accepts that he deserves his daughter's neglect tonight to have treated you in such a way. You pick up your things in one hand and move to exit the room, so he quickly reaches down the crib to place a kiss on Sakiya's forehead while rubbing a few slow circles on her temple, to which she starts snoring gently at it.

And he follows silently behind you as you head back into your bedroom and sit by the dresser. He doesn't dare enter; he doesn't want to overwhelm you. So he stands by the entrance and watch as you take off your earrings, dump it into a container and untie your hair. He watches as you comb through the locks and put on some oil, as you pat down your dress and crawl into bed. He watches intently as you avoid laying on your stomach, you're careful when manoeuvring yourself under the sheets and he watches as you get comfortable and lay on your back with a huff.

Youdon't talk to him, and you turn off the lamp.

He walks, and he switches it back on.

You feel the dip of the mattress and open your eyes.

"Hey." Rindou finally says as he sits by your leg and sigh. You don't feel like talking to him, but you want to look at him -- so you do. You watch him hold the stick in one hand and the other rubs softly on your ankle.

"Can we talk?" You blink tiredly at his request and he moves down to rest his head on your lap. He's peering up at you now, eyes staring so intently into yours that you choose to look at his forehead instead. Somehow it felt a little scary to face his eyes, his intense stare, his pretty purples -- you're afraid you're going to see the same expression being directed at you again, but you see the little frown on forehead and your thumb itches to rub it over his skin.

You stop yourself after being reminded of where it got you both when you didn't leave it alone.

That sparked a small anger in you.

"You told me to shut up, and now you want to talk?" You're starting to feel a little petty, and you know it is passive aggressive -- not a good way to communicate after a fight -- but the anger is starting to take over your emotions and before you can stop it from taking its final form, you push his head away from your thigh gently.

"I'm sorry." Rindou sits back up in one swift motion, face full of his apology and you throw the blanket covering your legs away to the side with a huff. He's never one to apologise.

"Are you?" You scoff a little, "or are you only saying sorry after seeing that?" You jut your chin towards the stick in his hand and he sighs at the realisation of your thoughts, your brain, while furrowing his brows in the process of trying to get you to calm down just a little.

He's majorly fucked up.

"It's nothing like that, fuck." Rindou scoots closer to your body, panic evident in the way he moves and a warm hand covers your cheek. "Please, baby. Shit, it's not that at all." He pleads, thumb running over your eye bags and you close your eyes at it. You're frowning, you're angry, you're upset, you're tired -- it's everything all at once. Lips pouting, nose souring, and when you open your eyes up again you find a stray tear rolling down your cheek.

You feel so sad.

"Rindou." It's a desperate call, and you're sobbing fully now. Just five seconds was all it took for you to break down and cry and he panics a little when wobbly fingers peel his hand away from your skin. All the pent up emotions -- mostly of sadness and anxiety, finally breaking free from its facade and you choose to shuffle into his lap.

He is still in his work clothes, you're already showered and changed into your nightgown, but you don't care. Though he's upset you, all you want to do is to have him hold you and cry. He presses you close immediately and cups both of your cheeks, thumbs swiping away the many tears that follows.

You cry harder at it, because Rindou is the only one who can ever give you this much comfort, and yet he was also the same person who'd taken it away from you with just words and an ugly expression casted your way.

And you're honest when you say it to him.

"Baby, I can't do this if you're only in it for the children."

Rindou's world crumbles around him.

Sweat starts forming on his skin and he feels his cheeks burn stingily from your words. He is absolutely devastated when you said you can't do this -- do what? His breath stutters in his mouth as you sob silently and you cover your palms over your eyes to cover yourself from his. Overflowing tears escapes your hands as it rolls down the sides of your cheeks, and he finally processes your words then.

It's nothing like that.

"Baby," His eyeballs vibrates and blown out pupils flickers back and forth between you and the test kit in his hands. He needs to actually know what you're trying to say -- it can't be what he's thinking, right? He loves you and your daughter too much for anything bad to happen -- he knows he's fucked up. He didn't mean what he said to you earlier.

Please talk to me. Please. Don't stop talking.

"You're only making up to me because I'm pregnant, right? You want the baby. I know you do. All men wants them." You hiss through broken cries and his heart clenches at it -- like a chain filled with thorns and needles tightening around his flesh and it sends such a throbbing pain through his chest; but he knows that what you're feeling right now is ten times worse than that, and it is all because of him -- solely him and his major fuck up where the anger and frustration shouldn't be aimed at you at all. He should've never brought the work home with him -- it's done nothing but stress and weigh on his mind all evening.

"It's nothing like that." Rindou repeats his words and he attempts to kiss your cheek but you turn your head away from him; from the warmth that you crave so eagerly from him.

"How can I know? You were so mean to me earlier, I'm starting to think you don't want me anymore. Husbands don't talk to their wives like that."

You cry, you wail, your heart breaks in your chest even more, and he doesn't think there's anything he can do that can make up for it.

"I'm sorry." He slowly turns your head back to him. "Are you? Or are you only saying sorry just because you want me to stop crying?" You glare at him.

"I'n sorry, baby." Your cheek is to him, and he finally gets to kiss your fat now. One kiss and it's got him placing more and more on your skin. "So sorry." Again and again, as a way to display of his apologies that he's begging to your heart but you shake your head in denial with a pout.

"Men only stay with their wife for kids. They don't love them, they only want children." You spit with an angry sob.

Rindou knows it is your trauma speaking, and he doesn't blame you at all -- he knows the kind of father yours is, the kind of father his was, and hot tears spring to his waterline at the connection. He'd swore to himself to never become the men the two of them were, and now, he seems to be following in their footsteps . . .

Or perhaps Rindou is being a little too rough on himself -- because deep down he knows he is nothing like the men who have left a dark imprint on both your upbringings; that he is so much better than who they were in your lives -- a better man, a better person, a better father. And after releasing your anger it seems you also know that he is nothing like them too. So you cling to his neck and pull him closer to your body while placing wobbly kisses on his jawline as an apology for comparing him to them.

You're nothing like them. I'm sorry.

"I love you." Rindou whispers against your skin. It's heartwarming, the way he dips his head down to press his lips on your throat and squeeze at your hips until you're nothing but a wailing mess.

His heart cracks loudly in his chest. "I'm sorry. I was mean, I'm sorry. Didn't mean it, baby." And Rindou keeps on saying it again and again until your cries finally die down just a little and you start breathing properly again.

So much mucus in your nose and he pulls out a tissue from the nightstand for you to let it all out. It's messy -- your face is wet from tears, snot is still dribbling down your nose as he helps you to wipe them off with another clean sheet of tissue, and your lips are so red and quivery from the cry, the sadness.

There's still a hint of doubt in your eyes when he pulls away to take a good look at you. Rindou tries kissing it away, "love you, Mama." Your bottom lip juts out a little at it and he kisses on it softly, "love you." Rindou says it again and you knock your forehead against his cheekbone. It's a little gesture to show that you've acknowledged it, but you're going to need some time to say it back. Not now -- at least when you're finally okay enough to look him in the eyes again.

And it's when his vacant hand intertwines with your sticky ones that you finally ask him the question you've been wanting to this whole time.

". . . Are we keeping it?"

He's silent for a minute. A puzzled look on his face has fear running through your veins, afraid of what he's going to say.

But Rindou simply blinks down at your panic form instead.

"Why not?" He asks, warm hands running down your back, your neck, your cheek.

Rindou is truly confused by your question.

Relief washes over your body at his reply. You sigh into his chest, ". . . We haven't had plans for another." You state, and he picks away a torn, wet piece of tissue just beneath your eyes.

"Well, it's here." He fiddles with your strap next, fixing it in place. "And we're keeping it . . . right?" He looks at you while he asks it, wanting for your confirmation as well. He needs to be ensured that you want this just as much as he does. He's the one giving them surname, but you're the one giving them life -- a home -- with eyes to open to the world, and touch to feel the universe.

You nod softly at it, albeit a bit hesitant but you feel a little bit better when he soothes a hand down your back to ground you. "I wanna."

Rindou smiles -- it's a little shy, but you're shy too, and he pulls you closer to his chest with a warmth that only you can plant in him.

"Then I'm okay," There's still a cry left in you but you hold it in. "We'll figure it out as we go." He says with a nose to your cheek and you blink away the tears. "'Kiya is here with us too, no?" You nod again and he nods at you. "We'll figure it out together."

It's not perfect -- he knows his apology isn't complete, but he's got you calmed down for now, and you've figured out an answer together. He'll find more ways to make it up to you tomorrow, or at least when you're not as tired as how droopy your eyelids are right now -- you're sleepy and he knows, so he gently helps you to lay on your back carefully and he kisses your forehead.

You fall asleep in an instant with him kissing you every once in a while, and Rindou lays with you just a little bit longer before he finally gets up, off the bed. A small part of him knows it is not the correct way but he wishes that hopefully a warm shower will be able to wash away his guilt . . .

He carefully places the pregnancy test in an envelope, writing down the date and some other details before peeling off a yellow post-it from his desk.

Call Fujita for appointment

Buy mango rice

Rindou slaps it on the fridge. He steps back a little to look at it and eyes the big calendar hanging off the wall.

A few bites at his fingernails, a few more clicks his tongue, he decides to jot down the same things on there too, in the box of tomorrow's date -- he doesn't want to forget it.

He steps back again and his left foot hits a toy.

And all of a sudden Haitani Rindou is 31 again, a nervous first-time parent who'd just found out about your very first pregnancy together. The raw emotions running through his veins as he looks up on research online with shaky hands, as he held your hand while you consulted with your doctor for the very first time, as you both sat on the floor in the bathroom together wondering about the future.

Now, standing in the middle of his kitchen alone as he fidgets with one of Sakiya's toy he'd picked up from the floor, Rindou thinks it is okay despite the little worry about handling two kids now.

You'll figure it out together -- as parents, as a family.

reblogs are appreciated! thank you for reading <3

[anominous-user]

ellie^2

original cgs

[frazzledazzlin]

when mission goes well idk i dont have a right hand man

[theghooligan]

live footage of me watching mitsuya takashi be the epitome of sexy in today’s episode:

[jjustjjulian]

my favorite furry <3 and the others too ig

also the drawings of hunter with vitiligo is my hc design !! if anyone is interested i can talk more abt it

[mikeys-bike-slut]

Look what i've got 🥺

[zaenaris]

KokoInu never beating the yin/yang allegations☯️

Tumugi design collection associates a stone to each character based on their birthdays (1 April 1990 for Koko and 18 October 1989 for Inupi).

Inupi has schörlite while Koko has crystal 🖤🤍 while the little strass is the character’s color image💜💛

Since Koko likes crystals and stones a tarot reading, I guess he’s happy with this collab!

[raamitsu]

most of them are so…… gothic.

[perenlop]

the image of various scenes with TR crossdressing with the caption “team rocket, destroying gender roles since 1997” has done so much damage to pokemon community and even more damage to the people who haven’t watched anipoke in years and hail them the best queer rep ever from vague memories from their childhood alone

FOR REAL TBH like truly just ignoring that all of those scenes are intended to mock them.

ik its not a big deal its just a pole that i wasnt even following, but something that annoyed me specifically with the one poll was when jessie was against lillie and everyone was like "OMG VOTE JESSIE BC ITS PRIDE MONTH SO YOU HAVE TO OR YOU HATE THE GAYS!!!!!" when like... im sorry lillie has more genuine lgbt hinting than jessie does sldjfslkdfjslkd.

like sure its not the biggest thing ever but one of these characters was pouring their heart out to a girl in the rain about how important she is to her and how much she depends on her while a rainbow comes out, has an arc about breaking out of the strict roles her mother forced her into, and literally gets an RGU reference in the anime and a deeply devoted "best friend", and its not jessie. sure none of that is exactly explicit groundbreaking stuff and i personally wouldnt say youre meant to see lillie as bi, but its more than what jessie's got

[8aji]

tags/cw: hurt/comfort, mentions of major character death, based on this tiktok, peep the love actually reference at the bottom // wc: 300ish

After Shinichiro Sano died, you started to see hearts everywhere.

No matter where you go, you always find at least one. When you go grocery shopping, the cherries in your cart resemble teeny-tiny hearts. During your weekly outings with Wakasa—who, at first, had to practically drag you out of your house where you were cooped up for more than a week after it happened—you run into one particular graffitied wall with hearts sprinkled here and there all over the painting. When you pick up Emma and Mikey from school, the two always point out the heart-shaped clouds that hover over you.

Stickers on lampposts and electricity metres, little pebbles that stick inside your shoes, shiny balloons hovering outside a storefront, the coffee stain on your blouse. A puddle in front of your doorstep after a rainy night—you didn't see it there at first, noticing its existence only after your shoes got soaked, and instead of cursing the whole world for forcing you to change, a tiny crack of your broken heart managed to mend itself once you noticed the shape.

Hearts are everywhere and anywhere, and with their presence, you could feel your sorrows gradually melt away. Layer after layer, the faults within your heart become less and less prominent, until the only thing you could see were the sewn seams of flesh. 

It is comforting in a way. The more of them you encounter, the more you understand that the leaves and the flower petals and the cracks on the pavement, the shadows you cast as you pass by and sprinkles on the cupcakes your friends got you for your birthday when you felt like you couldn't get up. In every wiggly and wavy line—though sometimes they could look abnormally straight—in the dents and creases and slopes and strokes. He was there in every heart you encounter, keeping you company, following you almost like a lost puppy, like he did when he was alive. 

And as time goes by, and the less tangible your heartbreak becomes, you find comfort in the fact that if you look for him hard enough, you will find that his love actually is all around.

© 2022 SHINACHIRO ; Do not repost my work. Do not recommend my work outside of tumblr. Do not translate my work.

[hai7ani]

my sun, my stars and my moon / haitani rindou

hurt/comfort, post pregnancy

home collection

standing in front of the mirror with nothing on and you're looking at yourself through the reflection. it's a little after 11 on a sunday night, you're fresh out of the shower ー hair still damp, skin still soft and moist from the scorching heat of the bath ー and you're looking at what pregnancy has done to your body.

so many years later with two kids ー a five year old girl and a 10 months old baby boy, and your body looks so much different than it was before. gentle yet hesitant fingers trail along the marks on your abdomen and your nose sours a little. a long scar running up your skin from the Caesarian you'd undergo, stretch marks donning your lower abdomen from the few pregnancies you've had, and you try smiling a little when you catch yourself in the eye.

wrinkles have started to form on the outer corners of your eyes ー they're not very noticeable, but you can tell they're there, and another hand moves up to caress your face. your skin isn't as smooth as it was before ー needing serum and cream to maintain the spring when you poke a finger into your cheek, though you don't always keep up with the skincare. your breasts are saggy from all the milk you've produced and fed to your kids ー so you straighten up a little and fix your posture. you massage the upper part a little and you look at yourself again ー you're still you. but you weren't who you were before. you're different than the girl who had so much hopes and dreams about motherhood herself.

and rindou watches. he watches from where he sits on the edge of the bed as you admire yourself through the reflection. the sliding door to the bathroom is left open and you hadn't noticed that he'd entered the room after putting your kids to sleep. you've just returned from a wedding dinner of a dear friend and after noticing the little bulge on her belly hidden under her tight wedding dress you can't help but feel your heart swell with joy as she gushes to you about how excited she is for motherhood. and you remember she'd looked so stunning, so bright. she was glowing the entire night.

and you'd told her all about it ー that you're sure she'll become a great mother (she's always dreamt of becoming one and you've always been there throughout her journey), that all she'll be experiencing upon giving birth is nothing but pure love and warmth when she holds her newborn on the hospital bed with shaky hands and a teary face, and that yes, motherhood is indeed exciting.

though here you are ー wiping away a stray tear when it rolls down your cheek and you look away from the mirror with a huffed breath. rindou hurriedly stands up and follows behind when you turn around and pad into the closet, and he sneakily peeks behind the doorframe as you slide open the wardrobe on the most far left ー the one that you both use to store outfits for formal events ー and he knows exactly what you're looking for. he thinks you're so cute when you stand on your tippy toes to reach for the hanger.

you pull out a very heavy dress and the mesh material ruffles when you shake some of the dust away. and rindou is in awe. he watches with nothing but large hearts in his eyes and a warm chest that feels so, so tight with affection as you slowly, gently put on your wedding dress with nothing beneath. the material is a little itchy on your skin from the lack of inner wear but you ignore it and grin when you manage to put it on all by yourself.

you move to another mirror with excitement and twirl around a little to admire yourself. the dress shimmers under the light and you think you look so stunning. so young. so beautiful. rindou starts moving on his feet and you yelp a little when all of a sudden your husband emerges in the reflection behind you. "rin," you stun. he doesn't meet your eyes through the mirror, choosing to smile instead as two hands work to zip up your dress. you don't miss the way his fingers brushes against your spine in a very seducing way and your breath hitches in your throat when he swipes your wet hair away to the side and kisses your nape as he pulls up the zipper, and the dress still fits you fine ー a little tight around the bust and the hips but you still looked as stunning as you did on your wedding day, and he wraps his arms around your form. it's tight, it's warm, it's comforting.

"what're you doin'?" he asks as if he doesn't know what you're up to while he sways your body side to side and placing kiss after kiss on your neck, and you're feeling so shy ー you hadn't meant for him to find you like this (though he's already been watching from the start). you think it's a little embarrassing for someone your age and title to be putting on your wedding dress from so many years ago despite the bubbling urge from earlier to do so, but all those thoughts vanish from your head and you snap out of your trance when rindou taps his fingers against your hipbones. a signal for you to reply. he wants to hear you speak, he wants to hear your mind ー it's telltale from how he's staring at you through the mirror. you see nothing but patience and affection in his striking purples and you decide to stop fighting back the smile that's itching to stretch across your lips.

"jus' wanted to look pretty. 'cus i think i looked prettiest on our wedding day, so..." you confess with a blush and he's quick with his reply while he massages your waist. "you're always pretty, mama." the nickname he calls you makes you blush even harder and you rest your head back on his chest to look up at the ceiling. rindou calls you that every day after you've become parents but this... this time it just feels a little more intimate than before. you feel even more giddy and you think your heart is going to explode anytime from the overwhelming amount of love he's showering you right now.

you click your tongue and sigh after a beat. "take it off, love. it's embarrassing." you fuss a little when he refuses to let you go. "why? you jus' said you look pretty. why should i take it off?"

you speak after a pause.

"i'm not how i used to be, baby. you too. we're getting old now. i found a few grey hair when showering." you talk with a pout and he hums. he knows it's not the main problem that's troubling you but he'll play along with you just for a while. "yeah, we are getting old." he spins you around to face him," but 's not that bad, is it?" you raise your brows in question.

"we're getting old together. you 'n me. i think that's nice."

rindou is a man who speaks little. he's not a big talker, he mostly listens to people speak, and he's been like that since he was young (except for all the gloating when still a delinquent). but when he does, it always means so much more.

"it's a blessing to grow old, you know. aging is a gift not everybody gets."

and you watch through blurry eyes filled with tears as he gets down on one knee before you ー just like he did so many years ago at the beach when he's decided to propose to you again properly in front of his brother and your family. he kisses the back of your hands and brings them forward to cup his cheeks. his warm and secure hands hold yours steady to his face as your thumbs caress his cheeks, and you relish in every emotion radiating off of him as rindou looks up at you.

"always my prettiest. even prettier when you're a mom now."

hot tears drip to the floor as he inches closer to you on the floor to press a kiss to your abdomen through the many layers of your wedding dress. his hands move away from yours to cup the back of your waist and he gives your figure a slight squeeze, and you cry even harder when rindou presses his cheek flush to your body and looks up at you again with half-lidded eyes. it's so intimate. it's so beautiful. you figure you've done all the good deeds in your past life to deserve something like this ー someone like him.

and he continues. "you've created life. two lives, in here." rindou runs a thumb over your abdomen. "and these scars," he smiles. "they gave them life. it's proof that you gave them life. don't ever forget that." you wrap your hands around his jaw and pout with trembling lips as he kisses your wrist.

a beat passes and a small "okay." leaves your lips. just one word and it's enough of a assurance for rindou to stand back up and scoop you into his arms. you immediately cling onto him and wipe your tears away on his shirt ー it smells like baby powder with a hint of strawberry that you recognise from your daughter's shampoo and you sniffle with a smile before pressing your lips to his. "thank you, love." you give him another sweet smooch to his cheek, and he's sweet when he tickles your neck with his nose.

"wear this to sleep please?"

he thinks you're so lovely when you laugh into his ear despite the actually painful pinch to his cheek.

"no!"

🪻 HAI7ANI ON TUMBLR / REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED! THANK YOU FOR READING!

[osmanighazi]

He is actively disturbing the peace

[violettierre]

You can't just throw shit like that in my face and expect me to be neutral about it.

[kingdumkum]

kasey KasEy KASEY !!!

i NEED you to do D, E, and K of the dirty alphabet for Baji and Kazutora 🥵 like… I don’t think you understand how much of a primal need this is 😩🤌

Love you to the moon and back x3 bb girl 🫶🏻💕

dw it's a primal need for me too apparently!

*shouldn’t have to reiterate that they’re aged up, per my RULES, but they are. AU where everyone lives. Baji, Chifuyu, and Kaz have a pet store that, very accidentally, turns into a pet clinic. Kazutora still went to juvie but not because he killed Shin (he survives the attack)—then gets sent back when he gets caught lighting a cop car on fire… with the cop still inside (unbeknownst to him). my real world AU’s are complex. no apologies. i live in a bubble and it’s very cozy here.

D - Dirty (how do they dirty talk? What do they say?)

BAJI runs his mouth. he speaks without thinking, words running faster than his brain —so dirty talk with him goes one of two ways: 1. he starts cocky and arrogant and thinking everything’s by his design. he’s the one stripping you, he’s the one teasing you, he’s the one in complete control. and he demonstrates that by saying the type of thing he knows will rile you up; ’like that, sweetheart?’ and ‘don’t worry baby, I know exactly what you need…gonna give you just what you need,’ and ‘cumming again, really? i haven’t even fucked you proper yet…’ it’s a mix of dirty praise and sweet degradation, bc he’s too smug to control his attitude. but when he actually gets inside you? well… 2. he loses the ability to speak. literally. no matter the position, no matter how many times it’s been, every time Baji buries himself in you for the first time, he loses all higher brain function. the recovery time varies, but without fail, there’s more than a few heartbeats where all he can do is whine your name. breathily moan in your ear. close his eyes tight and try to will himself to last longer than a few weak strokes—and he does. most of the time, at least—but it’s not until you whine his name, fingers digging into the corded muscles of his back, pleading with him to give you more, that he’s able to put on a semblance of the confident, smug, authoritative aura he had when you were at his mercy. it’s Different though; a little shakier. A little less of a cocky tease, and a little more of a pleading question. Same words, different intonation—‘like—like that? yeah, you like that?’ and ‘i know—i know what you need baby, gotta—gotta trust me, yeah? gonna—gonna give it just the way you need…’ and ‘gonna cum for me, sweetheart? y-yeah, me too, gonna cum f’you too…’

keep in mind that KAZUTORA spent the better part of his formative years starved from soft hands and kind words. his version of love was formed by his parents abuse of him and each other, of their neglect and resentment for his very existence. the first kindness he experienced was from a friend who “abandons” him, and while he is able to heal the fragile parts of his mind by the time he’s grown… the lack of ability to grow with people, healthy people who view love as a strength, not a weakness, fundamentally fucks with his vision of what love is, and how to convey it. i can understand why some people might view him more along the aggressive/stern side, and while i am weak for that kind of thing, i can’t see that on Kazutora like 98% of the time. it just doesn’t take into account the mental growth and stability he finds in juvie the second time around (this does NOT apply to jealous/posessive sex, btw, that’ll have him reverting to being teasing and cruel and mean real quick—this applies to the majority of your time with him) SO! that's important to establish so that i can explain how Kaz has the sweetest dirty talk you will ever hear, because there’s no front. there’s no performance or perfection in what he says; what falls from those lips is exactly what he’s thinking, because in those moments of bliss with you, he doesn’t have to hide. he doesn’t have to pretend to be more than he is, moans of your name, pleas to keep going, that usually stuff—but also the praise he’s desperately seeking. ‘you feel like—heaven,’ and ‘never—never knew—someone could feel so good—’ and ‘think—think i fuckin’ love you…’ LOTS of confessions here. lots of accidental i love you’s that really do translate to everything he’s done, even if he’s never able to say it outside the bedroom. he praises you in a way he’s been searching for his whole life, without ever realizing it.

E-Exposed (what is the most daring place they’ve had sex?)

You’d be hard-pressed to find a spot that BAJI hasn’t gotten freaky, but his freakiest dare has been on the back of his bike. he’ll tell you to put on something pretty, take you on a little drive, and pull over—a different spot every time. you’ll watch the sunset, or count the stars, or look out at a brightly lit ocean. he’ll drape an arm over your shoulder, press a kiss to your head, and to anyone who might be driving be, you look like a sweet young couple, stealing kisses and so focused on each other, the rest of the world doesn’t exist. they don’t see the way your panties have been tucked into his belt, or how his fingers prep you just enough so even with his impressive girth, he slides in easy. they attribute the way you hold him close to being cold, or that you’re saying goodbye for a long time, or hello for the first time. they think the way your legs shake are because the bike’s engine is too powerful, and they wonder why a guy like him doesn’t get that looked at. but don’t be deceived by his sweet smile and gentle way he slowly moves his hips; he’s whining in your ear to stop squirming, or someone will see for sure this time.

another horn dog; you say the word and KAZ is yours, however you want him, whenever you want him. he pushes back initially, but only in that sweet, pleading, everything-he-does-embarrasses-him-already kind of way, the are-you-sure-it’s-me kind of way—because he never says no to you. ever. so he goes along with your more wild requests—but the riskiest place that was all his idea? the counter of the pet shop… right before closing. sweet boy didn’t even bother locking the door before he had you propped up on the freshly sanitized counter, your legs wrapping around his hips and his lips attached to your neck in an almost violent manner. he usually has more self-control, these days, but he couldn’t resist then, and when you didn’t stop him… (huge fan of the bathroom quickie, btw—particularly during a slow day when it’s just him and Chifuyu and he knows the latter can hear)

K-Kink (what is their secret kink?)

we all know the obvious for BAJI; marking, exhibitionism (loves to get you off knowing that other people, particularly Chifuyu and Kazutora, can hear), sharing (Chifuyu and Kaz are basically a package deal in this relationship), but something i feel is oft overlooked is mirror sex. not because Keisuke finds himself pretty (though he does), but because when he fucks you in front of a mirror, he can see everything; the way your ass bounces against him, how his cock splits you in half, the pretty arch in your back as you’re on all fours in front of him, the way you go cross-eyed as you feel him in your throat… he never says anything because he knows how everyone will react; they’ll call him narcissist, they’ll assume he likes the way he looks when he fucks, they’ll misunderstand. if he could, he’d fuck you in a room of mirrors, if only to see what you look like from every angle with him buried in your guts.

the idea of family is so strange to KAZUTORA, but he can’t deny the way cumming inside you does something to him. he’s not ready for kids, doesn’t know if he’ll ever be ready (is anyone?), but he damn well knows that as long as you let him, he’ll be filling your sweet cunt up with his load time and time again. the nasty little fuck will eat it out of you, too—and be ready to go for round 2 by the time you’re cumming on his tongue. it’s not much of a secret, except the part where he makes sure you never leave the house without his cum dotting the lining of your panties.

[lostryu]

i swear 90% of slur discourse is literally just “my 1000 word essay on why i can call you a slur and why i shouldn’t get in trouble for it” because goddamn, are you folks getting way too comfortable calling strangers on the internet and marginalized groups slurs just to like, make a point/just for funsies.