#tw fuyuhiko

[ariespetal]

Too lazy to draw today so here's just a ton of these <333

[drawbauchery]

chihiro was already discharged by the time fuyuhiko's class got there, but i need them together.

TRIGGER WARNING:

descriptions of self-harm, suicide attempts, and a bit of blood. (no injuries shown)

[ultimateyakazoo]

i cut corners while making the original comic by meshing scenes from the game together, so with the context this took place during ibukis recovery concert in chapter three

[kiwibongos]

a thing related to this post i made where fuyuhiko Fucking Dies

updated the post so its more thorough, as i did get around to writing that whole thing into a fic. just wanted to throw this in as well. thumbs up emoji

[1loer]

sketches and a wip i have no idea if i'll ever finish.

[kuzyachan]

[snickerzanddoodlez]

I don’t usually swear but…it’s Fuyuhiko

[the-kuzusouda-hideyhole]

To me, a fundamental part of what makes Kuzusouda work as a relationship is acceptance of themselves and each other.

Both Fuyuhiko and Kazuichi seem to experience struggles with toxic masculinity, one way or another, with Fuyuhiko feeling shame over his short stature, baby face and love of sweets, and Kazuichi over-compensating for his social awkwardness (likely a result of autism!) by presenting himself to look more intimidating. These struggles would intensify if they were LGBT+.

While I personally headcanon Kazuichi as bisexual, I do think there's merit to the idea that he is gay and that his infatuation with Sonia is the result of comphet. He likely played up his crush on her for all it's worth in a misguided attempt to convince himself and his peers that he is straight – that he is "normal."

Fuyuhiko, meanwhile, would be so deep in denial over who he really is that he would lash out at anyone who's more confident in their identities, especially their queer and/or GNC identities. This is especially prone to occurring pre-character development, before he begins to have a more cordial relationship with his classmates.

Fuyuhiko and Kazuichi getting to know each other on a deeper level, and realising their shared struggles with toxic masculinity and internalised homophobia, would serve as an important step for them to overcome those issues and learn to love themselves for who they are. The process would be long and arduous, that's for sure, but it'd be worth it in the end.

I can just imagine the end of a fic or something where all this character development has taken place, where Kazuichi has returned to his natural appearance and Fuyuhiko has softened up a little more, and they're just happily snuggled up eating candy together. Actually, come to think of it, that sounds like a good idea for a piece of fanart...

[northlight14]

Fuyuhiko: I’m really sorry Hajime. I feel bad because you’re my brother and I know you like this person but the thing is…I like that person too

Hajime: wait, you like Nagito?

Fuyuhiko: what?!

Hajime: you said you like the same person as me! You like Nagito?!

Fuyuhiko: I like Chiaki!

Hajime: you like Chiaki?!

Fuyuhiko: YOU LIKE NAGITO?!

[eggs-can-draw]

Yakuza tiem

[aparticularbandit]

So someone meta-ed a while back about Bell's Hells and being able to carry pieces of FCG with them, how they are able to do this because he's a robot and not a human, how it's less violent than it would be if he were human, how it's clean.

And it got me thinking about the Remnants of Despair.

So - short explanation for those of you who don't Critical Role - but one of the characters, FCG (Fresh Cut Grass), a robot, heroically self-sacrificed himself to save the party, taking down one of their biggest recurring threats while doing so. Afterward, the party scavenged the pieces of him that they could - his head, the plate with the slashes in it, etc. - and then even later, when they started their new costume designs, some of them literally incorporated pieces of him into their new wardrobe and are literally now wearing pieces of him.

It's bits of metal, but it's also a corpse.

They are wearing FCG's corpse, and it's okay for them to do so because he's a robot and that's metal.

But if he had been human, we would have a much more visceral and disgusted and disturbing reaction to them wearing his skin or his hair or his skull or his bones or twisting any of that into their new clothes. Taking his skin and turning it into armor. Using his bones as equipment. Using his skull as a new helmet.

Because he's a robot, because he's metal, it's cleaner, and we don't think about it in the same way we would a human corpse.

But this is what the Remnants of Despair did, in effect, with Junko's body.

Fuyuhiko took Junko's eye and made it his own.

Nagito took her arm and replaced his with it.

Mikan took her womb and carved it into herself.

(Who knows what all Imposter took; who knows what Teruteru was allowed to consume.)

And we look at it and think this is disgusting and disturbing because you don't treat people that way.

But you can treat people that way when they aren't human.

It's this idea of the Remnants taking the strongest member of them all, who died when they believe she shouldn't have, and taking her into themselves to make themselves stronger, and we are disgusted with that because Junko's human, but Bell's Hells can do the same thing with FCG and we consider that honorable and right because he's not human.

But that's still a corpse.

Both ways, that's still a corpse being looted for parts.

[dansconcepts]

Everything's Coming Up Hajime

The following drabbles (they're little scenes of different things with some more detailed than others because a fic was too ambitious for me :'>>>) completely and wholly inspired by and dedicated to @gliittergelpens for their headcanon post on Hajime (found here) and also the connected follow up interaction here. Go check 'em out :D! And I hope you enjoy this :).

Bleary lights. Bright. Dreary. 

Alone.

Alone.

Alone.

NO!

Bolt, bolted, he can’t move, why can’t he move? Everything’s not okay, why is he here again? Where are they? Get to the corner, get to the corner, he can’t move he can’t move!- (why is he prolonging the inevitable? He hasn’t done that in so long)

Pressure starts compounding on his chest. He shakes. He doesn’t want to go again, it’s going to be another round of tests again, he didn’t know he agreed to this! Let go, let go, let GO!

“Hajime.”

They never call him that. He is the subject, their project, the plaything to rip apart because he is nothing more than an experiment. He is not a person. He is not Hajime.

“Hajime.” They repeat. “It’s Makoto.”

Makoto?

He doesn’t recognize-

Makoto Naegi.

He blinks. His body slumps. As if his body was lead, his head slowly turns toward the source.

“Makoto Naegi” was never one of the researcher’s names. He knows, because he remembered each and every one, even if he didn’t want to. No, Makoto Naegi is someone else entirely, someone who isn’t associated with the Project. 

Sage-coloured irises meet his gaze first. They are warmer than any of the researchers’ eyes. 

…He isn’t in a lab, is he?

“Muh-” He winces. His voice sounds terrible. 

“Hey, drink up.�� Makoto commands, not unkindly. “I know you’ve been in there for a while, but try your best.”

A glass of water is held to his lips and once they hit, his lips burn, but he downs it gratefully anyway. His throat protests in agony.

“Do you know where you are and what happened, Hajime?” 

Hajime stretches, pops coming from all his atrophied joints. “W-we- ugh, Jabberwock Island. K-cough-illing game.” The Killing Game. At the reminder, adrenaline starts coursing through him, and he immediately lurches out of the pod.

Makoto gently pushes him back.

“Yes. The other survivors are awake, but they do not hold the memories you do.”

“W-what about everyone else? What happened to them?”

“They’re still in the pods.” He tries jumping out again. “BUT!” Makoto blurts out. “BUT they’re okay. They’re not in the killing game right now. They seem to have created their own worlds-”

“What can I do to wake them up?” He quickly interrupts. 

“Oh, um, I was going to get to that part.” A small smile stretches on his face. “I knew you’d want to help. I would’ve been the same.” 

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Darkness. 

He feels so tired.

He hasn’t felt this tired in… so long. Everything… is so tiring.

Lights threaten to blind him. 

No. 

Let him sleep.

Let him sleep…

“Hey, Nagito... it’s Hajime.” 

He stirs. Hajime?

He looks at the tanned skin, eyeing the scars on the undersides of his eyes, further littered over his arms, and then tracing back to his equally scarred lips, that were currently sipping on a cup in his hands.

“Ha-jime.” He croaks. Wordlessly, Hajime provides him some water. With weak hands, he reaches out toward the cup, and manages to squeeze enough of a firm grasp on it. Hajime continues sipping while he slowly gulps down the offered water. 

“Ahem,” He coughs. “Hinata, my apologies. …What happened?”

“You’re one of the last few to wake up, Komaeda.” Hajime replies, and notably, provides no context. “What do you remember?”

The question sparks his silence. His mouth purses into a deeply thin line. He eyes the man in front of him. Is there something he must have forgotten? “...Nothing particularly pleasant.” He decides on.

Hajime scrutinizes him. He stays quiet. Hajime slumps over with a sigh. “Okay, fair enough. Your pod opened, but you wouldn’t wake up. You’re in the hospital now.”

He looks around. Yes, he gathered that. The white walls and bright fluorescent lighting weren't foreign to him, he would recognize such a place no matter where he was. He could voice that, but there are more pressing concerns.

“I’m afraid I still don’t understand. How did I get here?”

“We went through a rehabilitation program.”

“Ah.” The memories are hitting him now. “Yes, sorry, I do remember us Remnants being captured for such a thing, although I don't remember much else.” He hums, looking the other up and down. “It worked, then?”

“That depends. How do you feel? About, you know, hope and despair and all that.”

“Well,” He chuckles, “if you’re worried I’m going to blow up this hospital in the pursuit of ‘a greater hope’, you would be greatly mistaken.”

Hajime breathes out a sigh of relief. “But I imagine my luck could affect that greatly. It's very fortunate you could balance it out.” The other gazes away from him, looking down in thought. How curious. Was it something he said?

He subtly tilts his head. The brunet covertly glances around, as if he was watching for something. Piercing eyes returns to meet his. “You can't get up to any crazy shit just because I can do that.” The other jokingly chastises, but his eyes remained guarded.

He nods with an smile. “Oh, I would never.” To anyone, it would simply be him teasing. However, he can tell Hajime's trying to hide something about his talents, and someone here is watching them. He wonders who would cause such paranoia.

Hajime fills him in on what occurred, being saved by the "Future Foundation" (oh, it's them.) and particularly specific members (Makoto! As in Makoto Naegi, The Ultimate Hope Makoto? Yes Komaeda, just keep it in your pants.), as well as explaining Nagito’s status, his mental and physical state (still affected by his pre-existing conditions, albeit less so), and the new addition to his body.

He turns it. He didn't even notice he had a new arm. It feels seamless, although the metal is strange to feel underneath his fingertips.

“I had to replace it.” Hajime explains. “The dead tissue was threatening to spread to the rest of your body if it was kept there. It was fine when we were hooked up to the pods since that was preserving it, but since you went into a coma, we had to act fast.”

“Hmm.” He curls his newfound metallic fingers. He sends him a smile. “It seems I owe a lot of my gratitude to you, Hinata, for helping trash like me.”

There's a pause. “We'll work on that,” is the response Hajime settles with. “...Do you want to meet everyone else?”

He freezes. Everyone else?

Although he doesn't know why, he feels himself pale completely and his body shivers. Everything in him feels cold, as if the temperature dropped, as if his whole body rejected the very idea of something he was otherwise only semi-wary about. He knows he had many reasons before to feel apprehensive around his former classmates, given his past transgressions during his time as a Remnant and theirs, but this feels... bone-chilling. Buried deep within his psyche, perhaps connected to the memories he doesn't have.

“What happened in the program.” He bluntly states, rather than asks.

“No one else remembers too, if that helps.” Hajime starts. It doesn't. “Even I barely remember it. Everyone has felt snippets though, things they avoid subconsciously, or they experience nightmares about it.” He wonders if Hajime has nightmares. He wonders what Hajime avoids. “It was broadcast-”

“I want to watch it.”

Hajime's jaw tightens. “It wasn't that type of broadcast. It wasn't recorded, it was just shown to Makoto and the other survivors. Besides, it's best you don't anyway. You're going to remember something about it.”

“How cynical. What if all I remember are pleasant things?” Nagito inquires, even if he knows the likelihood of that is so astronomically low. He is aware of himself. He knows being put into a situation like the Killing Game would just mean he'd have made very elaborate plans and schemes. Thinking that, a sharp pain in his abdomen sears through him, and he winces. It's a whisper of a feeling, but it felt... real.

Hajime merely lets out a defeated sigh. “I hope it is, Komaeda, I hope it is.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Throughout everything, this was the last thing he thought about. 

The scars. 

For the longest time, he forgot about the scars. For the briefest of moments, his complexion wasn’t completely covered by raised bumps, of angry red tissue, of the careless abandon from scientists who dissected him to fit their molds of perfection. 

And now he’s left looking into the mirror, tracing. His fingers feel the ridges. He remembers the scalpel digging into his eye, even if he didn’t feel the pain of it. He looks at the angry lines along his muscles, his thighs, and he knows with certainty it can be traced down to his feet, the bathroom counter being the only reason he can’t see the reflection of it. He remembers exactly what they forcibly fused together, being haunted by the ghosts of the sutures that were once there.

This is who he sees looking back at him.

…Mikan cleans the glass away from his fist.

[He could’ve done it himself, but it would’ve been a messier job, much like with anything else he would try nowadays.]

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Hajime is out training with Nekomaru, alongside Akane, and casually working out with them.

Nekomaru points out the bandages that suddenly replace his glove, and he waves them off. “Just an accident.” 

After a decent workout, he starts heading back to his cabin to shower when he spots Fuyuhiko to the side, relaxing against a wall.

“Hey.” He greets.  

“Yo.” The former yakuza head nods.

They watch those on the beach, a tall orange blurb chases after a red one, their laughter filling the air as suddenly they're jumped by an even louder multicoloured blurb cackling with mischief. He can hear Hiyoko's distant cursing while Mikan rushes over, fretting. He snorts.

Fuyuhiko crosses his arms, a smile on his face at the scene. “Can’t believe we get to have this.” 

“I know.” He agrees. He’d do anything to ensure everyone here stayed happy like this. Speaking of, he has to make sure to check on the next shipment of supplies afterward. He refuses to have those Future Foundation workers anywhere near the Island otherwise. But first, shower.

He's about to leave when-

“What’s with the bandages?” The former yakuza asks.

He contemplates lying. The last thing he wants is for everyone to start worrying about him. As if aware of his thoughts, Fuyuhiko sends him a particularly scathing glare, menacing even with the eyepatch. He fesses up immediately. 

“I punched a mirror.”

“Why?”

“My scars-” He starts. 

Fuyuhiko quickly interjects. “There’s nothing wrong with them.”

“Part of me understands that, but I look at them and just see…” Hope's Peak. The Hope Cultivation Project. The Remnants of Despair. He squeezes his bandaged hand. “...bad memories.”

“Yeah, I feel that.” Almost subconsciously, Hajime glances at Fuyuhiko’s scar, hidden behind black cloth. Fuyuhiko meets his gaze, unflinching. “I hate thinking about having that bitch’s eye in me.”

“How do you do it?” How do you look at yourself in the mirror? How do you live with yourself? How do you not hate yourself? 

“Being a former yakuza, scars were symbols of respect. This scar?” He gestures to it. “It’s a reminder I’m not some psychotic fuck anymore under that bitch’s heel.

I know I’m not you, Hajime. I don’t have the amount you have. But know that your scars show that you’ve survived, and you’ve made it out the other side. That’s admirable.

And ain’t nobody here went through the type of shit you did. We all look up to you. You’ve had this whole thing on your shoulders. Nobody thinks you’re damaged goods with those scars. Hell, we think of them as a reminder that you’re the strongest out of all of us.” 

“...Thanks, Fuyuhiko.”

“No problem. Now you should go take a shower, you smell like shit.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Hajime waits in front of the screen. In no time, Chiaki's grinning face pops up. “Hey Hajime. It's nice to see you. How're you doing today?”

They talk amicably. Even though she wasn't his former friend, the reminder of her AI was comforting, and in the few pleasant dreams he had, he remembered her presence (and in the worser ones, he remembered her death).

“-There's a call for you by the way, I think. It's from Makoto.” He nods. “Thanks Chiaki.”

She patches him through, and he finds it so striking the difference between now and the tentativeness from the beginning, back when they were still establishing Jabberwock Island. Signal seemed daunting, and they (him, Makoto, and Byakuya) were still trying to get Chiaki's AI booted back up. He remembers when they first suggested she try to call the Future Foundation (particularly Aoi, since Hajime refused to have the new Future Foundation head or some random member appear on the screen, since he'd contemplate breaking the nice monitor in half from sheer rage). “It's not what I’m programmed to do,” Chiaki had said, “but… I can try.”

Of course, Makoto and himself exchange pleasantries and talk for a bit, but then it derails into... less pleasant topics. “I'm hoping to finish up the layout for Hope's Peak.”

He tightens a hand over his glove, pursing his lips. “Makoto. I’m glad you want to reclaim yourself, but Hope’s Peak? Really?” He hisses, and Makoto sighs, as if they had this same argument over and over again. 

They have, by the way. Relentlessly. He is NOT getting over this, not by a long shot. He already knows how much Makoto invested into the project, but he’s still of the very firm belief he should’ve invested zero. Of course, he wouldn’t taint their rare ability to chat with one another about it, but he isn’t above reminding Makoto if he brings it up, just to be petty.

But being TRAUMATIZED WATCHING YOUR FRIENDS GET MURDERED is one of the many valid reasons for having absolutely NO interest in seeing the place that tortured him, everyone he cares about, Makoto, everyone Makoto cares about, and basically THE WHOLE DAMN WORLD, come back to existence. 

He loves Makoto, he does, and he knows Makoto’s a good guy, but… 

The idea of Hope’s Peak not being some fucked up breeding ground for hope and despair? It doesn’t seem possible. Part of the problem in the first place was the idea of pitting students against each other, forcibly defining people's significance based on whether they had “talent” or not. As well, they really sucked at developing talented people's talent, giving arbitrary assignments (from what he heard) and no actual practicality applied. He would know. His body is literally littered with their failure.

And the Future Foundation providing a substantial amount of the funds for this project? Hajime has no doubt in his mind that there’s something underlying their generosity. 

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

It's looking to be another sleepless night, despite the weight under his eyes begging for relief. Hajime just stares at the ceiling. He feels the body beside him shift the bed, creaking it ever so slightly, and in his peripherals Nagito faces him. Nagito has always been a bit of a restless sleeper (not that he blames him), so he isn't surprised to hear him ask, “What’s on your mind, Hajime?”

He sighs. “I’m just worried about the whole Hope's Peak idea.”

“You don’t believe in Makoto?”

He quickly flips onto his side to frown at Komaeda for the sheer idea. “I believe in him, I don’t believe in anyone else.”

“Well, I can’t help but feel a little hurt…”

“You know how I feel about you.”

Nagito hums. “Do I?” He smirks. “How do you feel, Hajime?” 

Why is he turned this way again? He flips back around, ignoring the way his ears start to warm up.

“...Shut up and go to sleep already.” 

He hears Nagito chuckle behind his back. It settles eventually though. Ah, Nagito finally went to bed.

“You know,” Nagito's voice pipes up, still awake after all. His voice sounds a little whimsical, as if nearly about to sleep. “I don't necessarily disagree with you. I thought it was a place of great hope, and the fact it's being run by the Ultimate Hope is quite amazing. But...

There's you. And the hope in you has been shining so brightly this whole time.”

He freezes. Did he just-?

The words spark something in him. As if they sounded familiar.

He gets a rush that tea- nor even caffeine back when it did anything for him- has never achieved. When he eventually does sleep that night, his dreams are pleasant.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

It's one of those rare instances Makoto lands on Jabberwock Island and can say hi to everyone. They meet at the small restaurant on the Island where Hajime prepares some tea for himself. He offers it to Makoto, who takes it gratefully.

Much like their video chats, the start talking about what's currently going on when Makoto- once again- mentions Hope's Peak.

Hajime lowers his cup.

“I'm going to be reinstating talents at Hope’s Peak.”

His fingers clutch his glove. He digs them in, sharp and quick, his lips immediately pulling down into a frown.

“Did… someone force you to do this?”

“Uh, no?” Makoto averts his gaze. “I’ve consulted with basically everyone since you’ve started getting me a little paranoid…”

“You should be. The Future Foundation doesn’t deserve you. You’re way too good for them.”

“They're trying to change.” Makoto states, with not much conviction.

Hajime hums skeptically. Sure they are. “Just watch out for yourself, yeah? Because the first thing I’ll do is leave this island just to kick their asses. I don’t need an Ultimate to make them into ragdolls.”

Makoto chuckles, rubbing his neck sheepishly. “...You must’ve practiced that.”

“Being around Fuyuhiko and Akane tends to give you some badass lines.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

It starts like a regular day. Things break, people fight, problems arise, he deals with it. When he sees the broadcast, he doesn't know how to deal with it.

“Oh, Makoto's on TV. How exciting.” Nagito mentions offhandedly, as if it was something as casual as the weather. It decidedly is NOT. Is Makoto okay? Why would he be broadcasted? Is this another...?

“-ing Hope's Peak,” He catches the tail end of. “In this world, there's nothing more important than banding together to fix the Tragedy that occurred. Rejoice with me as your new headmaster. Alongside the Future Foundation, we'll bring forth a new hope together!” Hajime cringes, and cringes hard. This doesn't sound like Makoto at all. The Future Foundation logo is the last image of this blatant ad, what the fuck, but he's seen enough.

He knows exactly how to deal with this.

He strolls into the new Future Foundation headquarters (although that may be underselling it). Instantly, upon seeing him, people start shrieking and running. Red lights blink in and out. He brushes it off. It’s the last of his damn worries right now.

He's rushed by armoured guys. He suddenly feels like he should've thought this through, but he continues on. He slips himself into the old Remnant persona like an ill-fitting jacket, paired with a little Ultimate Actor prowess. “Let me through or I'll make sure your families have nothing to put into a casket.” Okay, not his best work, but it's enough for them to back off. They watch him. He even hears one guy cowering in fear from behind. It's that which allows him to catch the guy's arm and dislocate it. Everyone jumps at the sudden violence, and the guy screeches.

He knows it's fixable, but he still feels bad. The mask he wears threatens to slip, but he keeps going until he gets to the new Future Foundation head. (Hajime met her before through a forced video call, with them threatening to interfere at Jabberwock Island if he wasn't capable enough. “I am Sumiko Hatanaka,” they introduced themselves. “Ultimate Administrator. Given the circumstances the Future Foundation is currently in, I have become appointed as the temporary replacement head provided my previous experience and commitment to my work.”)

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing.” He sneers.

“How are you here?” She asks. “What are you doing here?”

“That wasn’t my question.” 

He sees a sheen of nervousness across their forehead, but they don't let up their frown.

“Why are you here, Hajime Hinata, Remnant of Despair?” 

Why is he here? Why is he HERE?

“What gave you the right to use Makoto for some ad for Hope's Peak? What the hell are you doing, exposing him further to the public? Do you know what this could do to him?”

“I assure you, I have no vested interest in letting a valued employee be defaced in any way, shape, or form. His mental faculties are highly important to this company. Meanwhile, you are jeopardizing the very people you wished to protect by coming here. Was it worth it?”

He growls, “Leave Makoto the fuck alone, or I’ll remind you why I was a Remnant.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Makoto’s Hope’s Peak is in full operation. He doesn't know if he'll ever visit. So instead, Hajime is left pondering the future, and living on the Island with the rest of his classmates.

He genuinely hopes nothing bad will happen, but...

He wouldn't bet that it won't.

[hangryyeena]

after my post on the racism and colorism in Danganronpa, i wanted to discuss the ableism in DR, now in infograph form. i hope i covered everything properly here!

[kiwibongos]

brewed up a dumb little horror postgame au

[floorbe]

Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu x Fem!Reader **Commission**

Commission for @jesseapples ! Hope you enjoy!!

Prompt: Fuyuhiko comforts his gf who's going through a rough patch

Warnings: self h*rm (non descript but Fuyuhiko does check the wounds), anxious and depressed reader, cursing

Word count: ~1,538

A/N: I hope this helps anyone having a rough time (me included HA)!!

~

Fuyuhiko could tell something was off. 

You were doing a great job pretending like everything was fine. Like you were functioning normally, like there wasn’t a crushing weight on your back that seemed to only get heavier and heavier each day… But Fuyuhiko could tell. 

He could tell from the way you sighed quietly before you rolled out of bed in the morning. From the way your breakfast started to dwindle as your motivation started leaving. He saw the way you’d stand in front of the mirror before starting (attempting) your morning routine, how you’d stare at yourself with the slightest twitch of your mouth into a scowl. 

The way, only recently, you’d shy away whenever he’d gotten too close when embracing you, or kissing you somewhere, as if you didn’t want him near (or had you thought that he didn’t want you near…?)

The most notable, Fuyuhiko thought, would have to be when you’d asked him to order your drink for you somewhere. Less of the question itself and more of how fucking defeated you looked when asking him, as if you’d failed somehow in asking for his help. 

That day he’d decided he had to say something. He’d known you well enough to let you try to work through it alone first, to see if you would come to him if needed, but… he couldn’t stand seeing the way your smile had dimmed from its usual dazzling form. 

You were in bed when he knocked gently on the door. Your skin was stinging, burning from the harm you’d inflicted just moments ago, (your relapse, your mind reminds you painfully) and you couldn’t help but hurry the blanket over your body to hide any indication of them. You didn’t want to worry Fuyuhiko, but…

You’d been in bed since this morning, since he’d left for work, weaving vines of anxiety tangling in your chest at the mere concept of getting out of bed, of being perceived by anyone. It was too much: the burning gaze of everyone judging you when you left the house, the effort needed to get ready and go out, every fucking day. 

Everyday you would wake up and roll out of bed. Everyday you’d do your deep breathing exercises, you’d do your thought deconstruction to silence your mind, everything that you’d learned to help your mind settle itself, and everyday it grew more and more exhausting. You didn’t know how much longer you could keep going like this. It was exhausting. Ears constantly listening for any, even slight indicator that something could go wrong, eyes constantly flicking to check if anyone noticed that your shopping carts wheel is loose and squeaking and it’s so loud and—

“Hey,” he was in front of you now. When had he moved in front of you? “Talk to me,” he continued softly, eyebrows furrowed in concern, “Did something happen?”

You paused, mulling it over in your mind. Had something happened? Probably. What had gotten you this bad, again…?

“Maybe something with that one friend you’ve been having problems with?”

Oh. Yeah. That’d be it. You sighed, snuggling deeper into the blanket. “...And– just… work. And everything. Nothing. I don’t know.” 

“Too much to think about?” he asked, moving to sit on the bed by your side. All you could do was nod at his question, making him hum thoughtfully. “...I haven’t seen you this bad in a while,” he murmured after a moment, and you assumed he was trying to sound nonchalant about it, but the way his eyes were scanning over your face for every little twitch told you how concerned he actually was. Guilt filled your stomach, and all you could do was avert your gaze and shy away. 

Fuyuhiko stopped you before you could, gently lifting the blanket away from your face with an amused smirk. “You can’t hide while I’m talking to you,” he tutted, teeth flashing as he briefly grinned. Before you could retort back at him, he was already nudging you over with a playful roll of his eyes, settling in beside you and throwing the blanket over both your heads. 

It was a light moment, and for a moment you found yourself free of your overworking mind, taking in how utterly silly Fuyuhiko looked hiding under the blanket with you. You watched him annoyedly swat at the way the blanket dipped in front of his face, obscuring his view, and a laugh erupted from you from how genuinely irritated he seemed. 

“Hey!” Fuyuhiko scowled, but there was a light flush on his cheeks, “Sh-shut up, don’t make me leave—” His eyes gleamed playfully despite his threat, and you could tell by his self satisfied smirk as you guffawed that your laughter was what he wanted in the first place. 

“As if you actually would,” you retorted, a mischievous smile pulling at the corner of your lips. He rolled his eyes instead of responding, scoffing at your smirk and rolling over as if to get out of bed. It was as if by instinct that your arms immediately locked around his waist, giggles slipping through your lips as you trapped him from leaving. 

He sighed loudly as you kept him from leaving, but as he rolled over you saw a flash of his smile before his hand cradled the back of your head. The retort on your lips died as he prompted your forehead to lay against his shoulder, his other arm coiled around your waist to keep you close to him. You, instead, sighed quietly, feeling your body start to melt into his hold. 

It was quiet for a few moments before he spoke again, voice soft, reserved for you, “You wanna talk about it? One issue at a time?”

You thought about it for a moment. It would be helpful to go through each problem one at a time, tackle each one and move on, but… Today, after feeling so fucking awful recently, all you wanted was to lay in his arms for a while. You shook your head against his shoulder, mumbling, “Maybe later.” 

Fuyuhiko hummed in response, rubbing patterns on your back absently, “How bad is it this time? Think you can scale it for me, sweetheart?”

You swallowed thickly, averting your gaze for a moment as you contemplated telling him. You bit your lip, chewing on it slightly. Your silence was the only answer he needed, without a word he gently guided your gaze back to his, forefinger and thumb gripping your chin. He searched your eyes, your face, his eyes flicking around your form as he tried to read you.

“...That bad?” he asked softly after a moment. You felt affection swell in your chest for how well he knew you. Even now, when you were basically non-verbal, giving him the vaguest answers known to man… he knew what you meant. What you needed. 

“May I?” he suddenly asked softly, and you gazed up at him in confusion. He pointedly tilted his chin towards where your hands were absently tugging on the fabric of your clothes, hiding the wounds inflicted earlier. You hadn’t even noticed. “You told me to look out for that a while ago,” he reminded you softly, as if reading your mind, tone just as soft, “I’m just wanna make sure they’re clean.”

You bit your lip, swallowing thickly but nodding. You tentatively raised the fabric from your skin, watching his eyes scan over the wounds attentively. His fingers gently grazed over the sensitive skin, his eyes flicking observantly towards your face to check for any wince. 

You were surprised when he nodded slightly, placing a quick kiss to the skin before allowing you to hide it again. He didn’t seem upset, but his arm around your waist tightened after you’d comfortably settled in his arms again. You didn’t speak, maintaining the comfortable silence as you felt his hand rub over your back, his lips pressed absently to the crown of your head. 

“...Sorry,” you whispered after a moment, burying your face into the crook of his neck.

“Don’t be,” he replied immediately, “Happens to all of us. I’m just glad I was here.” 

“You’re not upset?” you murmured uncertainly, voice slightly muffled from how your lips rest against his skin. 

“No,” he assured you almost instantly, tapping on your shoulder to bring your head out of the crook of his neck. His eyes met yours, and you were almost surprised by how intense his gaze was, his voice low and firm, “Y/N, I will never be upset at you for something like this. I want you to come to me.” You watched as he tried valiantly to keep his gaze locked with yours, but you could see the light flush on his cheeks at being so openly vulnerable. It made a smile tug at your lips. 

You hummed in response, feeling as the tension finally started to melt from your body after weeks of stress. Your eyes drifted closed without your permission, too soothed by how his fingers massaged your scalp. Things weren’t fixed, certainly not, but you have someone on your side, and you decided that maybe that’s enough.

[kuzyachan]

Old spooky art

I hope I don't shock anyone with such pictures...

October 2022/October 2023