#yen per second

[yeahthatwouldbedark]

Yen per second

tropes: death trope, friends to lovers, rivals to lovers, bully romance bestie, college au, friends with benefits I guess, Oikawa and reader have known each other since childhood.

trigger warnings (for the entire series): child abuse, domestic abuse, sexual abuse, bullying, depression, child neglect, terminal illness at some point, broken home, mental breakdowns, panic attacks, anxiety, death, injuries (Oikawa’s bad knee for example), substance abuse.

Chapter 7

11k words

January 17th

It’s such a cold day that it’s a wonder there are humans around with their limbs still functioning. A week has passed since the people of Tokyo last saw a sunray spear through the grey clouds. You could argue that at least there is snow pelted on the earth, a child’s dream come true, but even that isn’t enough to rid people of the desire to rush inside cafes where the promise of warmth and a cup of coffee is sure to be kept.

That’s the good thing about days like this. Tables are occupied which means more money for the cafes. There’s also the part about not being able to hear yourself think or your partner talk seeing as there is not a table at which a conversation isn’t being had. The world is alive with whispers, laughter, sighs, shoes clacking, fingers tapping, and the aroma of coffee.

It's been 17 days since they struck the deal. A week ago, Tooru helped her move into her apartment in the same building where Rin lives. Every day, he waits for her at the University’s front gate and when they’re both finished with work and volleyball training, he accompanies her back to her apartment. It takes some time to get used to him getting her hot cocoa with extra sugar (and a caramel mocha latte for himself) or him helping calm her nerves when she’s thrust into a discussion during class by rubbing soothing circles on the back of her hand with his thumb.

It’s honestly nerve-wracking. Almost overwhelming. Once or twice, she’s had to flee from him and to the nearest restroom. When she returns, he’s always there, waiting for her with a smile. She always feels anxious, entranced, and flustered when she sees him smile. It’s frustrating.

Yet, here they sit at a café after he suggested she change her study setting once in a while.

“So,” Tooru begins, eyes roving over Y/n’s face, which is presently buried in her ‘Social Psychology’ textbook, “There’s this gathering with volleyball players that I’ve been invited to.”

Her gaze barely flits upward before it’s back on the page, “That’s nice. Which teams are attending?”

Encouraged by her polite interest in the topic, Tooru smiles and puts the book aside, ready to enumerate.

“EJP Raijin. MSBY Black Jackals. Tachibana Red Falcons.” He counts on his fingers, “A bunch of other teams. And us, of course, The Tokyo Black Jaguars.”

He takes a sip of his coffee before continuing, in hopes that it will steel his resolve against the debilitating fear of rejection.

“And I was hoping you’d come with me.” He pops the proposal.

This time, Y/n’s eyes are alight with something akin to surprise and confusion. Hesitation is apparent in the way her fingers toy with the corner of the page she was reading prior to looking up.

She looks away and supports her head on her left palm. “I don’t think I should.”

Tooru’s face falls. Before he can wallow in self-pity, he takes the time to study her expression, concealed behind a curtain of dark hair though it may be. She’s not as focused as she was before he brought up the topic of the gathering. Unable to concentrate, her eyes flit from the top of the page to the bottom and her face now sports a barely perceptible frown. She’s frustrated at herself for not managing to get it together.

“If this is about you being scared that I’ll do something,” Tooru assures, absentmindedly tracing the curve of the cup’s handle. “I promise I won’t.”

“It’s not about that,” Y/n says at once. Realizing the speed at which she delivered the response, she looks up, almost startled. Looking anywhere but at him, she elaborates a little further, “Rin is in EJP Raijin. And he’s mad at me.”

Tooru’s eyes are as wide as saucers. “Suna? Mad at you? I find that hard to believe.”

“Well, I managed to piss him off.” She shrugs and brings her cup to her lips. “As is my habit.”

Tooru wants, more than anything at this moment, to help her understand that nothing about her warrants mistreatment. When he looks back on how things used to be, he can’t think of a single moment at which his personal issues didn’t distort his perception of her. For years, his image of her had been painfully unfair. For years, his fractured perception of himself had gotten in the way of them being there for each other.

He makes an effort to smile. “There’s another reason, isn’t there?”

Y/n can tell there’s some cream on her lips as she puts down her cup. It makes heat rise to her cheeks as she licks it off. Normally, she’d be glad of the warmth if it weren’t for the fact that she doesn’t want to be ‘gross’ in his eyes. Not when they’re trying to be friends for the first time.

“Are you sure you want to go with me?” She tries to ask without betraying a hint of nervousness.

“I’ve been rehearsing how to ask you since I received the invitation.” His lips spread in a grin. “So, yeah, I’m pretty sure.”

“And you won’t be ashamed to have me by your side?”

“Honestly,” Tooru croons, leaning forward on his elbows, “I’d be upset if you weren’t there.”  

For the first time since they met again, she feels like laughing. Truly laughing. It sounds downright absurd to hear him say that her absence would spoil his mood. All she allows herself is a small, close-lipped smile.

“Is there a dress code? Or theme?”

“Yes, it’s formal.” He affirms, nodding, “And I’d love to help you assemble your outfit.”

She doesn’t take him seriously. “Okay, Oikawa.”

Without him realizing it, Tooru’s lips morph into a pout.

“Ugh,” He groans, “When are you gonna get used to being on a first-name basis with me?”

“Sorry, force of habit.” She answers honestly. “So, when’s the gathering?”

At that, Tooru perks up like a toddler being told that the most recent Barbie doll is now available at the nearest store. Hope is alight within him.

“This Saturday at 6 PM.” He says, “I’ll pick you up at 5:30 since it’s almost a 40-minute drive to the destination.”

“You wanna be fashionably late so bad.” Y/n rolls her eyes.

Placing a hand on his chest, he acts offended, “And what’s wrong with that?”

“Are you not embarrassed?”

Tooru pretends to inspect his nails.

“I’ve done worse things.” He says nonchalantly.

“Yeah, you once forgot to delete the porn from your flash drive-

He snaps up his head and raises an eyebrow. “That presentation was iconic I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then you started panicking after accidentally clicking on it.”

“It was adorable.”

“You literally had mating press in there.”

Tooru’s brain stops working for a second. “I thought nobody caught on.”

“Well, they didn’t because they were slow readers.” She says, tugging down the sleeves of the sweater under her desert brown coat. “Their English was awful. And you did some damage control pretty quickly.”

He shuts his eyes and an air of unfathomable flamboyance possesses him as he rubs at his temple in feigned agony.

“God, I was so iconic for that.” He recalls fondly.

Again, Y/n has to make a significant effort to suppress the mirth that fights to escape her chest. Maybe she should let loose, feel the laughter vibrate within and all around her. She only laughs when she’s drunk, and the memory is something her mind spurns. Her joy likes to collect dust, that of home, classrooms, parties, gatherings, and so on. It hoards the dust, concealing itself in its particles. It would take a typhoon to blow away the dirt.

Across from her, Tooru’s watchful gaze roams every part of her it can reach. Her complexion has always been pallid, bordering on sickly, but sometimes it takes on the rosy hues of cherry blossoms. On certain occasions, when he wasn’t being utterly vicious toward her or when Mattsun would wrap his volleyball blazer around her shoulders, her cheeks would bloom.

Her hair, far from ashen, stood in stark contrast with the majority of her features. It was a dark shade of brown and straight while her lips were pink and heart-shaped. Her cheeks, unlike her body, still carried some of the plumpness of childhood, with some semblance of a jawline to provide some polarity. She reminded him of the liminal space between winter and spring.

Y/n catches him staring, the corner of his lips angled upwards and his head tilted.

“What?” She asks.

“Nothing,” He answers, “Was just wondering what color would look gorgeous on you.”

When he doesn’t elaborate immediately, she shoots him an expectant look, “Well, which one is it?”

“Hmmm, black for sure. Emerald and forest green. Sapphire or midnight blue.” He pauses, picturing her in the entire spectrum. “Red. Maroon, garnet, and wine red specifically.”

“Well… damn.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “You disagree?”

“No, I just don’t have dresses in those colors.” She confesses, scratching the lip of the table. “My formal outfits are more on the preppy, academic style. I just never imagined I’d get to attend any formal gatherings so I didn’t bother with the dresses.”

Tooru wants to point out the ridiculousness of it all. Being the best student in their year means that she’s bound to receive offers and be invited to gatherings in the near future. But maybe that’s it. Maybe she believes that, just like in high school, her achievements will be downplayed in favor of someone else’s charisma, popularity, or wealth. That she will only be given crumbs of the recognition she deserves.

Not under Tooru’s watch.

He grins so stupidly that he can sense the wariness in her posture.

“You know what this means?” He asks, leaning forward once again.

“What?”

“Guess.”

“Why are you so excited all of a sudden?”

His leg won’t stop bouncing in anticipation. “C’mon guess!”

“Jesus, Tooru I don’t know.” Y/n sighs, exasperated.  

“I,” He declares, threading the fingers of her left hand, which have been chipping away at the edge of the table for the past few minutes, with those of his right one. “Get to take you shopping. And no, you may not refuse this offer. Thus, it has been decreed by moi that we shall promenade about the mall on Friday.”

She’s so startled by the boldness of his proposal slash decision that she can only stare in shock. Tooru has offered to take her shopping or eat out before⸺ the day after Chiharu and she brought him up to their apartment, drunk off his ass, the festivals during which his mom would entreat him to keep her company, and only once before… when he got his pride so severely wounded by a girl that he just had to show her what she was missing.

In retrospect, these moments were somewhat nostalgic, and bittersweet, with heartache and lessons built into them like steel in the foundations of a building. She couldn’t just shake off every past experience, as uncomfortable as it made her to relive them in her flesh. She couldn’t be rid of the thought that, if she took him up on the offer, she would essentially be indebted to him. This changed everything.

“Any thoughts you’re having about paying me back,” he says softly. His brown eyes are warm and inviting. “Silence them.”

She nods silently and flips open the book. Their fingers remain threaded.

The popsicle all but melts down to the heel of Tooru’s palm as he stands with his back to the open window in his bedroom. It’s the peak of summer heat and there is little to no wind to ruffle the curtains, which makes any activity a pain in the ass. That’s why the four of them are here; gathered in his room instead of sweating the hours away. Iwa, Maki, and Mattsun are seated on the floor where it is cool, the fan not far to Maki’s left. They’d be afraid of catching a cold if it weren’t for their hatred of the heat, a sentiment shared by Tooru. There’s only one annoying, prickly problem.

“Where does she even go every summer break?” He voices out the question that has been gnawing at him for the past two weeks.

Maki looks up at him. “Y/n?”

The mere mention of her name has him cringing.

“The fuck you talking about?” Says Iwaizumi, throwing down two cards, the sight of which makes Maki groan. “You know she goes to her aunt’s house in Tokyo.”

Tooru frowns briefly before it turns into a teasing smirk. “How come you know so much about her, Iwa?”

“Just because you don’t want her around,” Iwaizumi states, “Doesn’t mean others don’t either.”

That makes him want to roll his eyes, but his eyes seem dead set on staring at the floor. Suddenly, the creamy tiles are the most interesting thing that ever existed. Maybe if he stares at it long enough, he’ll think about something other than the fact that the room sharing a wall with his has been empty for exactly 14 days. That’s a hard ‘maybe’, as I well know.

“Woohoo,” Whistles Maki, his grin a stark contrast to the frustrated groan from before. “Our Tooru misses Y/n? Look at him frowning.”

Mattsun follows up with, “Oop, he’s glaring now. So scary.” 

“Motherfcuker probably just misses making fun of her.” Iwaizumi joins in, focusing on the cards for the most part. “Your turn.”

What Maki says next as he plucks two cards from his spread stuns Tooru. It sews his mouth shut, barbed wire woven into his lips, and the words tug on it like enraged prisoners within a cell.

“To be honest some of the things he does could be considered criminal offenses.”

Fingers curling under the windowsill, he fights to select the right words. And fails.

“Like I’ve done anything serious.” Tooru mumbles, “You guys are mean.”

It’s quiet for exactly 37 seconds, with the exception of the fan working its magic and the boy’s muttering, before Iwaizumi decides to bring up the topic of her again, much to his Captain’s chagrin.

“She has a boyfriend last I heard.” He says ever so nonchalantly.

But Tooru has never, and I mean never, wanted to pummel Iwaizumi into the dirt as much as he does at this very moment. He wants to grab Iwaizumi by the hair and drag him down the stairs and then across the concrete until he’s nothing but a pathetic version of his handsome self. Because, no matter how much he tries to convince himself that the words just spoken are but a figment of his imagination, the incredulous looks on Maki’s and Mattsun’s faces force him to confront this disillusioning reality.

“What?!” the two boys bark out in unison.

“Why the surprised faces, you bastards? She’s a cute girl and extremely smart.” Iwaizumi says, frowning, “Never met anyone so intelligent before if I’m being honest.”

Maki nods, sighing. “Whenever she speaks, I feel so fucking dumb. Still like hearing her talk though.”

“Yeah,” Mattsun says, almost as if he’s daydreaming as he abandons his spread to lie down on the floor. “She has really pretty lips.”

“Which lips?” Snickers Maki.

Mattsun side-eyes him and Iwaizumi kicks him in the shin.

“Don’t be a pervert man.” He chides. “She’s our friend.”

“C’mon, you know I didn’t mean it,” Maki grumbles, rubbing the sore spot. “Who even is this guy, anyway? Did she tell you?”

“Beats me.” Iwaizumi shrugs. “I just complained about being stressed out and she started talking about aesthetics and psychology and how she and this guy send each other moodboards. Making them helps them to relax apparently. Sharing them is good too because you get to talk to the other person about the meanings.” Tooru can almost feel his best friend’s gaze on him as he continues, “Didn’t mention the guy’s name though.”

If she had told him, would his best friend tell him anything or would he keep it a secret in fear of Tooru jeopardizing the one good thing that’s happened to her in a long while? Was that why she hadn’t told him the guy’s name? So that Tooru would have no way of knowing? Why did he want to know? Why was there this gnawing need to know everything about her, this urge that only serves to reduce his conscience to nothing? He doesn’t feel in control. It’s all hurtling down a downward slope at full speed.

“He could be just a friend.” Mattsun points out.

Iwaizumi doesn’t appreciate it in the least when people simply assume the worst of Y/n. To him, from the moment they met on the playground as kids, she’s been the sweetest; quiet but assertive when it counted and willing to help if help was sought. Her appearance is naturally fragile, delicate, and sometimes unhealthy looking to the point where he has to watch her eat in order to be able to sleep at night.

Then there’s always her quiet admiration of Tooru and his blatant disregard for her feelings. Voice full of mockery. His touch always a tad too rough. His obsessive need to be near her followed by his repulsion at the proximity. The constant verbal harassment (and sometimes physical) that those mindless sheep at school put her through just because his best friend decided years ago that she would be the recipient of his pain.

It’s about time she met someone who would cling to her words and be in awe of her. It’s about time Tooru stopped being the undeserving recipient of what she wanted to give.

“Why is it so fucking hard for you fuckers to believe that someone could like her.” He grits out.

“Not that. It’s just…” Mattsun shoots a meaningful glance at Tooru, which the boy doesn’t catch as he’s far too preoccupied with the way the underside of the sill feels against his fingertips. “You know.”

Tooru, who has tuned out everything after learning that Iwaizumi doesn’t know the guy’s name, feels anger bubble in his chest. A frothing, mordant thing.

“That’s nonsense.” He bites out.

The three boys regard him with expressions that vary just the slightest from one another. Iwaizumi’s frown of displeasure says enough about how he feels about Tooru’s unsolicited input, despite the conversation taking place in his bedroom. Maki remains unfazed, having gotten used to his Captain’s antics whenever Y/n was concerned. As for Mattsun, he looked equally curious and confused.

“No one could ever like her.” Tooru’s throat feels tight yet his voice comes out as grave. “She’s odd and short and weak and a social reject.”

Nails scraping under the sill, he resumes his tirade.

“She’s so fucking annoying with her silence and even more annoying with her rambling. She’s so fucking useless and worthless but thinks she’s above everyone else.” His gaze bores holes into the floor. “I wish she would just leave once and for all. Maybe I’d find peace.”

A few seconds later, Maki scoffs, “No, you wouldn’t.”

Tooru can’t stand to look him in the eye but resolves that he must if he is to show that he’s convinced of the things he’s just spouted. The game is over, having long been abandoned in favor of the latest gossip.

“She’s not even here, and look at you.” Iwaizumi gestures to him, eyes roving all over Tooru’s body, “All worked up. Spouting hatred for her. Acting like a little bitch desperate for attention.”

It takes everything in him not to stomp his foot like a toddler at a convenience store who has just been denied his favorite candy.

“You guys,” He cries out, internally begging them to see where he’s coming from, even if Tooru himself doesn’t, “She’s the one who wants to take everything away from me! She’s the one who’s desperate. She-  

“Look man,” Mattsun says, supporting his weight on his elbows, “You may have convinced the rest to be assholes to her. And we may not be able to stop them all. But don’t try to do the same with us.”

It’s true. It’s wasted effort to try and make them see her through the same distortive lenses that settle over his eyes when in her presence. They will never understand the feeling of perceiving every little thing she does as an attack on his pride. Every smile is an attempt to steal something that rightfully belongs to him. Every word is her trying to worm her way into his life, coating every thought with her essence, and threading her presence in the little things that were his alone until his heart rate accelerates.

He’s always trying to accomplish things at a faster rate when it comes to running from or toward her, appearing godly or hellish when he knows her eyes are set on him. He’s never at peace. He’s not sure he knows what that is.

“Whatever.” He says evenly and crashes on his bed.

Not a minute later, Mattsun whispers, “What does he have against short girls?”

“Not against.” Maki snorts. “Just ‘in’.”

Tooru hurls a pillow at his head.

“Y/n-chan!”

Ayame’s voice can be startling thing sometimes. Like finding an open bag of candy on the countertop; surprising but welcome.

“You sound happy.” Said Y/n with a smile, hoping it didn’t show in her speech.

She could hear rustling on the other end. Probably Haru rummaging through plastic bags.

Ayame got straight to the point, as she always did whenever overcome with excitement.

“Haru-chan said I can help with the organization of the exhibition.”

“Really?” Y/n wished Ayame’s enthusiasm would rub off on her. She wished she could let it happen. “That’s good. We’ll have to set like a time for our meetings.” Tapping the pencil on the open notebook, she looked at the calendar on the computer. “Is Wednesday and Thursday fine with you? I know you’d rather go out with Kuroo on the weekends than do this.”

She could practically see Ayame do that pronounced shake of her head.

“That’s fine.” The girl said. “Should we do it at your place or ours?”

“Mine is fine. You can spend the night here when we’re done.”

For a moment, Y/n thinks the line has gone dead or that Ayame has hung up after relaying the message. But if that is so, why can she still pick up on the girl’s breathing? The sniffle that trickles through the device; how can emotions pass through something that had died?

“Y/n-chan.” Ayame speaks her name, and it startles her.

Y/n hums, the pencil going still. “Hmm.”

And with that, comes the deluge… the apology.

“I’m sorry.” Her friend says, and for a moment Y/n cannot put her finger on what the apology refers to or tell if it is true. Still, the girl on the other end continues. “I’m sorry for what I said that night. I didn’t mean it. I really didn’t. I was angry but I didn’t mean it.”

It is a deluge. Y/n does not know which of them is drowning. But she can picture Ayame, right there, crying as she poured her heart out. She can see herself, submerged, with only the following words bubbling up to the surface.

“It’s okay.” She sounds firm, even, all the things she’s been forced to realize that she’s not.

More sniffling on the other end, and then a feeble, “Really?”

“Really.” But is it the truth of what she feels? Y/n isn’t ready to face that, to feel it, and the pencil grows heavier between her fingers. “I forgot to mention. We can’t meet up tomorrow. I’m… attending this event with Oikawa so I won’t be home until midnight. If not later.”

That’s when Chiharu gets closer, so close even, that the phone call is sticky with the sound of her chewing. “Wait. Tooru invited you?”

Y/n nods and little stars begin to take shape on the margins of her notebook. “Yeah, today.”

More chewing. “You guys are basically buddies now, huh.”

“We’re taking the same classes and presented a project together.” She pretends that it’s nothing, that speaking of him isn’t like dragging a heavy suitcase while all she can hear is the screeching of its broken, missing heels. “Also, he’s your cousin and hangs out with us on the regular. More often than I do, that’s for sure.”

“That’s because you won’t get your nose out of those fucking books for one second!”

Meeting her barking tit for tat, Y/n mutters, “And I’ll keep doing just that.”

“Please, Y/n we need love!” Here come Haru’s theatrics, making her smile. “Why are you starving us?”

“Kuroo copycat.” Her wrist keeps moving and the stars come alive with color.

The chewing stops. “I’m going to block you.”

Y/n shrugs even though they can’t see her. “Wouldn’t you hate that more than me?”

“Oh, fuck you!” The girl on the other end cusses out, laughing and choking at the same time. “You’re right.”

January 19th

Tooru is thinking of her while the fury of winter bangs against his bedroom windows, howling for entry. He is thinking of her pulling down the sleeves of her sweater, the expanse of her neck hidden under that thick blue scarf, the supple flesh of her palms, and the purple hue that took over as his gaze traveled up to her fingertips. He is thinking of the stealthy yet sincere smiles, their existence further dimmed by the shade of a tree, the haze of a rainstorm, or the brightness of a summer day.

Tooru is in his sleepwear, a pitcher of water and bottle of pills on the nightstand to soothe the migraine that overran his wish to stay up until late just an hour after the two of them parted ways. Tooru is just about to swallow another when he hears the notification sound. The number is not one he recognizes, and he would have blocked the person on the other side if it weren’t for that very first message.

Unknown number: Tooru-nii

It has him getting into a sitting position with such haste that the phone almost slips from his shaky hold.

His little half-sister, Shigeko, already has his number and she messages him whenever she wants or can. Tooru’s responses are far and few between but… he’s playing his part. The point is that her number has long since been added to his contacts. There is only one other person who refers to him as an older brother.

Unknown number: It’s me, Isaac.

Heartbeats grind to a halt.

Unknown number: How are you?

Each text sends another shot of anxiety coursing through his veins. It is worse than the spike of adrenaline he gets when he feels that he might not be able to reach the ball, yet still reaches for it in some way or another. Right now, he doesn’t fight or flee. Tooru is frozen on the spot.

Still, swallowing the jagged stone of fear, he manages to type the following.

You: Hey, buddy! I’m good :D. How are you?

You: What have you been up to lately?

Not even five seconds later, he receives a response from the boy.

Unknown number: Tooru-nii!!!

Unknown number: It really is you! I wasn’t sure if I got the right number!

Tooru can almost hear Isaac vibrating with excitement. Or perhaps… it is a sigh of relief.

Unknown number: Nothing :) (replying to “What have you been up to lately?”)

Unknown number: I’m studying for exams so I’m really tired

Before Tooru can attempt to ask him about his social life, maybe about a girlfriend if he has one, or how his parents are faring, the boy says the one thing he was hoping he wouldn’t.

Unknown number: but I really need to ask you something

Despite knowing where it will inevitably lead, Tooru tries to act normal. He can barely get his hands to stop shaking before he types in the one-word response.

You: Shoot!

Hours later, he will think about what he could have done to derail the conversation. He will drink himself until he is but a heap of muscle and bone and his sheets are damp with his snot, sweat, and tears. But now he can only sit here, feeling the vibrations of his phone as the texts surge in.

One after another. Desperate. Pleading. Oikawa is not ignorant of the trickle of shame within him.

Unknown number: do you know where nee-chan is?

Unknown number: no one knows

Unknown number: no one

Unknown number: she just left

Unknown number: and she didn’t say goodbye

Unknown number: I didn’t say goodbye

Unknown number: but no one talks about her. It’s like no one cares and I can’t do anything

Unknown number: I just thought maybe you did

Tooru can feel his eyes warm up. The sting of tears is an all-too-familiar sensation by now, as is the clogging of his throat.

I just thought maybe you did. Tooru doesn’t have the time to ponder why that is. His hands are trembling and he’s holding the wrist of his right hand in place as he types so it won’t slip from his sweaty grip. It still does. The device remains on the bed for a moment, and Tooru stares down at it, chest heaving.

Then he plucks up the nerve to type a response that is both truthful and… disappointing.

You: Isaac

You: I know where she is

He considers divulging the details of her address, putting the young boy out of his misery, but then he tries to remember the last time she spoke of her family- truly spoke that is. Since their reunion, rare have been the occurrences when she’d let some childhood memory involving her family slip past her lips. Even then, it was mostly hushed, unintelligible, broken phrases, chopped bits she bit into and chewed; a process of regurgitation. He wonders if her tongue aches, if the words wear away at her throat.

She will perceive Tooru informing Isaac of her whereabouts as a confirmation that he hasn’t changed, that he is still that boy who would humiliate her or sit back and watch as others picked up his slack.

You: but I can’t tell you, buddy

He hesitates before typing a second message.

You: she doesn’t want to see anyone from back home

The message is clear, concise. It doesn’t divulge her whereabouts, only her boundaries. Tooru cannot imagine it stings any less.

Unknown number: Tooru-nii

Unknown number: nee-chan is in Tokyo?

Panic grips him by the throat. He can only let out a choked sound as he scrambles to kneel on the bed. Was it something he said? Did he overlook some small yet significant detail in his message?

One shaking hand holds up his phone as he types frantically. The other clutches the blanket for dear life.

You: Isaac please don’t look for her

He waits. He waits for the “typing” to cease and for a message to appear, conveying the boys understanding of the situation. Minutes pass, and Tooru waits.

When it becomes clear that his plea will receive no response, he sinks his teeth into his trembling lower lip, biting down until he tastes blood. The phone makes no sound as it slips his loose grip and the hand, now empty, finds purchase in the blankets alongside the other. He heaves and chokes as curses slip through his parted lips.

Suddenly, his every need, objective, urge, and base instinct converge to set a scene before him. He sees himself in this play. In this wretched, foul play. To become one with it, Tooru runs out of the bedroom and into the moonlit expanse of the living room and opens the first bottle he can find. The glass is cold. On its way down, the liquor does not burn.

Rin is on his second joint, eyes fixated on the movie playing on the TV⸺ the story of a young man and woman who are obviously in love and clearly never meant to be seeing how he never even invited her to prom⸺ when Atsumu turns to him and gives him the same look as the night he stormed home with a storm in his eyes (as he’d called it) and slammed his bedroom door with such force the hinges rattled in the otherwise silent apartment.

“You look down.”

Rin answered with the same old, “It’s nothing.”

Atsumu has let him be for the past few weeks. Whenever he asks, Rin answers to the worst of his abilities, and so he drops the subject. Not tonight, apparently.

“Why don’t you talk to me, bro?” His friend asks, and Rin feels him shift on the sofa.

He can feel those brown eyes of his pinned to his profile, brows scrunched in worry. It is a tentative kind of worry, the kind that has you feeling guilty for being unforthcoming and vague in your responses even if it’s not to burden the same person who worries for you.

Rin does not move to face.

“New Year’s Eve.” He releases a puff of smoke. “Y/n and I kissed. And then something happened so I left.”

From the corner of his eye, he sees Atsumu’s eyes widening. Maybe he’s excited for Rin but knows better than to show it considering the kiss… apparently didn’t lead to a happy ending.

“What happened exactly?” His friend asks instead.

Rin shrugs and for a moment he wants to drop the blunt on his lap and watch the tip burn into the fabric.

“One thing led to another and it ended up with my tongue in her mouth, touching her while she described how I flirt with the people I end up fucking.” His throat constricts a little at the end. “She said that I don’t disappear with her the way that I do with them because I don’t see her that way.”

To his credit, Atsumu doesn’t speak. He lets silence and all that preceded it settle like dust on furniture. Rin rubs his finger on the arm of the sofa, picking at the fabric.

“I’m sorry man.” His friend says, uncharacteristically hesitant. “She probably-  

“Why does she always feel the need to dictate how others feel about her?” It comes out of him unbidden. The words had fermented in his saliva for weeks and now they were good enough to spit out. “Why does she always assume she’s forgotten?”

Rin sort of hopes Atsumu can’t see the way he has to swallow before picking up where he left off. He hopes the dim, grey glow of the screen isn’t enough to strip him naked.

“It upset me so I left and when I went back looking for her… she wasn’t there.” Another couple in the bed where he’d kissed her and the sweet scent that lingered faintly on the silken bedsheets; apparated before his eyes with every word. “She wasn’t at the party at all.”

Atsumu looks at the TV, but Rin knows it’s him he’s watching, not the girl… Marianne is her name.

“So, you think she’s mad?”

“Maybe.” Answers Rin. The blunt in his hand gets smaller by the second. “Not sure about ‘mad’. But she’s confused and upset for sure.” Maybe guilty, he thought. “And I don’t know how to approach her without sounding like a douche.”

“Well, fuck.” “I mean my girl and I; we argue sometimes. It’s mostly my fault cuz I can get really annoying-

“Color me surprised.”

“I’m trying to be cool and supportive here!” That provokes a chuckle out of Rin which, in turn, makes Atsumu smile. “You know I’ve always been a player. I always thought I wanted someone or something but changed my mind once I got what I wanted. It’s the reason she didn’t really want me in her life at first.” The smile grows and it looks genuine. Rin has only ever seen it when he speaks of his brother or in the showers after a victory. “But I’m trying to be good for her. It’s a nice change of pace.”

Then, Atsumu pats his shoulder in encouragement, giving him a crooked smile as a treat.

“If you’re sorry for leaving, then just apologize.” Rin side-eyes him. Atsumu has never been one for apologies, unless you count the insincere, forced, and petty strings of words that he insists are good enough to express regret. “I’m serious, dude. Even if she doesn’t forgive you, which I doubt, then at least you’ll know she’s no longer wondering what she did wrong.”

That’s the thing, though. Atsumu doesn’t know her as well as Rin does if the latter ever knew her at all. He has counted the stars on his ceiling until they fell asleep, cuddled next to each other, splashed her with seawater, felt her arms around his waist… and she feels no more familiar than a ghost that haunts his dreams.

Still, he sighs out the smoke, stumps the blunt into the tray, and concedes, “Alright. I’ll try.”

“You won’t have to try too hard. She just moved in next door.”

His neck hurts from how fast he snapped it in Atsumu’s direction. For a moment, he is certain a wintry chill has infiltrated their apartment. Rin feels it beneath his clothes.

“Stop shitting me,” Rin bites out in disbelief.

Atsumu must not be feeling the cold because he grunts out. “I’m not shitting you, dude. She lives three doors down.”

January 21st

It’s raining when Tooru comes to pick her up. He’s cladded in a black turtleneck, dark jeans, and a grey coat that reaches a few inches above his ankles. His hair is a bit damp from the few minutes he spent crossing the distance from his car to the entrance of the apartment building. How he was able to find parking in such unforgiving weather, is a miracle, but Y/n isn’t complaining. Neither is her roommate, Livia, who announced his arrival with a shout and barged into her bedroom demanding Y/n spill everything she knew about the scrumptious young man currently sitting on their living room couch. Y/n told her his name, which she’d learned by then, that he was her classmate at the University, and that she was to accompany him to an event tomorrow. Livia had let out a dreamy sigh, grabbed her by the shoulders, and told her to make the night count.

Y/n herself shoves on a black turtleneck, a checkered beige skirt with black tights underneath, black boots, a beige coat, and the midnight blue scarf to top it all off. The last item doesn’t match the rest of the outfit, which she’s well aware of, but it’s so smooth and warm that she can’t bear to part with it.

Tooru greets her with a beaming smile and they head out after bidding Livia goodbye.

“Is there a brand you like?” He asks after turning the key and the engine roars to life. “So that we can narrow down our options.”

Y/n bites her inner cheek, trying to come up with an answer that’s not entirely embarrassing. One glance at him out of the corner of her eye and she can tell he’s waiting for an answer.

“I mean, it’s not like I know much to begin with. I mostly thrift.” She answers truthfully. “But from what I’ve seen on Pinterest… Dior and Chanel, I suppose. The 90’s vibe. And Elie Saab.”

Tooru hums, picturing her in dresses from each brand, then smiles. “Elie Saab it is.”

Then, because an awkward silence has taken over, one that Y/n finds as uncomfortable as a pair of too-tight shoes, she decides to continue the conversation as he rounds the corner that leads out to the main street.

“I know their work from Pinterest,” She says, “But you must have seen it up close and personal.”

Tooru chuckles.

“Well, yes.” He admits, glancing at her only briefly. “For all his absence, my dad has never failed to pay child support for both my older sister and me. So, we’ve always been loaded and spending money left and right.”

Y/n huffs and faces the window. “Rich people behavior.”

“Can’t argue with that.” His laughter fills the car, and it’s suddenly a little warmer. “Growing up, our mom would try to make us see the value in the small things. Like saving up and sharing. And she did succeed with one of us. Sayako-nee grew up to be generous, kind, understanding, and caring. The only person she is nothing like this with is our father, which is understandable.” There’s a pause and Y/n thinks he’s finished talking so she turns to look at him. His grip on the steering wheel, as he stares ahead, could shatter bones. “And I’m me. Always hoarding whatever I’m given, relentless in my greed, with corrosive envy and ravenous pride. Always spending because I know my future is set in stone, for better or for worse.”

Y/n doesn’t know how to respond to that. She’s not sure whether she’s supposed to say anything at all. He looks a little lost like her presence in the seat beside him barely registers in the fog of his mind. If her intuition doesn’t deceive her, Tooru looks torn and indescribably lonely.

The wet strand of hair that he tucked behind his ear when she came out of her bedroom has dried and taken the shape of a wave. She’d always wanted to ask him if that was his natural hair pattern. Had never dared to. Well, now she knew the answer.

The rest of the car ride is spent in silence even though Tooru knows he could fill it with small talk or his usual teasing, but the energy for that is nowhere to be found. Certainly not within him. He wishes she would strike up a conversation, any conversation, just so he could hear her speak. She has such a whimsical voice after all, like that of an old soul with millennia worth of stories to tell. He wonders how her singing voice would sound. Breathy? Eerie? Remote? Would he ever know?

But after 30 minutes of driving and an additional 10 minutes of trying to find a parking spot in this godforsaken weather, Tooru decides he’s had enough of the unyielding silence. No more. 

“We’re here.” He announces, unbuckling his seatbelt.

Unlike him, Y/n remembered to bring an umbrella, which meant that he would be the one holding the black thing above their heads as they practically ran toward the high-end store two blocks south. Her hand is in his, and he has to stop himself from bringing it to his lips so he can kiss each finger. It’s such a silly thing to wish for while they’re trying to get away from the merciless downpour. But he just can’t help it.

Once they walk through the glass doors of the boutique, they can breathe properly without the fear of catching a cold. The employees greet them- greet him, to be exact. Either he is a regular or it’s obvious how much wealthier than her she is. Either way, they’re kind and helpful as they answer his questions and lead them toward the section with the garments that best fit his description.

Y/n is so distracted by the rich fabrics and bewitching designs that she barely catches what Tooru is saying. He’s standing to her right with what appears to be three dresses hanging from his arm.

“Here,” he says, smiling as he takes her by the elbow and toward one of the changing booths. He hands her the dresses. “Try these on, pretty.”

Tooru takes a seat on the couch and beams at her as she slides the curtain of the changing room to cover her from view. To remark that the dresses are beautiful feels like an understatement. They’re so exquisitely tailored that the design almost seems to come alive; the midnight sky, a silky bed of emeralds, and rubies melting against the balls of her feet. They must cost a fortune.

She takes off her clothes and tries on the emerald green dress first. The material slides down her body with ease, and Y/n finds herself wondering how it is that Oikawa knows her size with such accuracy. Could he tell with just one look or had he perhaps asked his cousin, Chiharu? Either way, it clung to her meager curves just right, even adding them where there were none; the exquisitely cinched waist and the puffed chest area.

“So,” She began after sliding the curtain to the side, “What do you think?”

Tooru can only try to swallow his gasp at the sight of her. His first instinct is to abandon the comfort of his seat and rest his hands on the small of her back. But he doesn’t have that privilege, so all he can

“How does the fabric feel? Is it itchy?”

She nods. “A bit.”

“Thought so.” He hums, pensive, and then points behind her to the clothes hanging from the hanger. “Try the midnight blue dress. The velvet one with the spaghetti straps.”

So, she does and the sense of comfort that envelops her is almost instant. The fabric is smooth to the touch, meaning she could rub her palms over the expanse of her thigh in case the nerves got to her. It is enough, she thinks, to have an escape route even if it’s only in the way of zoning out. 

“Should I try another one?” She asks as she stands before him.

With a smile on his lips, Tooru shakes his head and rises to his feet. At his sides, his hands twitch, almost as if they wish to shed their skin.

“What do you think,” He says instead, “About putting an accessory around your waist?”

“Like a necklace you mean?” 

He nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, some kind of necklace to emphasize your waist.”

Y/n looks down at her feet and just shrugs.

“If you think so.”

Tooru’s hands itch all the more at her response, and before he knows it, the urge to touch her has won over his restraint.

“Now, on to the shoes.” The enthusiasm bleeds through every word as he takes her hands in his. “You’re a size 37, right? European size.”

She lets him lead the way and when the employee asks her which type of footwear she has in mind, she answers, “I don’t usually go for heels because I have horrible coordination so maybe something that will make me look taller that I can comfortably walk in.”

“Certainly, miss.” The employee waves out her arm. “This way, if you please.”

The employee graciously shows them three pairs of heels she thinks may be a good fit. Tooru takes it upon himself to help her put them on after thanking the woman for her service. The first pair, the color of midnight blue studded with crystals, turns out to be a tad uncomfortable given that the heel exceeds 4 inches in height.

“There.” He fixes the clasp of her left heel. “Are they a good fit?”

She nods, walking to and from the glass shelf a few meters from where they’d been sitting. The second pair has turned out differently, it seems. The heels are not above 3 inches and the backs of her feet don’t feel sore after walking in them.

“I like them.” She tells him once she stops in front of him.

She expects that to be the end of their shopping spree. But Tooru is nothing if not a man full of surprises.

“Now, I know you’re probably gonna freak out about this but hear me out.” He rushes the last part once he catches her wary glance. “Jewelry is absolutely fundamental for the look we’re going for, and you already said yes to the one around the waist. So, I think that a pair of earrings would look stunning on you.”

Y/n places the heels on the floor. “You’re overdoing this.”

“What do you mean?”

She looks up to see him tilt his head in confusion.

“You’re spending too much on me.” She clarifies while putting her socks back on. “You shouldn’t.”

He expects him to groan and whine but Tooru catches her off guard by taking a seat next to her and leaning in close.

“But it’s because I want to. I really, really do,” There it is, the whining. “So please let me.”

“Would you give up if I refused?”

He looks down at his hands, biting the inside of his cheek. “I don’t want to, though.”

Y/n doesn’t know why but she relents. He tells her that the earrings will be a surprise. Even after she tells him there can be no surprise when he’s already told her, he insists their exquisiteness will take her unawares. He pinky promises to catch her if she should faint at the sight of them.

July

The afternoon boils with chatter, sweltering heat, and the music blasting from Chiharu’s speakers. They’re at Kuroo’s vacation home, the size of which never fails to amaze Y/n. If she weren’t subconsciously reigning in her facial expresions, she’d be gawking, staring at the huge gate, the fountain before the stairs that led to the main door, the walls of the foyers lined with paintings of exorbitant value, the lush garden with it’s bizarrely trimmed bushes, and so much more of what Chiharu likes to call « rich people bullshit ». She says so right to Kuroo’s face too and he responds by headlocking her as the lot of them file into the house.

They’re halfway up the front steps when Y/n feels a hand on her shoulder, peeling off the straps of her sunset orange backpack. She looks up to find Rin staring at her as if to ask for cooperation.

« Let me help you. »

« It’s not that heavy. » She tells him. « I can carry it upstairs. »

His mouth twitches. « You’re can’t afford to lose 10 inches of height. Give it to me and stand up straight. »

« Your posture is worse. »

« Yeah, » He hooks his index under one of the straps. « But my height can afford it. »

Not wanting to seem weird, Y/n chooses to feel like a burden by letting the boy carry it up to her room, which is opposite hers on what is referred to by rich-boy-Kuroo as the western wing. You’d think it was a castle and not just a really big house. A gargantuan house.

Rin sets her backpack on the bed, carefully might I add. He knows how careful Y/n is about her possessions and doesn’t want to upset her.

After that, they take turns taking showers, Rin letting her go before him while Chiharu and Kuroo get into a shouting match about the towels. Kenma flees the scene with a roll of his eyes while Ayame tries and fails to get them to cool off. Rin ushers her into the bathroom before the quarreling duo have the chance to set their sights on her.

The shampoos smell nice, and they even have labels with their names on them No wonder Kuroo pestered them about their hair types before the trip was decided. His efforts have paid off because Y/n has rarely felt so relieved and clean before.

Maybe it had something to do with the environment as well. This is Kuroo’s house. They aren’t blood related. He does not remind her of home but in a way… she feels that this is what it must feel like. This is how children feel when they come home after a long day of classes. How she wishes the year was made of summers and summers only.

They join Kuroo’s parents, who are delighted to have them over for two weeks, for a light lunch. Y/n sits between Rin and Kenma and joins the rest in their laughter with smiles of her own before catching herself in the act and looking down at her reflection in the bowl of clear summer soup. She’s so embarrassed to have smiled and so anxious about anyone having noticed that she internally scrambles to find refuge in something. Anything that isn’t the joy of those at the table.

Rin reaches for the salt shaker and in the process, she catches a wiff of mint shampoo and the pine scent of his perfume. For a split second, she contemplates easing him down so she could brush her nose against his pulse and breathe him in. But then he’s sagging back into his chair and sprinkling salt onto his vegetables, baring his teeth in a grin as Kuroo cracks another joke. Y/n shakes her head lightly and swallows a spoonful of soup.

They spend the afternoon in their respective bedrooms, and Y/n is glad to see that the maids have turned on the air conditioner so that the room isn’t the equivalent of an oven by the time she gets back. Even the blinds are drawn so that the sun may not heat the carpet, bedding, or furniture. The 2-hour nap she gets is pure bliss.

Ayame wakes her up with a knock at her door, announcing that they are to go for a swim at the beach nearby in about 30 minutes. Y/n promises to join them and tries to remove the sleep from her face by spalshing some water on it, applying some cherry lipbalm, and braiding her hair in a loose crown around her head. She throws on a pair of olive green shorts and a white shirt above her two-piece sage green swimsuit, shoves her feet in a pair of white slippers, and then she’s out the door.

Rin throws his arm around her shoulders, says something she can scarcely hear, and keeps her at his side the entire walk. Y/n doesn’t mind. He smells so good after all, like a pine forest by the sea, and the scent reminds her of the green of his eyes.

Only, she feels warm where his knuckles brush against her own. The evening breeze and the seawater cool down every part of her but the spot that tingles.

She’s content with burying her feet in the sand and watching the rest of them play volleyball⸺ Kuroo and Ayame vs Rin and Chiharu⸺ while Kenma assumes the role of the referee at her side. At one point, Chiharu almost goes for Kuroo’s jugular and it’s only by the grace of Rin’s strength that she does not. The bickering idiots soon get distracted by the promise of the meal Mrs. Yukimiya, the housekeeper, had the maids pack for them beforehand. This way they can ravage the sandwiches instead of each other.

It is then that Rin comes to sit to her right, Kenma having left to nibble on a piece of watermelon.

« Wanna go for a swim? » He asks her.

Y/n tilts her head. « Again? »

« Is there a limit? »

So they head in, submerging before rising to the surface once again. He shakes his head before combing back his wet hair with his fingers and swiping that same hand down his face. His eyes settle on her chest.

« I think your top is loose. » Rin tells her, and her arms instinctively shoot up to shield herself. He cracks a small smile. « Turn around. I’ll tie it for you. »

As he does, her cheeks go aflame, as if it were possible to blush any harder.

« Don’t worry. » He utters, loud enough for her to hear him above the sound of the waves crashing against the shore. « I didn’t see anything. »

She sighs and, when she thinks he’s no longer listening, mutters, « Not like there’s much to see anyway. »

« You have nice tits. »

That single sentence stuns her and the coming wave almost sweeps her under. Luckily, Rin’s fingers wrap fiercely around her forearm, steadying her, and Y/n looks up at him through her wet lashes. He’s laughing but it doesn’t make her feel… small. She feels like joining him.

« I should do that more often. »  He says, splashing water over his toned torso. « It’s fun. »

Y/n follows his example, shivering as a particularly cool breeze sweeps over the beach.

« What is ? » She asks.

There’s a twinkle in his piercing green eyes as his hand comes up to cart through her wet hair. « Catching you off guard. »

As if to distract him from her flaming cheeks (the temperatures are not to blame by the way), Y/n splashes him and swims away. He’s hot on her heel, intent on catching up. Not that it takes long until he does. They swim away and toward the shore time and time again until their limbs tire and the only solutions are to either get out or float. So there they remain, backs to the seabed and faces to the darkening sky, until the edge of the horizon has swallowed the final remnants of the sun.

That night, they gorge on watermelons and lemonade. They’re almost bursting with it by the time Kuroo’s parents have turned in for the night, leaving the teenagers to enjoy the song of the crickets in the garden. The temperatures have significantly decreased and a pleasurable chill hangs in the summer night air.

Y/n is on her 5th glass of lemonade. It trickles down her chin. Before she can grab a napkin from the roll at the center of the table, Rin swipes his knuckles across her lips and chin, effectively doing the job. His attention is elsewhere as he licks off the residue. It’s almost as if the gesture is second nature.

The following two weeks can only be defined as bliss. An unprecedented era of peace in Y/n’s life. She’s surrounded by people who don’t hate her, and even seem to tolerate her. The days are filled with the summer heat, the conversations at dinner after Kuroo’s parents have bid them goodnight, smoking weed when no one is looking, lemonade, watermelons, movie marathons, volleyball and shouting matches, card games the rules of which Y/n can barely understand (it embarrasses her greatly), late night swimming in the outdoor pool, and quick trips by bike to the convenience store. Ayame sits behind Chiharu, Kenma behind Kuroo, and Y/n behind Rin.

« You’re gonna stretch out my shirt. » He says jokingly the first time she settles in the back, her fingers curled around the sides of his shirt. « Here, just warp your arms around me, okay. »  

At first, the proximity seems daunting. It isn’t just proximity after all. Her front is flush against his back, and Y/n fears that Rin will sense her heartbeats through the layers of cloth, flimsy as they may be, and find it pathetic that she feels dizzy because of human contact.

But these thoughts are short-lived. With her cheek pressed to his shoulder, arms around his middle, enveloped in the fresh sea-scented air, Kuroo’s and Chiharu’s hooting laughter, and the way Rin turns his head just the slightest to smile at her… there is no more reason to be ashamed of her rapidly beating heart. They are all on the same page.

She still tutors Rin in the gaps of time that they can’t fill with sleep but everyone else can. They sit smack in the middle of the living room with a fan turned on as she explains trigonometry to him, all while they munch on sandwiches and cantaloupes. Lemonade, of course, is not missing from the menu. At one point, while Rin is laboring to solve a problem and she takes a sip of her lemonade, a laugh escapes her that the boy does not fail to notice.

« What is it? » He asks with a smile on his lips. It’s the first time he’s heard her laugh at… seemingly nothing.

Though she stops laughing, a smile still plays on her lips. « The lemonade looks like you. »

« Like me? » Rin raises an eyebrow, twirling his pen. « How can I resemble a drink? »

Y/n sets down her drink, watches the outer walls of the glass sweat. 

« Your eyes. » She clarifies. « When you look at me it feels the same as when I grab a glass of cool lemonade and drink it. »

« You mean to say I am refreshing. » He teases.

She meets his smile with her own. « I do. »

Too lazy to go to their rooms, they fall asleep on the floor, the glasses of lemonade sweating on the table.

On the last night of their vacation, with his parents’ departure having taken place two days prior, Kuroo decides they need to go all out, and by that, he means they should go through his dad’s alcohol stash and steal some. Unsurprisingly, Chiharu fervently agrees, Kenma doesn’t give a shit, Ayame tells them to be careful, while Rin and Y/n take a bite out of the cold cherry pie.

That is not to say that when Kuroo and Chiharu succeed in their endeavor, the rest do not willingly participate in the debauchery. They drain up to six bottles altogether while singing along to the songs in Chiharu’s playlist. In a rare display of agreeableness, Chiharu and Kuroo shout the lyrics with their arms swung around each other’s shoulders while Ayame tries to blink away the coming sleep.

At one point, the rest of them head inside to cause some ruckus, leaving Rin and her to sit by the pool. You can still hear the music playing loud enough to keep Y/n’s neighbors back home awake. But she doesn’t want to think about that place. It’s nice to dip her toes in the cool water, in new experiences.

“Oh,” She lifts her head, looking in the direction of the house when a new song starts playing, « Depeche mode. »

Rin looks at her in silence for a few seconds, then rises to his feet.

« Let’s dance.” He says, hand outstretched.

Y/n takes it, and together they head to the garden, away from their friends’ prying eyes. The grass cushions their steps as they sway in each other’s arms, and the scent of the flowers envelops them in some feeling akin to excitement and tranquility. This moment, drunk on so sweet a scent, feels a little like falling in love.

“You smell nice,” Y/n mutters into his chest.

His hands travel up from her waist, settling between her shoulder blades. “You feel good.”

They cling to each other like sweat on your sweaty skin during the summer heat. It takes a chilly breeze to sever the embrace. Rin’s hands are still where they were before, fingers trailing up and down the ravine between her shoulders as his eyes photograph the sight of her in his arms.

“I bet kissing you would feel like a leap through time.” He says, smiling a little.

Y/n suddenly misses the cover of his chest. “Why?”

His eyebrows come together as a ponderous expression takes over his features. He seems to be trying to word his response.

“Because it’d be so brief.” He says with a teasing smile. “Hours would feel like a split second. And you’d become impossible to catch up with.”

For a second, her heart stutters in her chest. Her heartbeat becomes an irregular, spluttering thing. It takes all of her drunken courage to look him in the eye and respond to his teasing in kind.

“I’m gonna bet on something too.”

He raises an eyebrow, mouth slightly parted. “Yeah?”

“Bet it felt the same to kiss your cousin’s crush.”

He must not have expected her to bring that up (she’d seen him making out with a girl and later learned that it was indeed his cousin’s crush) because his ministrations on her shoulders come to a halt. Not for long though. He recovers at the speed of sound, his right hand coming up to cup her cheek. His thumb brushes back and forth over the flaming skin.

“You’ve lost the bet then.” He whispers, and somehow Y/n hears him over the music. “I win.”

She hears their breaths synchronize as he leans down, head angled. With her hand over his chest, she can make out the violent waltz of their heartbeats when his lips ghost over hers, the sliver of space between them begging to be consumed. She hears the wind passing through the garden as he leans forward and presses his lips on hers, tongue flicking at her bottom lip and she feels compelled to let him in. It is euphoric to be touched, and he touches her so kindly every time.

His hand, previously on her shoulder, slides down to her waist, pulling her closer as he deepens the kiss. In their state of drunkenness, it is amazing they haven’t tumbled to the floor by the time he releases her and they both come up for air.

The music has stopped. Their friends have settled in a quiet rhythm. Or perhaps they have fallen asleep on the couch.  

“See?” Rin whispers, slurring his words as he drags his thumb along her bottom lip. The flesh feels so soft and bruised under his touch. “Too brief.”

Y/n doesn’t know if smiling would be too weird. What matters is that she’s drunk so she doesn’t care about that. She looks up at him with eyes filled with wonder and a smile on her lips. It stays that way long after they’ve fallen asleep in each other’s arms beside their friends.

It is a tragedy that she remembers none of it when the morning creeps up with claws of gold and a promise of tearing them from this summer. Or the summer from them.

Don't even know if there are ppl still reading this fic lmfaooooo

But anyway i still remember some of the people that asked me to tag them. @invyou @kurookinnie @tuttumi the last one is my best friend she's obligated to read my shit you can't escape hoe

[brayneworms]

blood on the bandage, ghost in the room | izuru kamukura

kinktober day two: wet dream

word count. 2.1k

content. 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, wet dreams, masturbation, past hinata/reader (flashback), introspection, kissing/making out, handjobs (more alluded to than explicit but still), gender-neutral reader (they use body butter and lip balm which i consider to be gender-neutral)

♪ deadlines (hostile) by car seat headrest

kinktober mlist | regular mlist

Izuru’s dreams wouldn’t make sense to the average person.

They are quick and hard and violent like a surgeon sawing away at you. They are more akin to haemorrhages than anything else. He does not often find recurring imagines in his states of hypnagogia—he knows the common ones. Teeth falling out, turning up to a social event naked, falling from a great height. Maybe it’s an indication of how fear has been cut from him by the root, rubbed down to a polished nub, that these dreams quelled as soon as he went under the knife. 

But—it’s annoying. Actually, it’s the thing that makes him realise he is still capable of feeling annoyed. There are trickles of his old self here. Hajime Hinata. He turns the name over in his head like a coin, faces flashing, green eyes-red eyes, short hair-long hair, ordinary-special. The differences between him and Hinata are strides rather than steps, but the boy insists on clinging to him. He supposes, grudgingly, it makes a certain amount of sense. Izuru had been made from the scraps of Hinata; had scrounged himself to completion from Hinata’s spare rib, for want of a poetic comparison. No effort could erase the boy completely.

And yet what remained of him annoyed. Izuru had no favourite foods (sustenance was sustenance) but sometimes when they gave him custard for dessert his stomach did an involuntary twitch and saliva trickled between his teeth. Izuru logically knew that the four toothbrushes in the pack were functionally identical, yet found himself drawn to use the blue one first, every time. Izuru had no friends, no family, no affection—and yet, and yet, when he saw you… 

It was like Hinata existed in gasps of consciousness, sparks of recognition that Izuru doesn’t know how to reconcile. He sees you across the grassy campus and knows the yuzu smell of your skin because you buy drugstore body-butter with the green lid. He knows the feeling of your hair beneath his hand and how your head fits in the hollow of his neck, that your heart beats slightly faster than the average person at around 89 beats per minute and that you have a mild intolerance to lactose that often doesn’t stop you indulging anyway. 

He is a creature cut from desire; such things have been surgically removed from him, and Izuru can’t imagine missing them. He’s seen the way things like love and lust cause people to fetter away their inhibitors, their sense, their selflessness. Desire makes the world an animalistic one; renounced from it, he is clean. Alone, perhaps, but clean. 

Not lately, though. His dreams have become disturbed. Jittery flashes from a life that is not his, but was, flash through him at night like an old film reel. It’s a feeling he cannot reconcile—Hinata had loved you. Izuru does not. But the body, the flesh remembers, even if the mind is absent. 

The body remembers all too well. Izuru dreams:

A camp bed, all they could afford. Most of Hajime’s furniture has been fleeced for spare yen to pay off the tuition fees for Hope’s Peak (the parents don’t know this debt will be settled with finality some way into their son’s second year, their money paid back in blood). The two of you have to squish up close together to have room for both of you, but Hajime privately does not mind, and he suspects—hopes—that you don’t either. Your presence and touch is not foreign, not by this stage of knowing each other, but it still makes him nervous. He feels like a spring lamb around you, his hands too big, too clammy, god he hopes you don’t notice him wiping them on his sweats every chance he gets. And you, doused in the thin lacquer of premature summer heat, skin glimmering with sweat beneath your loose shirt and shorts. Your knee presses into his, lazy, unshaved, but moisturised always with sunscreen and that body butter he likes. It’s citrusy—lemon or yuzu or something. 

You’re gorgeous. So gorgeous Hajime has no idea how he got so lucky. Some talentless loser—but he has to stop thinking about himself like that, really. You’re not talented either. Not desperate enough to remortgage your house to get into Hope’s Peak on a pity course, either, which he reckons still makes him a damn sight more pathetic than you. It’s fine. Whatever. He’s fine being pathetic around you since you seem to like him anyway. 

You look up at him. Your lips gleam dully with remnants of balm; it smudges up over your cupid’s bow, highlighting the skin there. “What’re you looking at?” you ask, in a tone that makes Hajime think you already know. He feels himself go impossibly warmer. 

“Nothing,” he blusters, fidgets anxiously with his too-big fingers. “D’you, uh, have enough room?”

“Well, no. But it’s fine. I might prefer it this way,” you say.

“Ahaha…” His laugh trails to an awkward stop. “Might you?”

“I might. You could convince me.” 

Ah. Okay. He’s not totally dense; he can pick up a hint. As long as the other person giving it to him is wearing bells and flashing red lights and a siren. He draws in a quick breath, steeling his suddenly galloping pace before leaning forward. His nose and chin brushes against yours, the angle awkward, too close; a spring digs into his thigh as he noses closer, feeling the soft slide of your lip balm on his mouth. It’s too hot to kiss properly, he thinks—no, despairs. There’s little he loves more than kissing you. Sex is good—sex is great—but he stumbles under the sheer pressure of it sometimes. With kissing there’s no real standards to uphold, as long as he remembers to keep control of his tongue. 

Still, he’s a young guy, and his body doesn’t listen to reason all the time. Only a few minutes later he has to pull back with a groan, glancing awkwardly where your hip rests in the cradle between his thighs. “Sorry,” he mutters, flushed to his ears. “Sorry, it’ll, uh, go down. If we stop.”

“Do you want to stop?” you ask. Hajime feels slightly dazed when he looks at you like this; your hair a little rumpled, shirt pulled to one shoulder leaving the other bared, looking up in a way that makes him feel big, loved, though maybe those are the same thing, he doesn’t know. 

“Not… not really,” he stammers, feeling grotesque in the face of his own desire. “But I don’t want to—like—just because it’s there doesn’t mean you have to do anything. I don’t want you to feel like you have to. You can just ignore it.”

Your hand on his knee. Not pushing up, just there, but it still makes hot sparks run up his spine. “I can help. If you want.”

Jesus. Hajime closes his eyes briefly, trying to ignore the way his body hums hotly. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to. Do you want?”

Of course, I do, he wants to shout. Can’t you see how much I want? I’m made of want. Instead he just gives a shaky nod, forcing himself not to shut his eyes; the vulnerability of it might be too much to bear. You lean forward and he loses himself in the hazy river of your lips against his, the slow lull that kissing you draws him into. Your hand slides slowly up his leg, squeezes at his thigh, kneads his flesh like bread until he feels his bones turn to jelly, until he’s straining against the fabric of his sweats and letting out pathetic choked noises into your mouth. This is what you do, he thinks as he rocks his hips lazily against your hand. You turn him insistent. 

Your hand slips under his waistband. He has a brief moment of panic, wondering when the hell the last time he trimmed or groomed or did anything down there was before your hand wraps warm and firm around him and the thoughts slip straight out of his head. He’s almost sleepy with pleasure as you stroke him, embarrassingly wet already so there’s no give beneath the soft of your palm. 

And he doesn’t have to hide, not with you, not ever, so he bucks his hips up into the tunnel of your hand, seeking something, so close—

And Izuru wakes. 

It’s cold and around him there is a perfect darkness. It is the furthest thing from a sunbathed summer afternoon as there could be. The sheets on his bed are pristine white and starched with something antiseptic. And the biggest difference is that he is Izuru, not Hinata—he is the furthest thing from that boy, that simpleton, someone who could never conceive of what he might one day become, and—

He’s erect.

Izuru blinks down at himself, ostensibly bewildered, which in and of itself is a pleasant change. But no, there’s nothing pleasant about this. It feels—strange, he can feel his skin prickling against his nightwear. He tries to breathe; it’s not as if this is the first time this has happened. Biology still has as much sway over his body as usual, and he knows that an endocrine system is nothing but a hormonal playground until around age twenty-four or twenty-five, and so yes it happens sometimes. He just ignores it until it goes away, which generally happens quite quickly.

He waits. Nothing happens. Every shift against the fabric seems only to make it worse, in fact.

Izuru grits his teeth. He’s not inherently averse to this—it’s new, and new is always a touch more interesting than the same. But it is, perhaps, a worrying symptom of a larger issue. Hinata, still inside his brain somewhere, tucked away like a badly-kept secret, like a loose penny. He’s not a fan of the idea that he may decide to come back out again one day. 

And he knows this is Hinata’s doing, because when he reaches out tentatively to lay his palm flat over the tent in his pyjama pants, it’s your face that flashes through his mind. It’s yuzu body butter and gossamer lip balm, and a noise rises in the back of his throat before he can stop it, something low and soft. His fingers fan out like a spiders’ body, smoothing over the fabric, the dip of his palm pressing against where he throbs. He remembers your hand doing something similar. 

And it’s second nature—or first, he supposes grimly—that slips his hand beneath the loose waistband of his pants. He doesn’t wear underwear to sleep, so there’s nothing but skin and a thatch of hair before the pads of his fingers graze the side of his dick. Izuru hisses, straight through his teeth; his sensitivity is heightened, no doubt from ignoring this side of himself for months. Just taking himself in hand makes his head spin. 

He knows that most people his age think of something when they do this—other people, commonly, but also pornography or some specific fetish. Izuru doesn’t know what to think of—but his body seems to have made the choice for him. The flesh remembers; as he makes the first slow, firm stroke, it’s you he thinks of. The warmth of your breath against his jaw, the soft of your hand on his dick. 

It would feel better, he thinks absently, if it were you doing this instead.

…How absurd. What a stupid thing to think.

But he doesn’t stop, can’t stop, even loathing his own train of thought. He’d thought he’d have to relearn this, but his hands move on autopilot, remembering how he likes to touch, to squeeze, to wait. His thumb strokes over the head, collects the prespend there and the sound that starts echoing from him as he fucks into his hand makes his brain buzz. One of his legs is flung over the side of the bed, long hair a tangle beneath him; he feels out of sorts, clumsy, and the unfamiliarity makes his blood quicken. 

He squeezes his eyes shut, bucks his hips into his hand. He’s close already. It’s barely been ninety seconds. Eighty-seven, eighty-eight, eighty-nine—

“I can help,” you whisper into his ear, some pretty sweet-smelling ghost. “If you want.”

With a strangled cry, Izuru comes into his hand, clamping the inside of his elbow against his mouth to stifle the noise. In the seconds after he’s breathless, heart shredding in his ears, blinking up at the swimming darkness of the ceiling. It’s dizzying—not just the experience, the crash of adrenaline, but the way it makes his perpetual clarity dim for a minute. 

For a moment, he shuts his eyes, wishes that when he opened them he’d see you lying beside him.

Izuru chalks that thought up to one of Hinata’s; these days, it’s getting harder to tell the difference. 

[lvmimis]

cw: part 1 of the romantic getaway series of drabbles (probably). reader and izuku are recently broken up. bakugou with an unnamed gf (at least in this part). no other warnings yet. exposition.

Izuku lets out a sigh as he slips out of his hero suit in the men’s locker room of his hero agency. It’s just nearing 6pm on Friday and he’s already exhausted from the week, having run double shifts between teaching at UA in the AM and patrolling in the evening, today being the shortest day of the week. Lost in vacant, unformed thought (which seems to be the norm these days), he’s distracted enough that he’s paying absolutely no mind to his cell phone vibrating out of control on the bench he’s placed it on, enough that it’s poised to nearly bounce off and hit the ground.

And that’s when instead, he hears the door to the locker room slam open, and reflexively lets out a yelp to cover himself.

“DEKU!”

It takes less than a second for a fired-up Katsuki to scan the room and find Izuku covering his torso and boxer briefs with his sweaty hero suit and another second for him to spot the phone he’s unintentionally been ignoring.

“You fucking-” he’s over in a flash and grabs Izuku’s phone, unlocking it instantly - a move that seriously confuses Izuku for a moment - and opens his own messages to him before thrusting it in his face.

“You need to read your fucking texts!” he hisses.

Izuku gives a defeated sigh, putting the suit down finally before reaching for a towel.

“What could possibly be so bad if you’re here in one piece?” he asks. Izuku’s patience in general has reached its limits due to a series of events over the past few months, the fact that he’s been dumped he feels unfairly a major one amongst others, so he can’t help the sarcasm in his voice, but Katsuki glares at him.

“You’re not canceling this vacation, just so you know.”

Izuku can’t remember what the hell his friend is talking about.

“What vacation?”

Katsuki grits his teeth. “Don’t play stupid with me.”

Izuku gives him an exasperated look before wrapping his towel around his waist, and slipping his feet into a pair of disposable plastic slippers.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Can I go shower?” he asks. He moves decisively, but Katsuki follows closely behind. Izuku is somewhat surprised by the audacity for his friend to continue yelling at him on the way to the showers but Katsuki is nothing if not audacious.

“All four of us got the same damn email, and I don’t care if the two of you are broken up, you’re fucking going.”

Izuku stops in his tracks, just short of one of the standing showers, and turns to look at him, as recall nearly overwhelms him. His heart begins to race.

Vacation.

Exactly 1 month ago, practically to the hour, Izuku and Katsuki and you, his now definitive ex, and your best friend, Katsuki’s very persistently steady girlfriend, booked a romantic getaway for one week.

A trip that costs no less than a whopping 1,500,000 yen per couple.

A trip that is nonrefundable.

A trip that is so exclusive and sought after that he will literally receive a hefty fine if he cancels short notice (something both of you had found a little odd when you were peering over his shoulder to read the terms of agreement).

“I can’t-”

Katsuki practically has Izuku pushed up in the shower by the neck.

“You are going.”

The four of you booked a suite as a unit as a deal and all members must show up.

“Literally HOW can I go? WHY does it matter if I go? She’s not going to show up!” Izuku retorts. A few rookie heroes are heard entering the locker room, step into the shower room, and the two of them can hear them shuffle right back out.

Izuku sighs.

“Don’t worry about it, we’re working on that.” Katsuki takes a step back, easing up on his hapless friend. “Make sure you pack properly, I’m picking you up to go to the airport.”

Katsuki leaves and Izuku is left, shocked and confused, figuring out how he’s going to manage to spend an entire week with you, a woman who apparently hates his guts now, in supposed romantic bliss.

—

Katsuki is right, his girlfriend is absolutely working on it.

“Hey, I think that we should aim for at least two matching swimsuits - what do you think about these?” 

The two of you are sitting face to face, at a table in a rooftop bar, but she’s sending you links through your DMs, and while you are opening every single one diligently, you’re trying to remind her that you’re, under no circumstances, going to spend an entire week at a couples getaway with Izuku Midoriya, given that you dumped the man 2 months ago and have washed your hands of him ever since.

“I feel like I have to remind you that I don’t fuck with this man anymore,” you finally pipe up, despite noting that your eye is on a crossover halter bikini top you actually find kind of cute.

She looks up at you, then shakes her head before scrolling quickly, then zooms in on the same email the four of you have received, right on the word “NONREFUNDABLE.”

“Read this word out loud for me, hun.”

You roll your eyes.

“It’s not my money, it’s his,” you remind him. As the words escape your lips, you already feel like an awful person, but there’s a reason why you remain steadfast in your resolve to not interact with him at all.

You decided on the breakup and you better stick to it, lest you fall into the same kind of routine over and over again. You’ve never wanted to be one of those on again, off again couples. One and done.

She blinks, then tilts her head, then laughs, taking a long sip of her martini.

“Okay, let’s try this again.” She clasps her hands together in front of her. “You ARE going and you’re going to look gorgeous the entire time.”

“If you just need a fourth person to go there, he can just bring-” Your friend raises her eyebrows and you know better not to pronounce the name that was at the tip of your tongue. “Listen, I don’t have time to go and I’ll just bring down the vibes.”

She shakes her head vehemently. 

“Listen, you need a vacation. You work hard all the time and a week of spa treatment, margaritas and sunshine will absolutely not kill you.”

You frown, but your friend is as persistent as she’s charming. “If you really want to get back at him, Izuku’s card is on file. Spend his money. Suck him dry if you’re really mad!”

You glare at her.

“Financially.” She sips her drink. “Or otherwise…” she says in a small voice. You roll your eyes at her, knowing fully well that the innuendo was intended, but the fact of the matter is that it doesn’t sound like a terrible idea.

A romantic getaway without the romance is still a getaway, and perhaps you do need a break.

So what if Izuku is there to tag along? There’s nothing left between you. 

You’re sure of it.

[cheapshrimpysheep]

2 Hot Chocolates & a Fortune Cookie

SUMMARY: “Never forget to tell people how much you love them. They may not know.” is what is written on the little piece of paper in your fortune cookie. But maybe the boy who gave you the cookie feels that these two phases applies to him too.

CHARACTERS: Deuce Spade / Kalim Al-Asim

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader; Kiss

WARNING: Spoilers from "Sam's New Year Sale"

WORD COUNT: An average of 1.180 words per character.

COMMENTS: I like to write things based on the cards and I wanted to write something with the New Year's cards but I never thought of anything good enough. Until I reread the story looking for an idea and here it is.

I hope you all enjoy 🥠 And Happy New Year! 🎉

About the currency in Twisted Wonderland: From what I understand, on the JP server the Madols would be the equivalent of Japanese Yen while on the ENG server the Thaumarks would be the equivalent of US dollars. Which personally makes it easier for me to tell whether something is expensive or not in this world.

P.S.: In the second Sam's New Year Sale event, Vil is the one who says that the Mystery Bags cost 40 Thaumarks.

CONTEXT: You even thought about buying one of Sam's mystery bags, but when you saw all the commotion that there was every day in that store, plus the fact that the bags cost 40 Thaumarks (and it's not like you could afford to spend that much on a simple bag considering the money Crowley gives you), you ended up giving up on the idea and not even going to Sam's store to say hi to Deuce and Kalim.

It was evening and you were in the lounge of Ramshackle Dorm when you heard someone knocking on the door. You open it and see Deuce still in his New Year's Attire.

“Good evening, (Y/N). Sorry to show up so late, but I wanted to give you one of these.” He hands you one of Sam's mystery bags. “I bought one and saved it for you. You never went to the store, did you? Neither Kalim nor I saw you. I thought maybe you were too busy or couldn't make it because it was always full. But I thought you might like to receive one. ...Hm? Oh, don't worry, you don't have to pay me back. It can be a New Year's gift for you. Open it! I'm curious to see what you got.”

You thank him, take the bag and open it. You take out a large box that says ‘Hot Chocolate Kit’. In the box there is a bag of mini marshmallows, a packet of chocolate powder, a bag of cookies and two edible spoons.

“Did you like it? I'm glad. Since it’s random, people often receive things that have nothing to do with their tastes. But who wouldn't like a hot chocolate in this cold?”

You put that box down on the entrance table and take out a second box which is a set of matching winter themed mugs. You suggest to Deuce to use those new mugs with you and taste that hot chocolate together.

“I would love to!” He accepts with a smile. “I'll help you prepare it. I hope we can make a third mug for Grim too, otherwise he'll be mad at us.”

But you see something else inside the bag, it looks like shiny paper. You put the box with the mugs on the entrance table too, put your hand back inside the bag and take out a golden ticket.

“It can't be!” Deuce is shocked! “It’s an Amazing Ticket! So they really are true!” He is very happy and excited for you. “You don't know what it is? The students were crazy about Sam's mystery bags because of this. From what Jamil-senpai told us these are tickets you can trade for any one thing in the Mystery Shop. And there's no price limit. You can trade it for literally anything in the store! This is the first time I've seen one. You're so lucky! That’s awesome!”

You feel a little guilty because it was Deuce who paid the 40 Thaumarks for that bag. So you try to give him that ticket.

“What? No! The ticket is yours. I gave you the bag as a gift. I made enough money from this gig to buy what I wanted, don't worry. If you were lucky enough to get it, it means you deserve it. Really, keep it and buy whatever you want.” He gives you an encouraging smile. “Oh! One more thing.” He takes a small bag out of his pocket and takes out a fortune cookie and gives it to you. “Don't worry, these were free to any customer in the store.”

You take the cookie, break it in half, take out the paper inside, give one half to Deuce and keep the other for yourself.

“Never forget to tell people how much you love them.” You read the message on the paper. “They may not know.”

Deuce chokes on the cookie but quickly recovers.

“Y-yeah, I'm fine. Sorry.” He chuckles awkwardly.

You jokingly ask if he forgot to tell his mother that and he laughs awkwardly again.

“Ha ha, no, I always end my calls telling her I love her." He gets a little embarrassed by this statement, but he continues. "W-what about you?”

You say making Grim's favorite dishes is an ‘I love you’ enough for him. Deuce laughs with you and suggests that the two of you go make the hot chocolates. Even if you seem as flustered as he is, he's too oblivious to notice these things.

He thinks about that message a lot while he prepares the hot chocolate with you in the kitchen, to the point of getting distracted from time to time. When you're already putting the marshmallows on top of the hot chocolate, you make a heart with them and give the mug to Deuce. He blushes slightly when he sees the marshmallows heart, but maybe it was the incentive he needed.

“Hum... (Y/N)...” Deuce starts saying, a little nervous, but then he takes a quick and deep breath and looks at you with renewed courage. “I was thinking about the phrase in your fortune cookie and...” He looks away to the hot chocolate you gave him. “I know I always call you buddy and stuff like that but...” He starts blushing again. “The truth is... I think... I like you as more than a friend.”

He won't be able to say much more than this, it's all still very new to him. So, you are the one who takes the next step and tells him, just as the cookie advised you, how much you like/love him. He looks back at you, surprised and with a sparkle in his eyes.

Now knowing that you feel the same way about him, he no longer needs to hold back and attacks you with a hug that lifts your feet off the ground while kissing your cheek.

He puts you back on the ground but continues to hug you. He doesn't have the courage to kiss you on the lips even if he wants to. But if you do it, he'll try to reciprocate with the most affectionate kiss he can muster.

After that, you two will go to the lounge with your hot chocolates. Grim will start complaining that you didn't make him one and Deuce will reveal a third mug of hot chocolate for him.

While Grim burns his tongue because he tried to drink the still-scalding chocolate right away, you and Deuce sit on the couch together with one of his arms around you.

“Happy New Year, (Y/N).” He wishes you with one more kiss.

It was evening and you were in the lounge of Ramshackle Dorm when you heard someone knocking on the door. You open it and see Kalim still in his New Year's Attire.

“HI (Y/N)!” Kalim greets you with his huge smile. “Happy New Year!” He reaches out and hands you one of Sam's mystery bags. “I didn't see you at the store, so I thought maybe you didn't want to get in the meddle of all that crowd. These have been some really crazy days. Ah hah. That's why I bought a mystery bag for you. Here! I'm so curious to see what you've got!”

You thank him, take the bag and open it. You take out a large box that says ‘Hot Chocolate Kit’. In the box there is a bag of mini marshmallows, a packet of chocolate powder, a bag of cookies and two edible spoons.

“Wow! So cool! You have everything you need to make hot chocolate. It tastes so good in winter. Did you like it?” You say yes. “That's great! I saw many students who were disappointed with the things they got. It's great to see that it was a nice surprise for you.”

You put that box down on the entryway table and take out a second box which is a set of matching winter themed mugs. You suggest to Kalim to use those new mugs with you and taste that hot chocolate together.

“Really?! I would love-!” His overly enthusiastic smile fades, giving way to a sad one. “I... would love to... but...”

“You cannot eat or drink anything that has not been approved by Jamil first.” You finish his sentence.

He gives you an apologetic smile.

“Yeah... But I can keep you company and help you prepare it if you want. I'm sure it's great.”

However, you have another idea. You pick up your phone and search for something while asking Kalim if Jmail knew he was there. He tells you yes, that he told Jamil that he just wanted to give you a New Year's gift before going to Scarabia. You find Jamil's contact and call him. He answers immediately.

“Did something happen to Kalim?!” It's the first thing you hear Jamil say.

You say no, that everything is okay, and tell him about the mystery bag and the hot chocolate to ask if you prepare it and taste it before Kalim he can drink it with you.

“Hmm... I don't know...” You hear Jamil's uncertain voice say. “It's not that I don't trust you. I know you would never hurt Kalim but...”

“No one needs to know.” You add.

There was silence for quite a while.

“*sigh* Okay. But only because it's you. And if this came in one of Sam's bags it could have gone to any student, which makes it difficult for it to be something directed at Kalim... Still, be careful you hear!”

You thank Jamil and consequently Kalim also shouts a ‘thank you’ to him. Kalim's sunny smile returns and he is now more excited than ever to make this hot chocolate with you.

But you see something else inside the bag, it looks like shiny paper. You put your hand back inside the bag and take out a golden ticket.

“WHAAAT?! IT CAN'T BE!” He sees you looking at him perplexed. “Sorry. But you got an Amazing Ticket! Deuce and I were wondering if they were even real. And now you got one! Hm? You don't know what they are? It seems that it was because of them that so many people were buying Sam's mystery bags. Jamil told us that these are tickets you can trade for any one thing in the Mystery Shop. And there's no price limit. You can trade it for literally anything in the store! Isn't it amazing?! You’re so lucky!”

You would feel guilty for being the one who got that ticket and not the person who paid 40 Thaumarks for the bag. But Kalim was filthy rich, there was no reason for you to feel bad.

“Oh! Speaking of luck, I almost forgot to give you this.” Kalim takes a small bag out of his pocket and takes out a fortune cookie to give to you. “Sam was offering them to all the customers in the store.”

You take the cookie, break it in half, take out the paper inside, give one half to Kalim and keep the other for yourself.

“Never forget to tell people how much you love them.” You read the message on the paper. “They may not know.”

“Aww. That's a really nice message.” Kalim says as he eats his half of the cookie. “I love you, (Y/N)!” He tells you smiling.

“Aw, I love you too, Kalim.” That's what you felt was the best response back.

He said it so naturally that it seemed like something he would say to any friend, like Jamil for example. So you kind of responded the same way, even though you may really meant it.

You and Kalim went to the kitchen to prepare hot chocolates. Kalim looked like a child with a new toy, he was so excited to do something like that with you. He commented that the cookies were cute, the mugs were pretty, asked how to make chocolate with that powder, read the instructions on the back of the box with you, etc.

He was very happy to see the hot chocolate made, and all that was left was to put the mini marshmallows on top. He made a heart with them and gave you the mug with a cute smile. You do the same for him and he is very happy with your gesture, but something seemed to be bothering him a little.

“Hey, (Y/N)... When you said you loved me back, did you mean it? Because I did!” He smiles at you, blushing a little. “You didn't realise that? Why not?”

You explain that since he is always very affectionate with everyone, it is difficult to realize when he is not just being nice or considering the other person just a good friend, or if it’s something more than that.

“Really?! Ow, I’m so sorry. I didn't mean to confuse you. Looks like your fortune cookie was right. Well, I need to fix that now!” He comes closer to you and holds your both hands with his warm ones, looks you in the eyes and smiles affectionately. “You are the best friend I have ever had. Every second with you makes me happier and more loved than I could ever imagine. I wish I could do the same for you, if you'd let me. I love you (Y/N).”

He's not afraid that you'll reject him. Will it hurt him? Sure, but the most important thing is that he was honest with you and you deserve to know that you're loved.

You confess that the feeling is mutual. He is so relieved and extremely happy to the point of hugging you and lifting you off the ground while doing a spin. He gives you all the kisses on the cheek he's ever wanted to give you and can't stop hugging you.

He doesn't want to go too fast so he lets you kiss him on the lips first if you're comfortable with that. And if you do, you will feel all his love and passion for you in response.

After that, you both go to the lounge and sit together on the sofa. Grim appears, attracted by the smell, and starts complaining that you didn't make him a hot chocolate too. Kalim starts to apologize but that's when you reveal a third mug of hot chocolate that Kalim hadn't even realized you had made. Grim thanks you and Kalim praises you.

While Grim burns his tongue because he tried to drink the still-scalding chocolate right away, Kalim puts one of his arms around you and starts imagining and talking about possible dates and that he should give you the best quality hot chocolate in Twisted Wonderland next time.

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

🎊 twst 4th year anni ABEMA stream 🎉

***TWST JP news + anniversary spoilers below the cut!***

The stream starts with Ace, Deuce, Jack, Ruggie, and Sebek's VAs replying to a bunch of quiz questions. I think Ace or Deuce responds with "810" when asked how many items there are on the Heartslabyul lounge's coffee table. Sebek's VA also has a hilarious answer when asked how many Draconians (wakasama fans) there are, he pulls out some super absurdly high number with tons of zeros in it.

There is then a Master Chef/Culinary Crucibles-type section where the VAs decorate their own cake for TWST's anniversary. It’s a team effort! Ace and Deuce put on the cream, Sebek added cookies on top, and Jack and Ruggie did the final decorations. It ended up looking pretty cute ^^ (Ace's VA is the one that added all the whipped cream peaks; it was mostly thanks to Ruggie's VA that the cake still looked aesthetically pleasing at the end.)

Actual game-related news time!!! The SR Grim card for the 4th anniversary is... drumroll please...!! 🥁Apprentice Chef Grim!!! ABGKSKVUkvuDSQEVUOFDFIHAFVA HE'S SO CUTE, HE EVEN HAS A LIL TUNA CAN CAKE 😭

For anniversary, there will be a series of free items given out if you log in during the event period (11th to 25th), which includes THREE 10-pull keys (released on the 11th, 15th, and 18th, respectively). You can receive up to 12 days' worth of freebies. There will be an anniversary banner as per usual; you can earn tokens by pulling on this and then trade them in for a SR magical key (50 tokens) and/or past event-limited SSRs (150 tokens), including past years' birthday cards (100 tokens). There will be a new "Event Recollection" feature which allows you to experience events that you may have missed getting the initial chance to play through yourself.

Mr. S's Mystery Shop will sell items from past events such as limited Groovy materials and spell upgrade materials. This is called the "Memory Shop".

You will be able to mark (multiple) parts of the story as your "favorite". This will be indicated with a pink heart icon.

Battles will have a new feature which allows you to save team compositions for them. Up to 25 compositions may be saved at a time. You can also pin your supports, so you no longer have to scroll to find a specific friend's character to borrow.

There will be 3 new item gachas added to the "Item Lotto" of the shop (for Crewel, Vargas, and Trein). Previously, there was only Sam's. You use a new type of medal (obtained by taking classes) to roll on the teachers' lottos, and can pull items related to what you'd typically earn in each of their classes.

Crewel's gacha may provide an herbal tea which can be used to boost Buddy Levels, including those for characters that are otherwise unable to take Alchemy classes. That means Crowley, Rollo, etc. are fair game. (Yes, you can force feed them tea to obtain FRIENDSHIP✨) The tea may also drop during Special Lessons or Alchemy class.

We finally get magical key conversion! On the summoning screen, you can turn 10 single pull keys into one 10-pull key (which guarantees at least 1 SR; single keys do not have this benefit).

The Guest Room will receive a second floor to decorate. This will be unlocked once you reach a Guest Room rank of 31.

The Guest Room rank cap will be increased from 30 to 40. Additionally, all properties of floor 1 appears to carry over to floor 2. This means the same comfort level and attributes will be present across both.

New BGMs will be added to Mr. S's Mystery Shop. There will also be new voice lines added to Alchemy, Flying, and the outfit selection screen. The official TWST soundtrack will be released on the 29th of May, though preorders are tentatively open now. It is 140+ tracks (149, to be exact!) across 4 discs and goes for 4620 yen (inclusive of tax; without tax the soundtrack is 4200 yen). Japanese retailers are offering different dorms' A5 sized holographic sticker sheets as bonuses for preordering.

That's it for now, mostly quality of life changes! There will most likely be a 4th year anniversary PV/animated short on the actual anniversary day (the 18th)!

[chimielie]

hi lia I humbly come with a request, feel free to hurt me as deeply as you wish. how about shoyo + "there's still a part of me selfish enough to refuse to let you go"

“I shouldn’t keep doing this,” you sigh into the phone, tucked between your shoulder and chin as you dry off the dishes. It’s the middle of the day, a completely unacceptable time for this behavior.

“If I don’t mind, is there an issue?” The person on the other end of the line wants to know. You get ten minutes of free conversation with Brazil, a precious allowance you keep overdrawing by accident. International phone calls are expensive, and not just for your wallet.

“Yes,” you say, exasperated. “How are we supposed to move on like this? We’re doing it again, Shōyō, we talk almost every day.”

“I don’t want to move on,” he says bluntly. “I don’t know why you do.”

“Because we have to!” You shout, then calm your voice. You can picture his sweet golden eyes, filling with tears he’s too artless to hide. “I’m sorry. Seriously, though, this is too hard. It hurts too much. Every time we hang up, I feel just like I did when you said you were leaving.”

“You decided that!” He exclaims into the receiver, and there they are, you can hear them, your kind and open Shō crying because of you. “You said we wouldn’t be able to do it. You didn’t believe in us.”

“I know,” you say, drying your shaking hands, not trusting yourself with the nice plates. “I know.”

“I miss you,” he says. “Every day.”

“Me too,” you sob, “I miss you all the time. I don’t know how I’m ever gonna let you go.”

“Don’t,” he urges. You bite your lip, your tears dripping onto the counter.

“I’m sorry I did this to us,” you whisper. “I should have just trusted you. Now we won’t ever know what could have happened.”

“We can still try,” he says. “Just leap. I still love you.”

“You have to stop saying that,” you say, sinking slow to the floor, your legs folding like jelly beneath you.

“I’ll stop saying it when it stops being true," Shōyō vows. You're having trouble controlling your breathing and you still don't know how he's so steady after everything.

There's a short beep, then a robotic voice says, "There are thirty seconds remaining on this free international call. After this, you will be charged fifty yen per minute."

You're exhaling before the voice stops speaking, frantically cutting across it. You hope the sun is rising bright across Shōyō's horizon.

"I'll call you tomorrow."

[wafflefries13]

Walk Me Home (Bakugou x Reader)

Summary: You get help with a stalker from an unexpected hotheaded source.

AN: I posted this a while ago, like a couple of years, but Tumblr ate it. So, repost!

Warnings: Stalking, kidnapping, canon typical violence. Sort of an au where hero work is more of a college track.

You were racing the drops of condensation dripping down the frosted cooler glass. Personally, you thought the one on the far left was going to win. The center had been in the lead, but it crashed into a glop of drops and was forced to a sudden halt. The middle left gained a sudden lead by dropping down through an empty space. It veered suddenly and crashed into the far left, both of them stopping dead. 

Well, so much for that. 

That was the fifth race you’d monitored this hour. You’d spent the previous hour walking around the aisles of the convenience store you were holed up in, rotating the chip bags, soda bottles, and cans so that all the labels faced outward. The hour before that you spent memorizing the employee cleaning manual kept under the sink in the customer bathroom. And the hour before that you had spent tirelessly counting every ceiling and floor tile (Ceiling = 237, Floor = 422.) You were kind of surprised the worker behind the register hadn't said anything by this point. His feet were kicked up on the counter, and you were pretty sure he hadn’t looked up from his magazine since you came in.  

It was dark outside by now, the street lights the only way to see where you were going. It had been early evening when you had first rushed in. Abandoning your condensation drop race, you sneaked a look out the wide windows that lined the front of the store. There, half-way hidden in the shadows of the large tree, silhouetted by the street lamp light. You jerked back, heart jumping up 100 beats per minute. God, you hoped he hadn’t seen you. But he had to know you were in here. So why hadn’t he come in? Why hadn’t he left? 

You felt sick. You were going to be sick. 

The door chimed as they slid open. Your fight or flight response kicked into overdrive

 (Definitely flight). You ducked behind a display of dill pickle flavored chips. Oh, God. Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God. Did you jinx yourself? Did he see you looking out and take that as an invitation? If he tried to do something, would the cashier help you? Would he even think something was wrong? Would he call a hero? 

“Hey,” A voice broke you out of your panicked internal monologue. “The hell are you doing down there?” 

Wait. You knew that gruff, irreverent voice. 

“Bakugou?” 

You and Bakugou were in the same class at UA. You weren’t sure he actually knew your name, though, much less that you sat a few seats away from each other. 

You looked up from your crouch behind the chips display at his confused and slightly annoyed looking vermilion eyes. Well, his default state was slightly annoyed, so maybe that second part didn’t mean much. He had one hand in his pocket, the other loosely holding a bottle of cola by the neck. 

“Umm,” you said, flustered. “I dropped a 500 yen coin. So, you know, don’t want to lose that. And, hey! These chips are 500 yen, too! So if I find it I can get a bag!” You nervously laughed, still not standing. 

He narrowed his eyes at you, furrowing his eyebrows. Letting your self-consciousness take over, you slowly stood, rubbing your arm awkwardly and not meeting his gaze. Your eyes nervously darted to the large window, trying to see past the glare of the store lights. 

“The hell are you looking at?” Bakugou said, lazily turning his head to look out. 

“Don’t!” You said without thinking. You grabbed his uniform shirt sleeve and pulled him toward you, if only to get his attention away from looking outside. 

He jerked back away from you, bringing up his arm as a barrier between you, as if you could ever do anything to hurt him. “Hah? What the hell?” 

You looked away, wringing your hands together. “Sorry, I just… Can-can you do me a favor?” He raised an eyebrow at you. “Outside, across the street, there’s a big oak tree next to the street light. Is there… Is there someone still standing there?” 

His glare turned less harsh. He rotated his neck and shoulders as if he was stretching his muscles, sneaking a glance through the window. He hummed low in his throat and turned back to you. “Yeah, there’s some creep there. Can’t make them out too well. You know that guy?” 

You pressed your lips, slinking farther to the back of the store and away from the view of the window. “It’s nothing. I can deal with it later. Sorry to bother you.” 

“Jeez,” Bakugou huffed, not buying it for a second. He followed your retreat, looming over you as your back hit the cold window door of the fridge. “You’re really bad at lying, aren’t you? What, is he some ex you’re trying to avoid? Owe someone money?” He smirked at his joke, but his face turned serious again when he saw your concerned and fearful expression. 

“The truth is,” you started in a whisper. “I have a stalker. That guy out there has been following me for a few weeks. Usually it’s from school to work, but today he was waiting till I got done with my shift. I-I didn’t want him to know where I live, so I started taking all these back streets to try and lose him. I thought he’d just get bored or something, but he was always just behind me. So I came in here. Maybe if I Just waited here for a while he’d get bored and leave, but he’s been standing out there, waiting for me, for hours now, and I just want to go home and forget all about this but if I step outside…” 

You weren’t sure when you started crying. All you knew was that at some point you couldn’t keep it in any more and everything started pouring out. You started hiccuping with the effort to keep back tears and making a scene, the heels of your hands digging into your eyes. Bakugou awkwardly rubbed the back of his head and looked away. 

“Jeez,” he said under his breath. “I never know what to do when girls cry. Uh, hang in there?” He patted your shoulder, bringing his hand back when you flinched from his touch. “Have you, like, tried calling the police?” 

“Of course I have. They said they can't do anything because he hasn’t actually done anything illegal. And it’s not like I can get a restraining order or something because I don’t know who he is.” You sniffed. 

“Huh. Well. You want me to go kick his ass?” 

Your brain took a second to process his response, then you burst out in a fit of giggles. He smiled back, more like a self-satisfied smirk. You tried to gulp down a breath, laughing becoming frenzied as the stress of the situation finally overwhelmed you. Then, as suddenly as you started, you stopped as an idea slammed into you. 

“Actually, maybe you could do that.” Bakugou quirked his brow at you. “No, not literally. I mean, well, you’re scaring looking-“

“Hey!” 

“And I was just thinking that maybe if someone was with me - if you were with me - when I walked home, then he wouldn’t think he could, I don’t know, take advantage of the situation?” 

“You want me to be your bodyguard?” 

“I mean, when you put it like that…” You fiddled with your hands again. 

You stood in silence, the only sound the buzzing of the fluorescent lights above you and the hum of the drinks fringes behind you. 

Bakugou shoved his drink in your hands. “Pay for this for me. I’m gonna grab some instant noodles and boa buns too. You know how to get home from here?” 

You blinked up at him, twisting the bottle anxiously in your hands. “If we get to the train station, then I know where to go from there.” 

He jerked his head to the front. “Great, let’s hurry it up. I want to get home too, you know.” 

You blinked. “Wait, really?” 

“Yes, really. Move your ass.” 

You followed closely behind him, paying for the snacks at the counter. You hesitated when the doors to the convenience store slide open, standing half-way out. The street light hit your eyes differently out here, blinding you to the already dark shadows. Was that a twitch of movement? A hidden figure in the mess of shapes cast by the trees? 

Bakugou’s grip on your wrist shocked you out of your grim hyperactive imagination like a bucket of ice water. His mouth was pulled into a frown, but he gently pulled you out of the doorway. He let you go as you walked out of the light of the store. You desperately wanted him not to. 

It didn’t take long before you heard a third set of footsteps join yours and Bakugou’s. You inched closer to him, arms brushing together. Seemingly unconcerned, Bakugou munched on a boa bun. 

“Hey,” He said. The abruptness of it in the otherwise silent night made you jump. “Didn’t you win the 50 meter dash in the sports festival last year?” 

“Uh, yeah?” 

“Cool. This should be easy, then.”         

He whipped around, chucking the boa bun directly at the man following you. You heard a sound of surprise. Bakugou grabbed your hand and took off in the other direction. Your feet pounded against the sidewalk, knees high in a way that you would have considered indecent in your uniform skirt if you weren’t already terrified. Your heart pounded in your ears as he led you down turn after turn, block after block. After the length of several 50 meter dashes, he let go of your hand, Both of your long strides slowing down as you came to a stop in the glow of the train station’s entrance. You bent over, hands steadying yourself on your thighs. Next to you, Bakugou stretched backward, pulling his arms back to ease the muscles. 

“Well, that wasn’t too terrible, huh?” He said with a smirk. 

You gave a breathy laugh. Standing up, you searched the dark around you for any signs of human disturbance. You pushed your hair out of your face, sweat sticking to your forehead from your impromptu marathon. 

“Sorry you had to sacrifice your bun.” 

He shrugged. “You‘ll just owe one. You know where to go from here?” 

The two of you started down the road back to your house. You tried to fill the space between you with small talk. Bakugou would grunt in response every once and a while. You tried to ignore the feeling that he was getting annoyed with you. But whenever you would trail off, he’d snap at you to continue your line of thought.

You weren’t sure what time it was when you finally got home,  just that it was late. The windows were dark and you fumbled with your key. Bakugou skeptically observed your house. 

“You’re not home alone, right?” He asked. 

“I am, actually. My parents work for a pretty new company, so they’re out of the city a lot for business trips.” 

“Hah?” He sounded indignant, like you personally offended him. “They left you alone with this creep around?” 

“I mean, I haven’t really told them.” You pressed your lips, trying not to meet his furious glare. “They already just deal with a lot. And I already told you what the police said. I just don’t want to worry them, you know?” 

He tapped your forehead with his knuckles. “Idiot. Parents are supposed to worry, that’s what they’re there for.” He glowered as his cell phone rang. Fishing it out of his pocket, he mumbled, “Speak of the devil.” He held up a hand in goodbye. You waved a little before dropping in to a bow of gratitude. You could hear him arguing with the person on the other end of the line. 

You triple checked all the locks on your windows and doors, turning on all the lights. You drew the curtains in tight, not looking too deeply into the dark outside. But you were home now, you were safe behind these familiar walls. And besides, that guy didn’t know where you lived, right? 

~~~

You were still half asleep at your desk in school the next day. You hadn’t slept well last night, jerking back awake at the slightest irregular noise. You were becoming a wreck. You weren’t sure exactly how much more of this you could take. After you had woken up for the n-th time last night, you had typed out a text to your mom, explaining what was happening back home. Agonizing over the text, you ended up deleting it. 

You started nodding off. You could just rest your eyes for a second, right? It was a passing period, so you had some time. 

A stack of textbooks slammed down on your desk. You shrieked, throwing yourself back. You would have fallen back if someone didn’t catch your chair. 

“Whoa, hang on there, (Y/N)!” Kirishima caught your chair and set you back upright. Bakugou drummed his fingers on the textbooks he had just stopped your heart with. 

“Thought you were going to bed after I left last night,” He said. 

“Ooh, left last night?” Mina said, sliding over. “Is there something we need to know?” 

“Lay off, Pinkie!” 

“No, it’s no big deal, really!” You tried to salvage the situation, waving your hands in front of you. “We just walked home in the same direction is all.” 

“Walking home together?” Sero said, leaning back in his chair. “That’s a pretty big leap in your relationship, don’t you think, Bakugou?” 

“I said to lay off, you damn extras!” 

The small group started playfully arguing with each other. It didn’t feel at all serious, especially since every one but Bakugou was laughing and joking against his threats. 

“Can’t anyone have a private conversation around here?” Bakugou said angrily. He stomped away, turning back at the door. “Well, aren’t you coming?” Realizing he was talking to you, you quickly excused yourself and hurried after him. 

Bakugou was leaning out an open window, the autumn wind tossing his hair. Not sure exactly what you say, you bowed a little. “Thanks again for last night.” 

“Do you have any clubs after school?” Bakugou asked, ignoring your gratitude. 

You blinked.”No, I don’t. I have to head to work after the final bell.” 

“And how far is that from here?” 

“Not very. It’s a Japanese sweets cafe that opened nearby. I’ve seen some people with our school’s uniform there, so I guess it’s pretty popular here.” 

“And how long’s your shift?” 

“From 4 to 6:30 on school days, 8 to 4 on the weekends. But, um, why?” 

He scoffed, knocking your forehead with his knuckle like he had the night before. “Idiot. Obviously because I’m gonna make sure you get to work and home okay. You said that weirdo followed you from school to work. So we’ll walk there together then back to your place. At least till your parents get back in town, because you’re definitely telling them, you got it?” 

You could feel yourself blushing hard. “Yeah, sure, of course! That’s really kind of you, actually. Thank you!” 

Bakugou waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t take it personally or anything. I just don’t want to be watching the news and hear your dumbass got kidnapped or some bullshit like that.” 

You weren’t really sure how to respond to that, so you just twirled a lock of hair around your finger. “Still, I really appreciate it. It’s really heroic of you!” 

Bakugou whipped his head away, but you were almost sure you caught his cheeks turning pink. “Tch, whatever. Don’t think too hard about it. And I still expect payment! You better be ready to cough up some of those sweets from your job!” 

~~~

“So, (Y/N),” Your coworker, Matsu, said while elbowing you good-naturedly. “Who’s your friend you brought in today?” She winked and nodded her head at a small table set on the patio of your workplace. 

Bakugou was studying, gnawing at the end of his pen. He’d planted himself there after the two of you left school. He’d kept on a steady diet of sweets since your shift started, and you started getting worried about what your paycheck at the end of the month would look like. Once again, you talked the whole way through your walk with only interspersed responses from the blond. But you felt much more comfortable chatting this time, less like you were bothering him. Although you knew he would never admit it, you had a feeling that Bakugou could really be kind under all that ego and anger. 

You started placing chick-shaped meika hiyoko in a tray in the display case. “Bakugou is a friend from school. Well, I think you’d call him a friend, anyway. He’s just waiting for my shift to end to walk me home.” 

You didn’t like the self-satisfied look that came over Matsu’s face. “Ooh, walking you home, huh?” 

“Oh, stop coming up with ridiculous ideas! He’s just…” You trailed off. How exactly were you meant to explain your situation? 

You were saved from responding with a knock on the window. Bakugou mouthed an order of Shingen Momo. You quickly excused yourself despite Matsu’s teasing protests. 

Bakugou had a healthy stack of plates from previous sweets stacked next to his text book. You tried mentally adding a tally of how much his little feast was going to cost you. You set the plate down and looked over his shoulder at what he was studying. 

“Wow,” You commented. “That looks really difficult. Did I miss something in class today?” 

“No,” He said. “I’m studying for college entrance exams.” 

“Oh, right. You want to get into that famous hero college, right? I guess they have to be pretty tough. I heard Izuku in our class wants to go there, too.” 

Bakugou snapped the pencil he was holding. “That damn Deku! Always trying to take my ideas! Who does he think he is, trying to be a hero, huh?! No one even knew he had a Quirk until recently! He pretty much breaks every bone in his body when he uses it! How’s a loser like that meant to be a hero?!” 

You were a little shocked. You didn’t think you’d ever seen Bakugou this suddenly passionate about anything. Yet, despite his negative ramblings, he came across as admiring the boy with green hair in your class, talking about Izuku’s training schedule and how strong he had gotten since they knew each other in middle school. You couldn’t help but giggle at his sudden uproar. Hearing you, Bakugou cut himself off, quickly glancing away. 

He fished another pencil out of his bag and re-focused on his text book. “That creep is still here.” Your mouth went dry as all frivolity seeped from your body. Bakugou stealthy pointed the end of his pencil to  a garden store across the street. “He’s been walking in and out of stores this whole time. He’s hiding out there now. Definitely keeping an eye out.” 

You gulped hard. “What should we do?” 

“Well, first, you can bring me another momiji manju. Then, go back to work. Let me know when your shift ends. You guys have a back door, right? We can go through that, cut through the big inside shopping center.” He pulled out his phone and opened an app. “I looked it up. There’s another train station near here. It goes right to the one near your house. We’ll jump on there.” 

You expected your heartbeat to slow down now that there was a solution to the probable danger. But instead it kept speeding up as you thought of the work Bakugou had put into researching his escape plan. 

“Wow,” You breathed. “I guess you really are my hero, huh?” 

Bakugou bristled, turning his face away before you could see it turning red (although the tips of his ears were practically a cherry color by now), and shoved an empty plate at you. “Momiji manju! And make sure it’s hot this time!” 

~~~

“He’s still behind us.” 

Your stalker was more cautious this time. He was making more of an effort to go unnoticed, ducking in and out of shops, getting lost in the crowd, but still keeping an uncomfortably close distance. 

Bakugou clicked his teeth. “This guy doesn't know when to quit. You’re sure he doesn’t know where you live, right?” 

“I’ve never seen him around. But…” You let the thought hang between the two of you like a dark cloud. 

Bakugou seemed to be contemplating something for a second. Clenching and unclenching his fists, his hand shot forward to tightly grip onto yours. You started a little at his sudden aggressive hand holding, but flexed your fingers to intertwine with his. Bakugou cleared his throat, looking away. 

“You’re not-“ You could have sworn you heard his voice crack, not that you would ever admit it. Bakugou cleared his throat and started again. “You’re not scared of heights, are you?” 

“Not really. Why?” 

Faster than you could keep up with, Bakugou pulled you closer. His other arm swept down, scooping you up under your knees and holding you to his chest. He took two large steps before kicking off a vending machine on the side of the street. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he took off his support from your back, pointing his hand palm down and releasing a blast. The explosion rocked through your ears as the two of you were propelled upward. A scream died in your throat. Just before you landed on the roof of a store neighboring the street you were just walking along, he released another explosion which propelled you even higher and further. 

“I thought you said you weren’t afraid of heights,” Bakugou said with a laugh in his voice. “Open your eyes.” 

You didn’t really notice how tightly you had clenched your eyes until he told you to open them. You had your head buried in the crook of his neck, the scent of caramelized sugar and smoke overwhelming your senses. You cracked open one eye just as Bakugou launched you both high in the air. You lost your breath, gazing in wonder at the sight before you. The sky was ablaze with red, oranges, and purples as the sun set. A band of stars was just twinkling into existence at the very top of the sky. The town below you looked just like a train-set model, tiny and delicate and perfect. Your stomach dropped as you plummeted back down. You laughed, yelling, clutching to him tighter. He tightened his hold around waist, smirk widening into a genuine heartfelt smile. 

You both stumbled a bit, coming to a rocky landing in your neighborhood. There weren’t any more commercial buildings around, so you thought the residents would be grateful that they wouldn’t have to deal with shoe prints on their roofs. The air around you was crisp with the scent of melting sugar. You were lost to a giggle fit, holding your stomach as you tried to get a hold of yourself. 

“You think he saw that coming?” Bakugou asked with a sideways grin. 

“This is worth all the momiji manju in the world if we get to do that again!” 

Bakugou’s chest swelled with pride as he brushed off invisible dirt. “Hah, what I tell you? It’s going to take a lot more than some creep in a black hoodie to get one over on Bakugou Katsuki.” 

You clapped for him. “Full marks, Mr. Future-Number-One-Hero.” He ducked his head, looking away bashfully. You started walking in the direction of your house. “How did you even come up with that idea?” 

“Rockets. I figure you have to get some pretty powerful force to shoot something that high up. And considering my Quirk is the most powerful force out there, well, it was a cinch.” 

“So is that going to be your hero name, then? Rocket Man?” 

He scowled. “No way! My hero name’s gonna be something way cooler! Like, like,” For someone who had dedicated his whole life to becoming a hero, you thought it was a little cute that he had left off some of the more practical aspects, like what he would be called. He snapped his fingers. “What about Lord Explosion?!” 

You tried to bite back a laugh. You failed. “It’s a little obvious, don’t you think?” 

“Alright then. What about King Murder?” 

“Well, it’s certainly direct.” 

“Wait, I’ve got it! Lord Explosion Murder!” 

You stopped trying to hide your laughter. “Perfect. I can see it on all the T-shirts now.” 

He pouted, no doubt trying to look menacing. “Alright, what’s your great idea?” 

You hummed in thought. “What about Ground Zero? That’s what you call the middle of a major disaster. You know, like an explosion? It’s kind of metaphorical, thematic, and way more marketable than having the word ‘murder’ in your title.” 

Bakugou looked down, eyebrows furrowed. “Damn. That is good.” He gave you a sideways look. “What’s your Quirk, anyway?” 

You fiddled with your fingers. “It’s nothing too fancy. Nothing heroic or strong like yours, I mean.” You pressed your lips together and whistled. Instead of a normal sharp note, however, you replicated a perfect Asian Koel call. Not a second later, you heard a reply from a nearby park. Altering your call al title, a small brown bird with white speckles and red eyes flew down and landed on the back of your hand. You alternated with a few more calls, a Pacific Swift, Gray Nightjar, Kentish Plover, and Japanese Sparrowhawk. One by one, the birds would respond and come to perch on your hand or shoulder, the plover taking a dignified seat on your head. The sparrowhawk squaked at Bakugou when he tried to poke it. 

“I can recreate any birdsong if I hear it once,” You explained. The Koel cooed as you pet under its chin. “I can kind of understand them, too. Not in a Dr. Dolittle way or anything, more just the general idea of what they’re trying to communicate. Danger, hungry, food here, that kind of thing.”

“Must be fun in the spring.” 

“Ugh, you have no idea. It’s impossible to sleep in.” 

“Maybe they’re just trying to chat you up.” Bakugou created a little explosion in his hand. The birds squaked in protest and flew away. “Little bastards. Don’t birds have noises to let other birds know not to mooch on their territory?” 

“You mean a song? And what do you have to defend anyway?” 

He slung an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close again. “Birds mate for life or some shit, right? They need to know you’re not available.” 

Your heart definitely didn’t skip a beat. Definitely. 

~~~

One of the last things you expected the next morning was to find Bakugou waiting impatiently at your front door. “What am I supposed to do if you just don’t show up for class, huh?” He declared with a haughty attitude. “You’ll make me feel guilty.” He came in, slugging off his shoes at the doorway and collapsing on the couch in the living room. “Let me know when you’re done with breakfast then we can leave.” 

“Oh,” You said. “I, uh, don’t usually eat breakfast. I try to get to school early, so…” 

Bakugou furrowed his eyebrows. “Seriously? It’s the first thing in the morning. How are you supposed to have energy for the rest of the day?” He put on a begrudging air as he marched to the kitchen. He started pulling out pans and rummaging through the fridge and pantry. “Geez, you have nothing here! What, your parents didn’t leave any grocery money when they abandoned you here? Well don’t just stand there. Go finish getting ready. I’ll get something together by the time you’re done.” 

Unsure about leaving him alone in your kitchen, but in no position to refuse him, you headed back to your bathroom to try and make it look like you had been getting a decent night's sleep for the past week. 

Slugging your backpack over your shoulder, you came back downstairs to the smell of warm waffles. How Bakugou had managed to make a giant stack of fluffy waffles in the few minutes you were gone was beyond you. 

“Shouldn’t we eat on the go?” You asked when he set down a plate on the table. 

He tapped the long handle of the spatula against his shoulder. “You have way too many unhealthy habits. You don’t ask for help, you don’t eat breakfast. What am I going to do with you?” He pushed you down into a chair and took a seat in the one next to you, angrily stabbing the top waffle and taking a massive bite out of it before it even made it to his plate. “Eating on the go messes with your digestion. If you want to be helpful, start making a grocery list. You don’t work today, right? We’ll go to the store after school. I don’t need the stress of having you pass out from hunger on top of everything else.” 

You stared at him as he wolfed down his breakfast. When he noticed you still haven’t taken anything, he shoved the plate to you. Taking a waffle, you couldn’t help but have a large smile spread across your face. 

“You really are nice, aren’t you, Bakugou?” 

He choked on his waffle. He refused to look at you for the rest of the morning. 

~~~

Bakugou had been walking you to and from home for three weeks now. People at school had definitely started  to notice. Especially after he started to drag you to eat lunch with him and his friends, lunches that he had made for you. You started showing off your Quirk a little more. Your favorite was calling down crows, bribing him with shinny pins and glass gems. You especially got a kick out of Denki freaking out when the birds mimicking human speech. 

Without really noticing, you had slowly stopped being so nervous. You didn’t triple check your windows and doors at night, you weren’t always looking over your shoulder, you didn’t flinch when the chime over the door at work sounded. 

You had also been growing significantly closer to Bakugou. You didn’t think it was at all possible for someone so rough to have such a sweet side. Sure, everything kind he did was still smothered in his devil may care attitude, but you came to learn that his abrupt remarks and aggressive personality was just a top layer. Bakugou knew what he wanted in life and was never subtle about sharing his thoughts. But his own emotions still came as an annoying mystery to him. He would intertwine his fingers with yours, declaiming with a blush and avoiding your eyes that he just wanted just wanted to make sure you wouldn’t get lost or snatched away from him. He made sure you started eating well, something you had all but dropped due to stress. He would pull you into the kitchen with him, having you help him making breakfast and your bento lunches. 

There was one situation where sitting on the patio of the sweet shop you worked at. Your boss had noticed his frequent stays and had recruited him to help test new recipes. Not to mention this helped ease the impact on your pay check. 

Munching on a new flavor of melon pan, you two chatted under the warm sun. Giggling at some remark he made, you froze when you felt his fingers brush your face. Suddenly, Bakugou was less than a breath away from you. He brushed a lock of hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear. His hand dropped down to your chin, eyes falling to your lips. Your heart started stuttering, breath coming out in shallow gasps. He brushed his thumb over your bottom lip. 

Bakugou looked up, searching your face. You let your eyes flutter closed, leaning forward. 

You both must have jumped three feet in the air with the interrupting squawk. A crow perched on your head, beak darting forward to peck at the melon pan forgotten in Bakugou’s hand. Bakugou yelled at the bird, waving it away and yelling obscenities at it. But that didn’t stop him from tearing off a chunk of the sweet bread and throwing it to him. 

You both kept the blushes for the rest of the day. 

~~~

You knew that nothing this good could last forever. 

It started out like any other new-normal day. You were walking home from work with Bakugou. It was late autumn now, the days getting shorter and nights longer. The sun had already completely set as you strolled down the street. You didn’t notice something was wrong immediately. But then your stomach started to turn into knots. You shuffled closer to Bakugou who seemed to be noticing that something was amiss, too. You kept telling yourself that you were being paranoid. Nothing had happened for so long now, why would something suddenly happen now? 

And then you heard the sparrow start singing. It was high pitched and panicked. A few swept down, fluttering in front of the two of you before cascading back up to their tree. You knew that sound. It meant danger. 

You latched yourself to Bakugou’s side. “Bakugou,” You whispered. “Something’s wrong.” 

He wrapped his arm around you. “Yeah, I noticed. Stay close, okay?” 

You were afraid that you were practically tripping over his feet. But you didn’t want to move away. Every muscle tense, you looked over your shoulder. He was walking behind the street lights, staying out of the majority of the light. The street lights just barley illuminated his dark clothes, his hunched figure, determinately marching at a steady pace. Was he holding something? Did he just speed up? Was he-? 

Bakugou stopped suddenly. You stumbled a bit, clutching his arm to get your balance again. “Bakugou?” 

He whipped around. “Hey! Asshole!” He turned to you, hesitating for only a second before cradling your face, maybe a little more aggressively than he should have, rattled by nerves, and kissed you. It wasn’t extremely romantic, your teeth clashed for a moment, his fingers burying in your hair. He dropped one of his hands to your hip, pulling you closer and angling his head. The kiss was desperate, urgent, trying to communicate feelings and thoughts that it would have been difficult to vocalize. Your eyes fluttered closed. You pressed back up into him, one hand resting on his shoulder and the other tangerine in his mess of spiky blond hair. 

The seconds stretched on for what seemed like minutes, but when you pulled away it felt like it was over all too fast. You tried to regain your breath, slightly panting. He looked into your eyes with an intensity and softness you had never seen from him, all his layers peeled back to show a soft and caring core. 

His face suddenly hardened. He pulled you into him, turning his face to look back at your stalker, who you had almost completely forgotten about during your kiss. 

“She’s not interested!” He shouted. “She’s got a boyfriend! Get it through your thick skull! And if I ever find out you’re nothing my girlfriend again, I’ll kill you, got it?!” 

You looked at your stalker straight on from the first time. He was this dark shadow that cut through the street lamps lights. He was shaking, with nerves you hoped, but more likely with rage. But at least, standing in front of you, with someone strong at your side, he looked so much more human. This wasn’t a shadow with fangs and claws. Just a person. Sure, an unhinged person who had been following you, but you had back up. A whole team of support both emotionally and physically. 

The stalker didn’t say anything, just stared at the two of you. He looked like he was going to come to you, to fight, to scream. But he just turned, marching away, back into the dark. 

~~~

“Do you think he’s actually done?” You asked. You were back at your house, nervously chopping leeks for lunch in the coming week. 

“Damn better be,” Bakugou said. He reclined on the couch, flipping through a magazine. 

“I guess that means you don’t have to walk me home any more then,” You said, leadingly. 

You smirked when you heard him slam the magazine back on the coffee table. “Like hell! You’re my girlfriend, aren’t you? I can walk you home whenever I damn well feel like it! Or, you know, if you want me to, I mean. You still want me to, right?” 

You tried to press down your grin as you walked back into the living room, sitting down next to him. “So, you were serious about that? You’re my boyfriend now?” 

He scowled. “I don’t say anything you mean. You’re mine now, got it?” 

You smiled and kissed his check. “Only if that means you’re mine, too.” 

He blushed up to his ears, pressing his face to the top of your head. “Sure.” 

~~~

An hour later, there was a knock on the door. 

Bakugou left just a little while ago, and since then you had taken a shower, changing into your pajamas. Coming down stairs to check the locks and lights one last time, you saw Bakugou’s laying across the back of the couch. You picked it up, rubbing your thumb over the collar. You’d have to give it back to him at school tomorrow. You smiled fondly, thinking of what he’d try to say to justify him forgetting something. 

And then someone knocked at the door. 

You started a little. You put a hand to your chest to calm your beating heart. It must have been Bakugou. You supposed Bakugou had realized he had misplaced his jacket and come back. Well, you didn’t mind seeing him again, you supposed. 

Practically skipping to the front door, you opened the door with a smile. You barely had the door cracked when it slammed open, cracking against the wall, the knob indenting in the soft drywall. You shrieked and fell back, landing hard on your butt. Before you could regain your bearings, a heavy weight pressed down on you. 

Your eyes bulged open. A man in all black was on top of you, knee pressing into your chest, one hand securely applying pressure to your throat and the other pressing a too sweet smelling rag against your nose and mouth. The bottom of his face was covered by a black bandana, but his eyes were wide and blood shot. He was muttering something to himself, or maybe you? But the blood rushing to your ears blocked out any cognizant thought. 

Your hands flew around, slapping and shoving, trying to jab your thumbs into the soft tissues of his eyes, clawing at his cheeks. But nothing seemed to bother him too much. And then things started getting fuzzy at the edges. The spiked fear in your head started swirling around. Your limbs felt heavy and stopped responding to your commands. Then everything fell, and the dark pulled you in with an ice cold grip. 

~~~ 

You weren’t sure how much time had passed when you woke up. It was dark, so dark you almost thought you were blindfolded. You were curled  up in an uncomfortable ball, something fibrous was shoved in your mouth. You tried to poke it out with your dry tongue, but it didn't budge. Your hands were fastened behind you with plastic zip ties. You flexed your fingers, coming to grasp  the thin but strong metal bars behind you. You tried to stretch out your legs, but your bare feet came into contact with more of these bars. Trying to sit up, you could only manage an awkward hunch as a roof of bars thunked against your head. A cage. You were in a dog cage. You were tied up in a dog cage in the dark. 

You tried to kick against the bars, but you couldn’t build up much force with so little space. All it did was shake the cage in an awful rattle. You stopped when you heard footsteps. You shuffled on your side to the back of the cage, which wasn’t saying much with how little room there was any way. 

The door to the room the cage was in opened. You squinted against the sudden light, temporarily blinded. Blinking up at the figure of your capture, You felt the blood in your veins turn to ice. Your ears rang with the sudden surge of adrenaline and every muscle in your body told you to get ready to run. 

Your capture, your stalker, stood like a horrible stain, silhouetted in the light. He pulled back the hood on his jacket, beaming down at you. This is the first time you had seen his face up close. Did you know him? You think he might have come into the shop once or twice. But you couldn’t think of any time you would have talked to him. 

He smiled like a kid in a candy store. It made you ill.  “You’re awake!” He said. His voice was chipped, strained from years of smoke. The reek of it hung on his clothes and wafted through the room. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I know it’s small and uncomfortable. But I had to make sure, you know? You get it, right? I had to speed everything up, see? I just-” He balled his hands into fists. Suddenly, he slammed down on his knees in front of you. Your shriek was cut off by the gag in your mouth. “I had to get you away from him! The way he was all over you, touching you, grabbing you, k-k-kissing you!” He slammed his fists on the cage, making it shudder. He saw your wide eyes, your trembling. He lowered his voice, leaning down to look closer at you. “I’m sorry. I know it wasn’t your fault. He was taking advantage of you, right? But it’s okay, I have you now! And don’t worry, we’ll get out of here soon. There’s this place, way out in the mountains. We’ll be safe there. I have a room, just for you. A little palace for the perfect little doll…” 

He tried to reach through the bars and touch your face. You screamed through your gag, trying to kick away his hand. He jerked back, surprised. He got angry in a flash. Slamming his fist against the bars again, he got up, muttering to himself about how this would all be solved once he could get you out of the city, how that damn boy had tried to poison you against him. 

Oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh god. You had to get out. You had to get out! You squirmed against your bonds, but only succeeded in having them cut deeper into your flesh. 

You felt a chill in the room. You squinted, trying to see through the dark. You noticed a blackout curtain taped around a window. One corner fluttered away. The window must have been slightly opened. If you could just get your gag out…

You chewed at the dense fabric. Bits were coming off in your mouth, getting stuck between your teeth. Working your jaw until it felt like it was about to fall off, you finally managed to work it loose enough to shove it from your mouth with your tongue. Pressing your lips together, you let out a pitiful excuse for a whistle. You swallowed hard, willing saliva back into your mouth. Once more, you whistled, the sound transforming into a Russet Sparrow call. You thought you heard a faint reply from outside, but couldn’t be sure with every one of your nerves rattled and frayed. 

You ran your fingers along the bottom edge of the cage. Along the back side, where the bars met the hard metal floor, there was a small lip of metal, something that had been welded wrong in the cage’s construction. Maneuvering your bound wrists, you started to saw at the zip ties with that jutting piece of metal. 

~~~

He’d forgotten his damn jacket. 

Bakugou was on his way home after leaving your place. Halfway there, he suddenly realized he felt a lot colder than he had when walking to your house. He supposed he could always turn around and pick it up now. It would give him another excuse to see you. But his old hag would probably just get angry at him if he showed up later than normal. Still, maybe he could just use the later hour as an excuse and stay at your house for the night. Sleeping on the couch, of course!  But he did wonder what you looked like first thing in the morning…

Feathers flung in his face.  Bakugou jerked back, swiping at the air in front of him. A couple of those small birds you would chirp at was frantically flying circles above him. One dive bombed him again, chirping nervously and fast. 

“Beat it, dumb birds!” He whacked at them again. Stupid jelous birds. 

Then he noticed their patterns. Sure, they would dive down at him, but then they would shoot up and fly back in the direction of your house, circling back to him. It was almost like they wanted him to go back there…

Bakugou broke out in a cold sprint. His feet pounded the pavement as the birds flew leading the way. He was panting by the time he reached your street, more out of the rising dread in his chest than actual exhaustion. 

Reaching the front gate to your house, he froze. The door was wide open. He launched himself inside, yelling your name. His coat lay in a crumpled heap just inside the entrance. Underneath it was a strange rag. Picking it up, Bakugou felt that it was slightly wet. He brought it to his face and sniffed, jerking it back when the sickly sweet smell hit his nose. Chloroform. 

His mide connected the dots in a flash. He yelled angrily and punched the wall, the drywall caving it without his notice. He dropped the rag and headed back outside. 

He saw the birds chittering in a tree branch. “Hey!” He yelled at them. “You know where she is, right? She sent you to tell me. Take me to her!” At the back of his mind, Bakugou felt like an idiot for yelling at birds in the middle of the night. A sense of relief overwhelmed him when the birds chirped again and purposefully flew away, darting back to him to make sure he was following. 

~~~

You couldn’t tell if you were making any headway with the zipties. Did they feel looser or was that your imagination? Or perhaps you were just losing feeling in your hands from the cutoff of blood flow. But you couldn’t stop. You couldn’t stop the one thing that might help yourself. 

With a sound that to you mimicked a thunder clap, one of the zipties snapped. You almost sobbed in relief as you brought your hands to your front and rubbed your wrists. You tugged on the other plastic tie around your wrist, but it was still stubbornly strong. You’d have to cut it off with a knife or something. 

A knife! You needed something to protect yourself with. There was no way of knowing if your bird distress call had actually reached anyone. You needed to take care of yourself, get outside, get to a phone or a police station or a hero or something. You knew you had a slim chance of taking on your attacker in a one-to-one fight. He had at least a foot and a hundred pounds on you, not to mention whatever his Quirk might be. 

You fumbled around in the dark, trying to find the latch for the cage. Swiping randomly, your fingers clutched around the pull handle for the door. You tried to yank to open but it wouldn’t budge. Feeling around, you clutched a heavy padlock firmly attached to the handle. Of course your stalker would have taken extra precautions, and you didn’t think you could break the lock with a thin piece of metal. 

No sooner had hopelessness started to creep back into your mind than you heard the door to the room click open. You threw yourself back against the far side of the cage, shoving the gag back in your mouth and putting your arms behind you as if they were still tied. 

Your stalker peeked in, smiling widely like he had a wonderful surprise for you. “We’re almost ready,” He said, giddily. “I can get you ready to move now. You’re just going to have to sleep for a little longer, okay? By the time you wake up, everything will be fixed!” 

You watched in disgusted horror as he took out another rag, licking it to soaking with his saliva. Was that what he had pressed against your mouth and nose back at your house? Did he have some sort of chloroform-saliva Quirk? If you weren’t going to be sick before, you definitely were now. 

But then he fished out a key from the pocket of his ill-fitting sweatpants. His hands shook as he tried to fit the key in the lock of the cage. You still had the element of surprise on him. You pictured your plan of attack. When he opened the cage door to grab you, you’d kick him. Then, while distracted, you’d claw at his face, bite him if you had to. You didn’t need to beat him, you just needed to distract and disorientate him enough to make it out of the room. You could close the door behind you. Maybe there was something near you could barricade it with.  Then just sprint as fast as you could to the door. He made it sound like you were still in the city, in a residential district as the very least. You could run next door, hide in someone's backyard, pound on their door until they let you in to call the police. 

Just as he fit the key into the lock, there was a loud sound from outside the room. It sounded like it came from downstairs, banging. Your stalker glowered, ripping the key from the lock. He tossed it on a desk in the room, slamming the door behind him as he marched out to deal with the intrusion. 

You were barely able to fit your hand through the bars, much less reach the key. You took a steadying breath before starting to whistle the sparrow song again. You heard a faint reply from outside. You whistled more frantically, a sharp song that indicated danger. You could just barley make out a lump pushing against the blackout curtains covering the window. A tiny tan bird head popped up from the corner of the curtain. You could have cried. Quieting your whistle, you nodded your head at the desk with the key. The little bird fluttered its wings, hopping around the room. It probably didn’t have the best night vision either. 

You heard banging coming from downstairs. There was a roar of something you quickly recognized as an explosion. Bakugou? Your message had reached him! And now he was fighting your attacker by himself. You had hoped he would call the police or a hero or something. Honestly, you thought to yourself, you should have seen this coming. 

The sparrow found the desk. It pushed the key off with its beak. The key was about the same size as the sparrow. It had a little trouble carrying the key over to you. It dropped it just within reach of your index finger to pull it into the cage. Using two fingers to hold the key, the most you could fit between the bars, you jammed the key into the lock and twisted it. You had never been so happy to hear a click before. 

You slammed the cage door open, causing the bird to flutter away in surprise. You stretched your aching muscles as you unfolded yourself from the cage. Whipping your head around, you tried to find some sort of weapon you could use to help Bakugou. Seeing nothing in the small room, you opened the door just enough to peak out. As silently as you could, your legs still half asleep from being stuck in a cramp position, you snuck out into the hall. 

Downstairs, you heard Bakugou yell. The little sparrow dove down the staircase and you followed. You saw Bakugou and your attacker grappling in the living room which was crowded with moving boxes. Your stalker had his teeth sunken in to Bakugou’s arm. His arm fell limply to his side as numbness seemed to spread to that whole part of his body. 

Frantically looking around, you saw a half-packed lamp sticking out of one of the boxes. You heaved it up, the weight reassuring in your hands. 

Bakugou spotted you over your stalker’s shoulder. “(Y/N)!” He barked out. “Run!” 

Just as your attacker turned around, you surged forward with the lamp held aloft. With a scream, you brought it down on his head with all the strength you could muster in your addled limbs. He crumpled to the floor like wet cardboard. Blood began to leak from his skull. You dropped the lamp, the feeling on impact still drumming through your fingers. 

“(Y/N)!” Bakugou called again. He stumbled to you, his left side already half paralized by your stalker’s Quirk infused bite. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you? Did he touch you? I told you to run, idiot! How did he get inside your house?” Before he had a chance to breathe, much less answer his questions, his left leg gave out on him. You caught him, halfway holding him up. 

“I’ll tell you everything when we get to the police, okay?” You said in a frazzled voice. He tried to haul himself up to standing, but he might as well have been standing on a broken ankle. 

Bakugou told you where the front door was. You half dragged him through the house to get outside. Just as you opened the front door, you felt something hard and heavy plow into the small of your back. You went flying forward, dropping Bakugou who landed with a grunting thud. 

“(Y/N)!” You heard from behind you. You pushed yourself up, looking behind you. Your stalker, face now red with dripping blood and wild eyes, stumbled towards the two of you. “Don’t you see what he’s doing? He’s trying to poison you against me! He’s going to take you away from me! Unless… He already has! He’s corrupted you!” He lifted his leg to kick Bakugou in the stomach. Bakugou lifted his good arm and released an explosion aimed at the stalker’s stomach. The second man yelled in pain and was blasted backwards. 

Bakugou shoved himself up, propping himself up on his good knee and maneuvered his way in front of you. “This time, listen to me and go,” He said sternly. 

“Bakugou!” You protested. 

He looked over his shoulder at you and smirked. “Hey, I’m your hero, right? That means I got to protect you, even if I get hurt.” 

Your stalker roared, thrashing as he picked himself off the ground. The place where Bakugou’s explosion had caught him ripped his oversized hoodie, revealing his belly and chest that now had burns. He roared again and started charging to you. 

You gripped Bakugou’s good shoulder, pulling him back. You threw yourself in front of him, spreading your arms wide and closing your eyes tight. 

Just when you were expecting a blow from your stalker, you heard an annoyed and surprised grunt from him instead. Opening your eyes, you saw the deranged man tangled in ribbons of white cloth. He snapped and tried to lash out at it, but the more he struggled the tighter it became. 

A man appeared behind him, seeming to melt out of the shadows. He tugged the white cloth so it snapped tight around your stalker, pinning his arms and legs so he fell over unbalanced. The man controlling the cloth was dressed in all black, goggles over his eyes and a mess of black hair. He pulled his goggles up, revealing extremely tired looking eyes. He quirked an eyebrow at the two of you. 

“Isn’t it past your bedtime by now?” 

~~~

The next half hour was a rush of commotion. The hero, Eraserhead, who had secured your stalker called for an ambulance and the police. As soon as the red and blue lights were visible, he left, leaving your stalker tied and gagged against a street lamp. You barely had time to thank him while Bakugou grumbled about not needing saving behind you. 

The paramedics gave Bakugou an injection to counteract the poison from your stalker’s Quirk. The police quickly took him away as he shouted obscenities, making promises that he’d come back to you, that he’d save you. You tried to take some comfort in the officer’s promise that the man would never see the outside of a jail cell again. 

You sat in the back of the ambulance, a heavy blanket around your shoulders. You had just finished giving your statement to the police. The neighbors surrounding the house you were trapped in had come outside to see what the commotion was all about. You felt pinned by a million unasked questions, unsaid accusations, prying eyes. You were going to be sick. 

“Hey.” You looked up. Bakugo stood in front of you, rubbing feeling back into his previously paralized arm. He jerked his head to the side slightly. You scooted over and he sat next to you, pulling the blanket over his shoulders too. “So,” he said. 

“So,” You echoed. 

“The police called my parents,” He said after a moment of silence. “Mom’s coming to pick us up. She said she can bring some extra clothes for you to change into, if you want. Dad’s making up the guest room.” 

“What?” 

He gave you a sideways look. “What, you think I’m letting you stay alone in that house after what happened tonight? You think I’m an idiot or something?” He put his arm around your waist, pulling you into his side. He spoke into your hair. “You’re staying with me and my folks until your parents get back. Then I’m going to chew them out for leaving you alone for so long, and maybe then we’ll see if you can go back there.” 

You giggled at his statement, half out of frazzled nerves and half out of love of his protective nature. You curled your fingers into his t-shirt, resting your head against his shoulder. “That sounds nice,” You mumbled, exhaustion and worn out adrenaline finally taking hold of your body. “It sure would make walking home easier.” Just before slipping under, you leaned up and kissed his cheek. “My hero.” 

He pressed a kiss on the top of your sleeping head. “Always.” 

[hamtaro-merch-tracker]

Hamtaro Kapuko Friends Series 2 and 3

Release Date: July 2025?

Distributor: Fukuya

The first set of plushie keychains were so popular that a second and third set have been announced! It says they will release sometime in the summer but I saw someone saying both with be in July?? Either way we are getting plushies of every main ham-ham! These will again be released in gacha machines around Japan for 500 yen per roll, I'm sure these will sell out fast!

[teaeodora]

I had this set up after seeing how Satoru wears frigfing 250,000 yen shirts- wtf?

synopsis : Gojo Satoru. Someone who is filthy rich with a partner that bargains and demands discounts on every thing. (The inner Asian mom is showing itself.)

additonally: a birthday surprise in the end where yuuji accidentally pops a party popper on satoru's face + lovesick satoru.

a/n : happy late birthday to our favourite sweet consuming demon and dimples guy. ♡

The tension in the room was palpatating.

Satoru watched as you had a stare off with the receptionist at the restaurant he had picked for you two's date.

"Hm...so you are telling me that for a table of two, you guys take ¥ 60,000 per person?" You stared at the guy who assigned seats to the visitors, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.

"Yes ma'am, that's right." The man politely nodded despite your rather hostile attitude.

"But you say that kids under 5 eat for free?" You mused, tone softening a bit.

"Yes, that is correct." The receptionist nodded at you with a kind smile.

Silence.

"So you see Satoru right here is actually just 4 years old-" you started.

"Yes, I am- wait what!?" Satoru did a double take and stared at you with his jaw dropped.

Yeah, that's how his life was. Full of life, comedy and fundamentals of bargaining as you would rightfully call it. The number of incidents of you arguing with anyone and everyone for a discount never failed to entertain him.

For example : –

Satoru watched you in awe as you talk- no, argued with a fruit seller over the ridiculous prices.

"I can't believe this! ¥7500 (50 USD) for a single watermelon? What, is this watermelon made of gold or something?" You baffled at the price. That was seriously ridiculous.

"Miss, these are the best of their kind! They won't disappoint." The vendor defended, trying to list out the pros of the fruit.

"Sweets, you should just get it. ¥7500 is nothi-" Satoru was cut off by your stern look.

"Nothing!? That price is just unreasonable! I will not pay anymore than ¥6000." You huffed, crossing your arms in disapproval.

"Haha- miss if I started seeling things for THAT low, I will end up going bankrupt.. how about ¥7200?" The vendor nervously chuckled, not wanting to make you more angry. He also glanced at Satoru, hoping he would save him.

Satoru simply sighed. Messing with you right now would earn him a one way ticket to heaven.

"¥6800 and not a single more."

"...fine." the vendor grumbled, handing the fruit over to you.

You smiled triumphantly and took the watermelon before merrily walking off. Satoru stared at you with an amused expression while trailing you.

Truth be told, Satoru didn't care about bargaining. If he saw something he wanted, he could buy without sparing a glance on the price tag.

However seeing you bargain your way through life was the most amusing thing to him. He had both his heart and his credit card surrendered to you, yet you were adamant on not spending any more than necessary.

He still remembers the day you came home with a beaming smile on your face.

"Satoru guess what!" You chimed, seemingly proud at what you had done.

"What is it sweets?" He looked up from whatever he was doing.

"I got so many clothes for such good price. Hehe those discount vouchers are a gift of God, I tell you!" You grinned and he just laughed.

"Seriously? How much did you save this time?" He chuckled, curious as to how much you saved.

"Well, the salesman was about to tell me the exorbitant price but I whipped out the discount vouchers and got 40% off." You smugly smiled, probably impressed with your own self.

However, when it came to matters such as his birthday...

"Woah, what is this?" Satoru marveled at the sight of the decorations. Everyone was here. Nanami, Shoko, Yaga, the first and second years and you.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" All of you yelled in unison. Yuuji however, was struggling to open up the confetti popper and ended up shaking it so hard that it popped right on Satoru's face.

The man of the hour had confetti, both in his mouth and all over his face. Everyone laughed and some even snagged some pictures.

Satoru stood still for a second before his palm reached up to remove his blindfold which surprise surprise! Also got confetti stuck in it.

"Thanks- Yuuji." He said, blowing confetti out of his mouth, before smiling and chuckling at Yuuji.

Everyone later indulged in talking, eating and hanging out. The atmosphere was uplifting and heart swelling to see all your close ones enjoying themselves.

"So, how much discount did you get yourself on all this preparation?" You heard Satoru ask you. He was smiling brightly, so much so that his blue hues had smile line creases from his bright smile. You could even see his dimples.

Man, God was playing favourites while creating Satoru, that's for sure. Who knew the strongest sorcerer was deep inside just a gentle soul that needed love like everyone else?

"None." You smiled back at him

"Why so?" He asked, awaiting an answer.

"It's your birthday, silly. Price doesn't matter, you do." You booped his nose with you finger. You could see his ears turn red.

Satoru hated you. He hated how you would say such endearing this that would makes a puddle of mess from blushing. Just kidding, he loved you, with all his heart.

"Still..I could've saved so much money." You whined, earning a chuckle from him.

Nevermind. You never changed. He wasn't complaining though.

gosh- me including so many people are in love with this guy. I wanna hold him in my palms.

happy birthday satoru. You are so skrunkly

©definitelysel

not proof read. I wrote it on a whim.

[adachimoe]

Can Adachi even afford a TV?

I'm not sure if this is a shitpost or not, but can Adachi even afford to buy a TV??????????????????????

First off, police officer salary in 2008 (I'm going by the year that P4 was released since that would've been the dev frame of reference). Per this survey of government worker salaries in 2008, police officers in Yamanashi made an average of 347k yen per month, and officers in Tottori made an average of 348k yen per month. Officers in large cities like Tokyo made around the same, but had a bigger allowances budget; remember how Adachi complains about the station not comping the dry cleaning bill for his suit?

Second off, the price of a TV at Junes:

Based on the signs in the store, the higher end models in the first screenshot are 214k / 169k / 234k. Chie then asks to see the cheaper models, which leads up to the 2nd screenshot. While we can't make our those numbers as clearly, the one to the left of Yosuke's head seems to be 125k - still a six figure purchase.

Lastly, the cost of rent. I somehow very conveniently found a comparison of rent prices for both 2008 (when P4 came out) and 2011 (when it takes place) lol... What a coincidence...

In the Koshinetsu area where Yamanashi is:

And in Chugoku where Tottori is:

I thought it would be okay to use these statistics because these are for "1K" style apartments, meaning a small apartment but the kitchen is separated from the living/sleeping space by a door. Basically, realistically the type of place that Adachi would be living in.

So Adachi's salary per month is something like 347k - 348k yen (in 2008 USD/Yen, this was around $3300; in 2024 USD/Yen it's $2400). Of that 347k, he's possibly spending 43k - 46k Yen per month on a 1K layout apartment. And TVs at Junes, even the smaller lower end models, are six figures with the cheapest model we saw in the cutscenes being 125k Yen.

Adachi would seemingly be able to afford a TV if he devoted 1/3rd of his pre-tax monthly paycheck to it.

(The more realistic answer is probably something like, "he brought one with him from Iwatodai" (but then you still have to wonder where he got it to begin with?) or "he bought the smallest cheapest shittiest model possible it's just off-screen at Junes". Buuuut c'mon I didn't Google search shit and use the top result for nothin'.)

[hetalianhistorian]

News for a special Hetalia x Rokko: Sound of the Forest museum collaboration event has been announced!

Source link: https://twitter.com/animehetalia_ws/status/1888815341012500709

The event will be held from May 23rd to August 22nd with the event theme of "Music Travel"! The museum will have concert-like exhibits featuring automatic instruments from Europe and the US, such as music boxes from their collection.

In addition, the museum's SIKI sound walkway garden will be open to guests featuring over 300 different species of plants and flowers from around the world! The exhibit will also include sales of original goods, a cafe collaboration, a display of the original animation drawings, and scripts signed by the voice actors themselves!

Times and Dates

Event period: May 23rd to August 22nd First period: May 23rd to July 9th Second period: July 11th to August 22nd

Event Details

Admission ticket with original goods will be ¥1,800 yen each, featuring a three-piece set featuring original illustrations! The three piece set of goods will include:

Admission Ticket

Ticket Case (Design will change from the first and second period)

Event Map

Purchases for regular admission will still allow you to access the exhibits and concerts. For regular admission, the prices are:

Adults - ¥1,500 yen each

Children - ¥750 yen each

Event hours will be from 10 AM JST to 5 PM JST (registration will close at 4:30 PM JST). The museum will be closed every Thursday except for July 24th to November 27th. There will also be a parking fee of ¥1,000 yen per car, and it will be ¥2,000 yen per car from August 9th to August 17th. For more details about this event, you can visit the Rokkosan website! You can also call them at 078-891-1284 or FAX them at 078-891-0111.

[yeahthatwouldbedark]

Yen per second

tropes: death trope, friends to lovers (if you have won a golden medal in squinting really hard), rivals to lovers, bully romance bestie, college au, friends with benefits, Oikawa and reader have known each other since childhood.

trigger warnings (for the entire series): child abuse, domestic abuse, sexual abuse, bullying, depression, child neglect, terminal illness at some point, broken home, mental breakdowns, panic attacks, anxiety, death, injuries (Oikawa’s bad knee for example), substance abuse. 

Chapter 6 

22.9k words 

December 15th

Her hands sting as she applies soothing cream on her palm on which there lies a network of channels of dry, inflamed skin. December is anything but kind. But is the weather to blame for forgetting to care for her body and appearance? Yet, it seems she is not alone in her suffering because the moment Rin starts rubbing his hand together after she has squirted some cream onto the back of Rin’s hand, he winces and cusses out loud. There is no one to hear them anyway. She doubts anyone would stumble upon them if they were to run around naked.

Y/n almost wonders why it was that they chose to sit down here of all places; on the grass when the sidewalk is right up the hill and a few kilometers to the south there is a convenience store where they could slurp some spicy ramen. I suppose they wished for the privacy of utter solitude, ruptured occasionally only by the cars rushing by, few and far between. They need the sporadic interruption to bring them down to earth when their conversations have soared too far above. There goes another car, the passengers utterly oblivious to their existence.

“So…” He starts, grimacing as he spreads the cream between his cold fingers. “You’ve made up your mind then.”

At first, she doesn’t understand what he’s getting at. But there’s only one thing she could be contemplating, that they would have caught wind of from Ayame.

Y/n shrugs and thrusts the tube inside her backpack among her books and pens.

“Pretty much.” She confirms. Beside her, Suna glances at her before looking forward to avoid being caught. “Why?”  

Rin sighs just as a gust of cold wind blows their way. Both of them shiver and look at each other as if to confirm they are not alone in the agony stemming from their unfathomable stupidity.

Successfully suppressing a smile, he says, “Not gonna tell you what to do but…

His trailing off has her staring intently as he expects her to simply guess the remainder of his sentence.

“But what?” Y/n tilts her head and places her fist near his mouth. “Speak into the mic, Suna-sama.”

Sighing, Rin rests his forearms on his knees. “You could move into an apartment in the building where I live.”

“Why?” She asks, lowering her fist on her lap.

“To keep an eye on you?” Upon meeting her gaze, he adds, “Someone has to.” 

Y/n rolls her eyes and is about to respond with a light-hearted jab at his irresponsible nature being far worse than hers, when his ringtone beats her to it as he fishes it out of the pocket of his black padded coat (they’re matching by the way) and grimaces at the screen. Breath coming out in puffs of steam, he brings the device to his ear.

“I’ve been busy.” He says.

In the meantime, Y/n pulls out blades of grass and starts dividing them into strips as thin as she can make them. She often does this when the silence is too loud, a silence that asphyxiates instead of alleviating the unease of the person that dwells in it. One by one, bit by bit, the blades of grass are as thin as individual strands of hair, something in which she finds comfort. Now the grass is something she can relate to.

Next to her, Rin tenses and presses his knuckles against his thigh, cracking them as if to provide some relief for the discomfiting conversation he’s been thrust into. At least, Y/n deduces it is discomfiting by the frown that has his face contorted in an expression of barely suppressed frustration. He could explode at any moment, Y/n thinks, and might go as far as to catapult the poor phone further down the hill.

“Yeah.” He speaks again. “Yeah, I’m coming.”

When she glances at him, Y/n meets his eyes. A small smile rises triumphantly on his lips. But it is gone as soon as it appears, leaving her less than two seconds to enjoy it, to respond to it with a tilt of her own lips.

“No.” He responds with a deadpan face, and the voice on the other end becomes louder, nearing a shrill cry, and Rin pulls the phone away from his ear as if to lessen the blow. “Because I don’t wan- okay fine, fine. Don’t yell. Your blood pressure’s gonna skyrocket. Bye. Yes, I will. Now, bye. See you.”

Rin makes no effort to conceal his discontent with how he sighs, grunts, shoves the phone in his pocket and viciously zips it up to the point where he has to check he hasn’t accidentally ruined the zipper. As soon as he calms down, Y/n abandons the blades of grass, leaving them at the mercy of the wind, wraps her arms around her bent legs, and lays her head upon her knees. She’s glad for the padded coat, as it serves as a cushion. Were it not for Rin seething with malcontent she would allow her consciousness to be swept off its feet, carried away by the wind. The cold be damned.

“Your grandma?” Y/n asks, knowing only his grandma could force him to do things he normally would never care to do.

He nods. “She wants to parade me to her circle of friends in hopes of getting me to settle down with one of their nieces.”

At this, Y/n makes a sound resembling the lovechild of a snort and a snicker.  

“Good luck to her.”

Only a few moments pass after which Rin turns to her with an expression bordering on… pleading? He reaches for her and sinks his fingers into her frizzy mane (the cold isn’t doing her any favors). The sensation of ice-cold fingers gently pressing into her scalp has her almost wanting to lean into his touch and trying to escape the soothing contact in equal measure.

When his words reach her ear, they sound just as pleading and annoyed as his bearing appears. “Can you do me a favor?”

Y/n’s eyebrows join in confusion.

“What kind?” She inquires.

Before every uncomfortable revelation, comes the comical pause.

“Come with me and pretend we’re dating so I can get my grandma and those hags off my back.”

Seeing as he has, for years, pretended to be her “boyfriend” during gatherings, his shouldn’t come as a surprise to her. Yet, she sits there, stunned and rooted to the spot. Even she can understand that what he’s asking of her is vastly different from pulling pranks or joking around. His grandma is not one of the douchebags at random parties or the waiters they lie to in order to get free couples’ desert. If he takes this thing a step further, it would be as if they are truly together. It wouldn’t matter that they knew the truth, because the person who raised him would be living in a separate reality.

She racks her brains for a satisfying response. All the while, Rin’s eyes roam her face in search of a definite answer.

“I think you’d have better chances convincing her you’re dating someone else.” Is what she settles for.

Exhausted, Rin presses on, “Because the people I’m fucking definitely wouldn’t start deluding themselves.”

For some reason, Y/n finds his exasperation funny.

“No, I just think they’re better actors.” She says, pausing for effect and watching as his curious gaze sweeps over her, “Seeing how they have to fake their orgasms nightly.”

Just as she predicted he would, Rin scoffs and laughs it off, letting go of her. On the other hand, Y/n is overcome by the desire to indulge him, to make good on her promise to him and herself; no more outside looking in. This is so far out of her comfort zone that nausea builds up in her throat at the mere thought of him being seen with someone like her. Because what if an acquaintance of hers spotted them roaming the streets? What would they say of Rin? Would they embarrass her in public, thus humiliating him? Suddenly, the cruelty of the cold seems unbearable. Around her legs, her arms tighten.  

“I don’t mind coming with you if you don’t.”

Her answer lightens the mood. A tilt of his lips is more than enough to light up his entire face. Contentment bleeds through his glittering irises. Y/n wishes for nothing more than to chase the sparkles in his eyes like fireflies, and she is given the chance to do just that when his fingers find shelter in her hair once more, pulling her ever so close.

Face less than three inches from hers, he whispers teasingly, “My favorite person.”

If she had any inkling of the ferity of his thoughts, she might be able to understand that the atmosphere is that of sexual tension. But she’s neither high, nor drunk, so this state of sobriety renders her incapable of playfulness of that degree. This and the fact that she doesn’t believe he would flirt with her with the intent to seduce her. It’s just to tease her, she convinces herself.

That’s why, when another gust of wind depletes the last remnants of warmth, Y/n finds herself rolling her eyes.

“Your favorite person is about to freeze to death.” She mutters, burying her face further into her knees.

His grip on the roots of her hair tightens for an instant before he lets go. “Better take you home then.”

And all of a sudden, she’s being hauled to her feet by two strong arms, and the hood of her padded jacket is thrown over her head. Feeling stupid for having forgotten to cover her head, she instantly buttons up the front, securing the hood so the wind can’t knock it back. Of course, Rin gives her small teasing smile, joining her in their journey up the hill.

“Yeah, before Ayame and Haru come back.” She mutters, hoping Rin won’t hear.

“I’m taking you to mine, baby.”

Her head snaps up at him. He merely takes her hand in his and begins walking faster to work up their muscles and generate warmth. Lord knows why he even brought her here. Rin himself is at a loss for how fucking stupid he can be to be honest. If she gets sick, he’s bringing her to his dorm and feeding her shrimp pizza to make up for it. Opportunistic and proud.

“We gotta rehearse all the possible scenarios my grandma could hit us with.” He can tell they’re close to the top by the sound of a car whooshing by. She tries to keep up but slips more than once, and each time he helps her back on her feet. “Let’s hope we don’t slip up in front of her.”

  December 20th

It should be noted that… Rin doesn’t like going home. By home I mean the place where he was raised by his grandma. All she does is pester him, smother him, and tell him he should settle down now that he is an adult. Her views on what constitutes virtue, a noble way of life, and a decent human being differ from his. In the end, they quarrel. He goes to his childhood bedroom as she begs him to listen to her because she only wants what’s best for him. Rin always refuses.

Yet, there is only so much running he can do before he once again succumbs to his grandmother’s wishes and returns to the hearth. Every time, he has been alone, listening to the other hags badmouth him to his face with a smile as his grandma watches on, eyes cast down. This time, however, he has an ally, a ride-or-die whose presence will surely make them hold their tongues. After all, he’s now “taken”. They can no longer force him to date their granddaughters.

During the train ride, Rin is aware of her flitting, anxious gaze that settles on a random part of him before once again relocating. Her behavior reminds him of the mannerisms of a skittish animal in a small cage, fighting against the slim metal bars, forever distrustful of the human observing it, fearing that the next moment will bring a fate close to death but far crueler. And Y/n is nothing if not distrustful of everyone around her. The only things she doesn’t seem to regard with dread are natural phenomena. Cloistered inside her room beneath at least four layers of blankets, there is no storm so rancorous as to shake the foundations of her peace. Even now, she sits in front of him, her gaze at last settling on the hail laying waste to crops as the train flashes past them. The sky darkens, and the sweat on her forehead gradually evaporates. The storms ravage the fields, and her breathing slows to a rhythm as serene as Christmas lights turning on and off at a drowsy pace. Without Rin noticing, his chest mimics hers.

They’re hauling their luggage out of the train when Rin decides to make a promise wholly unusual of him.

“One of these days I’ll take you dancing in a snowstorm.”

Fixing her scarf so it covers her pink nose, Y/n says, “Is that a threat or a promise?”

“I’ll make you dance until you fall.”

He takes hold of her suitcase before she has a chance to protest and leads them both away from the tracks and to where taxi drivers have parked in search of potential passengers. The trip is long enough to allow them some time to take in the sight of the buildings, the frozen buckets filled with water that has frozen entirely, people scurrying to find shelter in cafes and convenience stores… until the sky runs out of rain so that snow can pelt the streets again. Nothing impresses Rin (he grew up here anyway). What eats away at him is the possibility that Y/n might not like his childhood home, however slight it may be. To cope with these thoughts, he takes to scrolling on his phone before his eyes shift to where she sits with her head angled toward the glass, gloved fingertips trapped between her lips. A picture wouldn’t hurt, right? Not if she’s in the dark about it.

His childhood home is by no means small. In fact, his grandmother was so successful as a sex worker back in the day that she was able to purchase a home that could comfortably house four people. As a child, Rin had always found it odd that there were so many rooms when relatives rarely visited and never stayed the night. The two of them were, for lack of better circumstances, alone in the world. Now he understood, as best as he could, that there had always burned an inextinguishable yearning for a family within his grandmother. His mother and the rest had always looked the other way and let it burn alone. Rin was the only one who stood before it, soaking up its warmth.

So why is his voice nearly trembling as he wraps his arms around his grandmother’s shoulders? Why is he shivering inside a home so warm?

“How have you been?” He asks her, not having the courage to pull away from someone who is overjoyed to see him after months of being absent from home. So, he lets himself float in this uncertainty, glancing at Y/n. Their eyes meet. “You’re not overworking yourself, are you?”

His grandmother pulls away first. Her smile lines deepen as she cradles his face in her callused palms.

“I’m better now that you’re here,” She tells him and he could swear she sounds out of breath, “And that you’ve brought your girlfriend with you.”

To be clear, the entire world and their mothers know that Rin is not a shy person. Truth be told he’s perplexingly blunt and unapologetic about plenty of things. However, having a girlfriend and Y/n being that supposed girlfriend is nothing short of uncharted territory, especially when being labeled as such by someone other than the two of them. This is part of the reason why he is momentarily stunned upon hearing those words mentioned in the same sentence.

Shaking it off with a slight smile, Rin places his palm on his grandma’s shoulder.

“Grandma, this is L/n Y/n.” He introduces, watching the glint of contentment come back to life in the old woman’s eyes, “Y/n, grandma.”

Y/n gives a 90-degree bow. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

This time, his grandmother’s teeth can be seen as she finds it impossible to suppress a grin. Y/n takes the time to study her features. She can’t help but compare them to Rin’s. Kobayashi Tadame and Suna Rintaro, she determines look nothing alike. His features are angular whereas hers are round, be it their eyes or their cheekbones. His eyes are green while hers are brown like tree bark. His lips are full with a slight sharpness to the cupid bow and hers are small and pouty. He has to lean down to hug her for she is shorter even than Y/n. Where he is slightly unruly and direct, she is all ironed shirts and propriety. Overall, there isn’t much likeness to be found between Rin and his grandmother.

“The pleasure is all mine. You look lovely, dear.” The grandmother turns to Rin as if to help him remember what he could never forget, “She is lovely.”  

The compliment is received with a whispered gratitude on Y/n’s end. “Thank you, grandma.”

“Come on, the living room is warm. I got it all ready for you.”

Without further ado, his grandmother starts ushering them forward, the suitcases rattling from behind as they speed walk down the corridor. On the walls hang pictures of his grandmother and him throughout the years; the first time he ate cotton candy after his mother passed away, that one time he made a snowman out of dough, his first volleyball match, him and his teammates the night before they all set off to college, and so on. Y/n takes it in like wine, already drunk on the evidence of his experiences. One could say she perceives the world through the memorabilia of other people’s lives.

She is pulled back to the present when Rin points out the kotatsu in the living room, all but running toward it to sneak under it like a toddler being left off the parental leash at a playground. To Y/n’s surprise, grandma gently guides her to where Rin is currently lying on his back, scrolling through his phone. Unbeknownst to her or his grandma, he’s hyperaware of every bit of interaction between the two and is willingly excluding himself from the narrative. If he intervenes, he fears it will only be for the worse.

“My grandson has come home with the girl he loves.” His grandmother says, now making her way to the kitchen, “I want you to be warm and comfortable.”

Once the elderly woman has disappeared behind the curtain that separates the two rooms, Y/n occupies the space in the kotatsu next to Rin who puts his phone down and speaks in a low voice.

“I guarantee she’s made shrimp pizza from scratch.”  

Curious, she turns to look at him, “Why?”

Rin shrugs. “Because I told her that’s your favorite. Look.”

As if on cue, grandma pushes aside the curtain and enters the living room carrying two plates of steaming slices of godliness.

“She’s hell-bent on making you stay.” He elbows her on the arm. “You can’t leave me now that you’re being spoiled rotten by my granny.”

“Watch me.”

“Uhuh. Gonna give you a head start.”

After placing both plates on the table along with the two cans of coke, grandma relishes the two of them as they dig in.

“Here, are you two warm?” The kind woman asks, “Do you need me to bring you some more tea?”

The two of them shake their heads.

If you wish to know, I could tell you what is running through her mind at present. How could she be thinking about anything other than the fact that her grandson has finally found someone to care for in the way she wishes she had been cared for in her youth? Both the boy and the girl are deserving of these slivers of joy that companionship can grant them, far and few between though they may be. She can see it… the slivers coming to life as they trade slices, shoving them into their mouths, licking their fingers one second, and snickering about it the next. The moment turns turbulent when a knock comes at the door.

Their mirth dies down as the rapping of the knuckles at the door becomes more insistent. Rin looks at his grandma, trying to glean a response from his grandma. In turn, she avoids his gaze as if meeting it would brand the truth on her eyelids.

“That’ll be Mrs. Nakamura and Mrs. Fujimoto.” She mutters instead, wiping her hands on the midnight blue apron. “They insisted to know when you were coming. I will go let them in.”

She’s barely out of the living room when Y/n hears Rin groan exasperatedly.

“Fuck!” He curses under his breath.

Before she can ask him if these guests are the ones who insult him every time he comes home, she gets her answer as Rin takes to just punching random apps on his phone the moment the two women peek inside. Like most old women middle-aged women do when presented with fresh meat whose insecurities they can identify and exploit, these women are not even two introductions in, when they do what they do best.  

“She’s so petite.” Mrs. Fujimoto, a woman of stout build, chortles as she takes a seat next to Y/n. “Are you sure you can handle him?”

Frowning at the woman, Y/n shifts closer to Rin.

“Handle him?” She asks, conscious that her thigh is pressing against his.

“Oh, you know,” Laughs Mrs. Nakamura, waving her confusion off as something negligible. “When he gets angry at you, can you hit him back?”

No, I can’t. That is the first thing that pops into her head, her involuntary response. Ashamed that she would think to respond with that, she looks everywhere but Rin, whose gaze is trained on her side profile. It is as if he’s waiting for her to speak, to defend him, to make good on her promise. Yet her lips are sealed and her throat is clogged as if with blocks of cement. Now aware of the situation, Rin takes matters into his own hands.

“What kind of person do you think I am?”

Mrs. Nakamura’s eyes narrow with feigned mirth.

“Oh, come on,” She “jests”, “You’re young and you’ve always been an impulsive boy. It’s only normal that you would get angry from time to time.”

As if the insinuation that Rin is abusive wasn’t cruel enough, Mrs. Fujimoto picks up where her friend left off.

“My granddaughter is still heartbroken, you little rascal.” She says with just as much forced amusement, laughing as she reaches out to “playfully” smack Rin on the arm.

Finding her touch repulsive, he instinctively retracts his arm and hides it under the kotatsu, where he tries to erase her touch with the scrape of his nails. I shouldn’t have trimmed them, he thinks.

“What does that have anything to do with this?” He groans, “I never hit her.”

Mrs. Fujimoto doesn’t take kindly to being defied, “Do not-

“Rin doesn’t get angry at me.”

The words have passed the threshold of her lips before Y/n can think to stop them. She can feel Rin ceasing to rub his arm raw beneath the thick blanket, his gaze trailing up to her face once more. For the first time, she’s glad for the stubbornness of her thoughts.

“He asks how I’m doing even when I want to be alone, hugs me even if I can’t always do the same.” The more she speaks, the bolder she feels, “Only people who don’t understand him would assume he’s a violent person.”

A tense sort of silence settles in the living room. Each second is viscous, stretchy, refusing to fall down or clatter by all at once. The five of them are submerged in a substance akin to amber, preventing them from forging ahead, preserving the audacity of her words in their original state. Yet for her words to fossilize, they must first die in their ears.

“How rude.” Scoffs Mrs. Nakamura, her face turned up in distaste.

Before Y/n can say anything to make things escalate, Rin gently takes hold of her hand.

“Let’s go upstairs, angel.” He says, helping her to her feet.

So, they leave the two women to their incessant, ill-intended murmuring, as the desperate calls of Rin’s grandmother follow them up to his bedroom. He can only sigh, ashamed that Y/n had to witness all that, had to become part of the schemes of bored middle-aged women so dissatisfied with the life they have made for themselves (or the lack of it) that the most interesting topic they can bring up is the sex life of a soon-to-be nineteen-year-old. Truly, he wishes he could dig a grave and lie there naked in the snow, eaten raw by the winter storm.

The key is turned. Stars spill into the hallway from the aperture in the door before it opens wide and everything inside is awash in starlight. Inside they go and the door clicks shut behind them, dulling the sound of conversation in the living room downstairs. Mouth open in awe, Y/n gazes up at the ceiling, engraving the sight of fluorescent galaxies in her brain⸺ magenta, aquamarine, bottle green, silver, sapphire, neon pink, and baby blue. She swears she can feel the breath of the universe on her cheeks, the fog, and the clarity of it surrounding her. Her eyes swim in it.  

She thinks about how Rin must have stayed awake as a child to look at them. Ensorcelled by them. He must have been so adorable.

“Did you or your grandma paint this?” She says, her eyes glued to the ceiling.

“I did. First year in high school.” Answers Rin, who fishes his phone out of the pocket of his padded coat and places discards it on the bed. “Before there were only stars up there. The kind you see in cartoons. The moon was in the center.” Only when his finger comes into view, pointing up at the center of the ceiling, does Y/n notice him standing next to her. “Right there.”

As difficult as it is to tear her gaze from the work of art, she does so in favor of rendering her words as sincerely as possible.

“It’s ethereal.” She tells him.

In turn, Rin regards her with a look of bewilderment and amusement.

“That look.” He begins, hand tenderly resting on her shoulder as he leans down to her eye level, “It’s just like the first time I saw you.”

She can’t know in great detail how it felt for him to catch sight of her for the very first time. She’d been sitting on the front steps of her aunt’s house, scratching her ankle from time to time after a mosquito had bitten her. Summer shit. And he was looking from his cousin’s balcony, thinking that she looked high enough to invite a stranger into her home and stare at them until they confessed to having committed war crimes. To this day he doesn’t know how he was able to perceive her as anything but a Roblox character with him having just woken up from an afternoon nap. But he’d known then, that her eyes were piercing, scrutinizing, and so soft. Upon meeting her he’d decided that her lips must feel as soft as her eyes looked.

Even now, as she returns his gaze and cracks a small smile, he is glad to be proven right once again.  

“Leaving my mark on the world I see.” She jokes, moving toward the bed.

He follows right after, taking his shirt off. “And you weren’t even high.”

“Achievement unlocked.” She pulls the sweater over her head, giggling.

After changing into their pajamas which for Y/n involved more than simply putting their clothes on, meaning that skincare was mandatory and an absolute non-negotiable, they both sneak beneath the sheets. Instantly, Rin is the first to get close enough that Y/n can count the fleck of stardust in his eyes. Rin can tell… he can tell she wants to hold his face in her hands, more so because her hands twitch where she rests them on the pillowed space between them. Consequently, he decides to be the one to, once again, put himself forward like a sacrificial offering to an entity of unpredictable disposition.

“I think…” He whispers, resting his forehead against hers, “I think I would’ve been much happier had I brought you here sooner.”

A beat later she whispers back, her voice rife with nervousness, “Why?”

Her mint breath fans his lips and it makes him smile.

“We would have been able to do this every weekend if we’d lived in the same neighborhood.” Feeling more audacious than usual, he angles his face so that she can feel him too, “Even if your parents didn’t let you.”

Bold of you to assume they would notice I was gone. “You would’ve let me steal into your bedroom?”

Rin hums in affirmation, “And my bed.”

The way that line is delivered, teasingly and humorously, would have made anyone laugh. But Suna Rintaro is in no way joking. So, it is at once relieving and disappointing when he feels her breath on his parted lips and her precious giggle in his ears once more.

“You know?”

Her voice has his eyes fluttering open. Rin doesn’t have to try his hardest to look into her eyes. That soft, intrusive gaze is all that is required to transfix him.

The boy manages to get two words out, “Know what?”

“Your eyes sparkle.” She doesn’t miss a beat, “Like there’s this type of glitter in your irises. It makes your eyes look even prettier.”

This isn’t the first time Rin is complimented about his eyes and it won’t be the last. But he wants to hear it more. Wants her to look into him and gather all the glitters she sees in his eyes so that he can be as much in awe of them as she is. He wants that glitter scattered on her eyelids. He wants it painted on her lips. To help her understand, he takes her hand and rests the thumb on the corner of his eye. As if pulled by some gravitational force greater than that of Earth, his eyelids droop until he can see nothing and feel everything. The coldness of her skin. The light scrape of her nails as she runs her fingers across the lid and then his lower lashes. Her breathing as it slows down so it matches his.

 The following day, December 21st, they do nothing of importance except for helping Grandma around the house (things are still a bit awkward after the mishap of the night before but she always smiles at them) and run errands here and there. Other than that, the two of them spend their day lying on his bed wearing pajamas, scrolling through Pinterest for aesthetic pictures, listening to Lana Del Rey and The Weeknd, and watching movies on his laptop, namely the Avatar movies. It’s not like they haven’t watched the first Avatar movie before but it’s just one of those movies you don’t tire of revisiting time and time again.

Outside, it is dark when Rin drops an enlightening thought.

“Imagine if humans could do that too.” He says, pointing at Jake and Neytiri connecting through their hair, “Orgasms everywhere.”

Y/n nods, “Especially on all fours.”

Rin doesn’t let that shit go until they both fall asleep, his chest pressed against her back. Being her friend, he can’t help but want to be near her always, stuck to her skin like hardened wax. Isn’t it convenient that it’s December? Now he can sling his arm across her middle as they drift off, which she doesn’t seem to mind given that her fingertips lazily dance across his knuckles. Then they rest.

 It's December 22nd and they’re headed to Miya Osamu’s restaurant just 30 minutes on foot. Both of them are in their padded coats (since the other kinds just won’t cut it if the snow painting the sidewalks white is to be used as a criterion for judgment), thick scarves, and gloves so thick that neither of them can feel their fingers. Both of them are also lost because Rin claims to never have been to this part of the town.

“Are you sure you know the way?” Y/n asks for the seventh time (I’ve counted).

Rin groans and tries to figure out the bullshit on the screenshot of google maps he took prior to leaving the house.

“Cut me some slack.” The picture refuses to be zoomed in as he is wearing gloves. The snow isn’t helping either. “This is my first time visiting his place.”

Y/n mirrors his groan. “Well, now I’m embarrassed for both of us.”

“This isn’t a doctor’s appointment.” He peels off his right glove and wipes the screen on the inside of his pocket. “He isn’t expecting us to be there by 6 PM sharp.”

“But what if he’s upset because we ruined his schedule?”

Rin raises an eyebrow at her. “He isn’t like you.”

Scoffing, Y/n adjusts the scarf so that not even a quarter of an inch is exposed to the cold.

“I expect nothing less from an Aquarius headass.” She mumbles.

Confident that he finally got it right, Rin puts his glove back on and then grabs her by the shoulders, spinning her so they’re both facing the road.

“It’s right across the park after that condo building.” His mouth is right at her ear, “Do all of you Cancers mumble what you want to say or is it just you?”

“Shut up, what would you know about astrology?”

“Just your entire birth chart.” He shrugs. “Cancer sun, Virgo rising, Aquarius moon, Cancer venus, Virgo mercury, Cancer mars. That cancer stellium in 11th house isn’t doing you any favors.”

Y/n skids to a halt. “Stellium? What? How and when did you learn all this?”

“Heard Atsumu’s girlfriend talking about astrology while they were eating the ice cream I bought. So, I asked her to explain the fuck she was talking about in exchange for eating my food.” To piss her off, Rin links their arms as he whispers the following, “That’s how I learned why you’re the way you are.”

Scoffing, Y/n makes to kick him in the shin but he skillfully avoids her boot. “Shut up with your Aquarius sun, Scorpio rising, Aries moon, Capricorn mercury, Pisces venus, Aquarius mars ass.”

By the time they reach their destination, snow lays thick on their shoulders (they should’ve just taken a taxi or something, but Rin wanted to show her around while he could.). They dust the frost off their padded coats before they step inside the brightly lit restaurant so that it doesn’t thaw on the fabric, resulting in them reeking of wet dogs. Once inside, the warmth of the sizeable fireplace at the center hits them like a heatwave in July. Their nostrils fill with the smell of delightful food.

One of the waitresses leads them both to their reserved table, which stands by the window, neither too close nor too far from the entrance yet close to the fireplace. Osamu promised to book them the best seat there was and he delivered.

After shrugging off their coats and unwrapping their scarves, the two of them try to make boats out of tissue paper until Osamu joins them at the table. They take turns doing so, both failing equally miserably. The paper just won’t hold. It tears at the edges and then the fissures reach the heart of it. It frustrates them to the point that they just tear it in half.

At that moment, a voice can be heard that unshackles them from this annoyance.

“You look fried, Rin.”

His height is the first thing Y/n notices about the boy. He is almost as tall as Rin, with bleached hair dyed grey and an undercut that would look very Karen on someone whose head isn’t shaped like his. Unlike Rin’s, his arms are not inked with designs of any kind, at least none that she can see with how little upward he has rolled the sleeves of his black uniform. Most importantly… his eyes are equal parts tired and soft as he stares at Rin.

“Good evening to your greasy ass too.” Shoots Rin and the other boy pulls him into a hug.

And then… it’s her turn to greet and be greeted. It is her turn to be scrutinized and have her appearance and mannerisms dissected by this stranger, one of Rin’s closest friends and former teammate.

“Is this her?” He asks, bowing.

His voice is even; as if any and all personal judgment has been ironed out.

“L/n Y/n. Pleased to meet you.” She bows and then, as she and Rin sit back down and Osamu occupies the seat opposite them, she gestures at their surroundings. “I like your restaurant.”

He seems glad to hear that. Who wouldn’t be, really?

“What do you like most about it?”  Osamu asks, crossing his arms as he leans forward.

Y/n swipes her finger on the table. “Great hygiene and the whole place smells great.”

Osamu thanks her and they get to talking about random things. They’re in a world of their own and she’s locked out with no way of understanding its rules and inside jokes. Seeing as it is useless to understand anything at the speed that the conversation is flowing, Y/n takes to studying her surroundings; the light goldenrod yellow walls, the snow piling up on the sill outside, and the pictures on the wall. The subject of one of them is the Inarizaki High volleyball team.  

“Guess he’s always looked like Barry the bee.” She mutters. “Look at that smug asshole smile.”

Y/n doesn’t exactly try to hide the fact that she’s talking about his brother but she hadn’t thought his twin would actually catch her calling him Barry the bee, seeing as how he’d been so immersed in his conversation with Rin. So, it’s a bit of an amusing predicament when he turns to her, tilting his head. Well… amusing for them because for her she’s sifting through the million anxiety-born scenarios in order to choose the least devastating. What if he's upset? She had meant for it to be a joke gone unnoticed but what if?

“How do you know my dick of a twin?” Asks Osamu.

Somewhat relieved, Y/n straightens up but it’s Rin who speaks first.

“I lost a bet to him once,” He throws his arm around her shoulders and rests his head on hers for a second, “And he used my phone for an entire day.”

Staring blankly at Rin, the boy speaks in a low voice, “Don’t tell me he called her.”

“Rin knows I don’t like surprise phone calls,” Y/n says, glancing at Rin’s hand, fingers tracing lazy circles on her collarbone. “His name popping up on my phone screen at 9 PM was a clear indication that something was up.”

“Basically, he video-called her to mess with me. The entire time I thought he was just downloading porn to piss me off.”

“Instead, he kept pestering me until I stopped declining his calls.”

The state of the boy sitting opposite them is a curious blend of shame and being entirely unfazed. In every timeline, being born as Atsumu’s twin came with built-in emotional stamina, patience, and preparation for the unexpected. A full-time job really. Yet at last, Osamu lets out a sigh of exasperation, sweeping a hand over his face.

“So fucking embarrassing.” He drones, then casts her a glance, “Did he do anything inappropriate?”

“Honestly, I thought he would at first.” She nods, the weight of anxious thoughts now shaken off her shoulders. “But he was just asking for tips on how to talk to this extremely shy girl and telling me embarrassing stories about Rin.”

“Apologies for not boiling him like the egg that he is while I had the chance.”

Y/n shakes her head. “No, he was really nice when I visited.”

Osamu regards her with what can only be identified as doubt.

“Really?” The word ends more like a statement than a question.

“Even ordered food for us all. Besides,” Her fingers drift to Rin’s, the soft flesh of the tips pressing against his. “If it hadn’t been for Atsumu calling then I would never have learned that he dared Rin to wear his cumrag shirt or answer with truth.”

A grimace passes over Osamu’s face at the memory of that party and the events that preceded it. Rin removes his arm from around her shoulders and brings it to her lap, fingers laced with hers.

“Go big or go home,” he says proudly.  

Osamu doesn’t miss a beat, “Should’ve gone home.”

“And be grilled about my whorish ways by my grandma? No, thanks. Cumrag it is.”

While Rin has taken to idly caressing her thumb with his, Osamu takes a few moments to study the boy’s demeanor; how he seems most in his element around her, shoulders brushing, a hint of mischief glazed over his yellow-green eyes to mask the longing.

“Well,” Osamu starts, recapturing their attention, “At least now she has no reason to cross-examine you.”

  They’re walking side by side, hands in their pockets and scarves around their neck, when his voice comes out in puffs of steam, all the more visible as they leave one of the many lampposts behind.

“Why are people obsessed with the idea of setting people up with other people?”

The question has Y/n coming to a halt, only for a moment, then catches up to him before Rin can notice. She doesn’t know he already has.

“Beats me.” She shrugs. “Maybe influence. Power.” A car speeds by, then silence settles once more. Until she adds, “The satisfaction at seeing someone you love fall in love as well.”

Maybe it’s that they’re spent from all the talking they did back at the restaurant, engaging with Osamu in the most ludicrous debates over trivial matters from the past and the present. It could also be that the quiet of this area feels too innocent to pollute with nonsensical talk. Maybe they’re afraid words could poison whatever they cherish. No matter the reasons, the fact remains that they walk side by side, arms brushing, snow crunching under their footwear, and the biting wind mocking their attempts to warm their own breaths underneath the scarves.

Yet the words striving to be heard challenge the silence, and win.

“There’s something elusive about it,” Y/n says, just loud enough to be heard.

Rin turns his head to look at her. “About what?”

She expertly dodges his gaze, staring ahead into the traffic lights as they switch to green.

“The fascination with love.” Y/n breathes.

Well… he didn’t expect that from her. And he didn’t expect or appreciate himself feeling green with envy at the thought of him not being even a small part of the image at the front of her mind right now. Because, to his knowledge, there is only one person she’s had romantic feelings for, and that person is vile vermin that she never speaks of. He’s in the past. Rin is here, beside her. Still, he feels the need to vomit the words that have the contents of his stomach turning to poison.

“Didn’t you have feelings for that guy in high school?”

They cross the road.

“My personal sentiments seem… impersonal to me now.” She confesses, shutting her eyes for a second. “It wasn’t me. I must have imagined it for sure.”

“Imagined it?”

“Yeah, you know,” Y/n removes her hands from her pockets to paint some abstract concept in the air, “Hallucinations.”

She can’t see his lips curve upwards in that distinct smile of mischief he always uses to playfully taunt her with, but the round curvature of his cheekbones, as they peek above the scarf, tells her that he, at the very least, finds the conversation slightly amusing. The truth is… she doesn’t know whether to feel relieved or disheartened.

“Y/n I’m like 98 percent sure you aren’t doping up on psychedelics and shit.”

“And…” She wavers, eyes flitting between him and the pavement beneath their feet, “The other 2 percent?”

“That’s where this convo is headed.”

Well… that’s it, isn’t it? Every bit of her is like injecting drugs straight into your vein. An ephemeral, translucent, gossamer-like being, woven from ghosts and wraiths, she never feels real. Her words are odd. Each utterance is made obsolete by the sole fact that it is her lungs breathing life into them. Even Rin thinks so, doesn’t he? He cannot believe that she of all people would speak of love. Remember, this is all in her head.

“Yeah, it’s getting weird,” she mumbles, staring straight ahead.

For his part, Rin doesn’t think it’s odd that she’s speaking of love. Surprising? Without a doubt. But there is no way she could ever speak of love and sound like anything other than the flesh in which it resides. And he can feel it in the deepest layers of his skin, goosebumps beneath the padded coat, in his chest as it is weighed down by the regret at his choice of words, and in the way he has to swallow that same regret.

“Did he fuck around?” This is what he asks instead.

It’s almost comical how she almost breaks her neck to look him in the eye. He doesn’t break eye contact, and neither does she. Slowly, she nods.

“Was he any good?”

This time looking down, she nods again.

Sighing, Rin mutters, “He’s just like me for real.”

Y/n side-eyes him until neither of them can suppress the mirth. Eventually, the laughter dies down and they settle back into the quiet as they wait for the light to turn green.

“My bedroom and his were… they were separated by a wall.” Y/n can feel his gaze boring into her, “So, I could hear them going at it. Free lessons really.”

Rin’s eyes go wide. Then, gradually, they soften upon witnessing the emptiness in hers, how the blankness of her expression is betrayed only by the involuntary fluttering of her eyelashes as if she can bear neither the present nor the past. Having a mind of their own, his hands reach for hers. Slowly, he shelters them in his pocket.

But Rin, being too inquisitive and possessing little tact at the moment, inquires the following:

“Between him and I, who do you think is the best?”

Scoffing, Y/n makes to untangle herself from Rin but his fingers become a gauntlet around hers. She can only groan and submit.

“Well,” She begins, “It’s not like I know what it’s like to be fucked by either of you to be able to compare.”

That can be fixed, is his knee-jerk impulsive thought. If he were anyone else, Rin would lower his head in shame at the filth that infests his every imagined scenario involving her and him, especially at a time such as this, when she’s stripping layer after layer of vulnerability. But he’s the same boy he was at the age of 15; clueless as to how to connect with people in a way that isn’t carnal, careless, and crude in the way friends ought not to be. He has to justify the epithets he’s given, doesn’t he?

Wasn’t he being irrationally jealous some minutes ago? What was it that triggered his sexual urges out of nowhere? The boy can only look at her with slightly narrowed eyes as her lips start to move once again.

“But you’re not like him.” Her voice is soft. “You’re the sort of person who is pleasant to be around. It’s subtle. Understated. Like, if I were to compare… I’d say you’re like this intoxicating scent that you eventually get used to. Like when you enter the room, you know it’s safe to be there, to close your eyes, or to just exist.” She pauses and inhales deeply before continuing, “What he has is overwhelming charisma. He is the leader of his friend group. People flock to him, listen to him, believe in him… trust him. His every word is received wholeheartedly.”

She doesn’t need to keep going, firing arrow after arrow, but she does. Rin listens.

“He inspires devotion.” Each word is a letter of resignation.

Pulling up his scarf to hide the blush dusting his cheeks, he swallows his pride.

“This entire time you’ve been talking like he still is all those things,” Rin points out.

“Because I’m certain it’s true still.”

It’s the immediacy of her response that shuts him up. Rin has never dreamed of being someone else as much as he does right now. It’s like her portrait of him has been washed out by the corrosive agent that is her description of a man that Rin doesn’t know yet loathes.

“Your charm is just as powerful.” She continues, fingers tightening around Rin’s. “True, people don’t bully certain people just because you harbor some sort of dislike for them. But they can rest assured that you won’t lead them astray. You put others at ease without realizing it. Like, if you asked me to play truth or dare, I’d probably say yes because I know you wouldn’t cross the line.”

Rin can’t help the lazy smile that takes over.

“Probably?” He teases.

“Who knows? Might make me make out with the toilet seat.” She answers honestly and Rin laughs because he knows it’s true. “Point is, you don’t weaponize your presence to hurt.”

Y/n gives him a small smile and then checks both sides of the street.

“You’re a good person when you’re not breaking hearts.” She jokes, intending for him to hear.

He laughs but it’s the kind of laugh that only serves to distract oneself from their most urgent thoughts and desires. Right now, Rin doesn’t care about the rumors, malicious remarks, or the hearts broken over the years. His only concern lay with how to best help her understand his gratitude towards her. How does he let her know she’s the first to have an understanding of him that exceeds his sexual escapades or smoking? How does he make her understand he feels the most cared for when in her presence?

“Y/n?”

Rin’s voice has always had that drowsy quality to it, like waking up from a nap on a Sunday evening, and it still is. Even if he swiftly pulls her toward the other side of the road without elaborating any further.

She can’t help looking up at him as he lowers his scarf.

“Yeah?” The scarf muffles the word.

His free hand finds itself on her cheek, slowly pulling down the worn fabric to reveal rosy cheeks. A bit lower and her upper lip peeks above the piece of cloth. As he contemplates whether to succumb to this gnawing need, his focus flits between her curious gaze and her lips. In the end, he decides to play it safe, convincing himself that this is a step forward.

The boy presses his lips against her cheek. It burns… having her so close, having his lips touching a part of her. It’s not the first time. He’s pecked her cheeks time and time again, be it under the effect of alcohol or drugs, sober, or hungover (when he wants no one to as much as breathe within a square kilometer as him). He’s held back for so long. So why does it hurt so bad trying to keep his lips from straying?

“For defending me.” He clarifies, still struggling not to kiss her very breaths, “I owe you one.”

What Rin doesn’t know is that her cheek burns too.

  December 27th

There is nothing quite like academic validation. Because when it’s all said and done, the numbers will be there to remind you that this is how much you’re worth, whether you deserve to eat and enjoy that movie, whether you deserve to step out into the balcony and just breathe in the chilly 3:00 AM air and the view of the bustling city. All of it is determined by how well you do in your classes, and how pleasing your opinions are to people whose words matter infinitely more than yours.

So why not be worthy of those numbers and wear them like a badge of honor? Why not toil away when others are putting their plates away? Why see yourself as remotely human, as if you have any right? How could Y/n give a second thought to the rumbling of her stomach when the buzzing doom in her head kept vibrating in all the wrong crevices of her mind?

“Hey.”

Being the narrator, I hear it. Not Y/n, though. Speaking to her right now is no different from trying to converse with an animated corpse in a tomb; the soil and the casket tune everything out.

Just as Chiharu is about to change her mind, her friend’s stomach decides to summon fire from the pit. Of course, Y/n still doesn’t notice she needs sustenance. Now Chiharu knows what to do in order to get the girl’s attention without having her draw further into her shell; dinner. It’s about 9 PM but it will be a welcome change of pace for both. Chiharu buys herself some more time to think and Y/n gets to eat something she didn’t “waste” time making.

Setting the plate beside the laptop, Chiharu tries again.

“Hey,” she says.

This grabs Y/n’s attention, who almost recoils at the sight of the sandwich, Caesar salad, and the girl hovering above her.

Removing her headphones, she responds, “Sup.”

In a room as devoid of lighting as Y/n’s bedroom, the only way for Chiharu to see is to squint. But she’s not about to do all that. Instead, she switches on the light.

“I know you don’t like wasting time so I’ll just cut to the chase.” She takes a deep breath, “Come to the New Year’s Eve party.”

Fingers tensing on the keyboard, Y/n answers, “Don’t know if I can make it.”

“We don’t have classes ‘till January and I know you took extra shifts before winter break started to make up for the hours.”

“Yeah, but-

“Ayame feels really bad, you know?”

And Y/n feels like painting her sight black and flattening the sounds that Chiharu is producing. The thought of someone feeling any manner of discomfort, anything remotely negative because of her absence, is foreign, a cryptid. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t understand. Therefore, she is as much afraid as she is intrigued. Looking back at the screen, she absentmindedly types “a” after “a”.

“She can’t look you in the eye without feeling like bursting into tears.”

Well, that sounds familiar. It isn’t like Chiharu to guilt trip others into bending over backward to fulfill her wishes. However, the girl has known Kuroo for a long time. They’ve been at each other’s throats, tussling since they were toddlers barely on their feet, and adopted traits of each other over the years they have spent making fun of those same traits. Kuroo is a phenomenal guilt-tripper. Full stop. The worst part is that in most cases his way is the way that works best, even if he has to seek Y/n’s input beforehand.

“Is it guilt-tripping I detect?” She asks, already knowing the answer.

Chiharu smiles sheepishly.

“Maybe? Look,” She says, shaking her head, “I just think it would be a nice change of pace. Beneficial for everyone, not just me or Ayame or that obnoxious hellcat.”

Y/n’s fingers come to a halt, the cursor still pulsating on the screen.

“Who else is coming?” She inquires.

“Tooru gave a vague answer so I don’t know if he’s planning to join us.” Chiharu answers and Y/n hopes that the girl isn’t able to detect the small relief washing over her, “But Rin is and so is Kenma. Kenma, if you remember him, has been asking about you by the way. Haven’t you gotten his texts?”

Rolling her eyes, Y/n mutters, “You know I have. I just don’t know what to say.”

“Bingo!” Chiharu exclaims, “If you come with us, you’ll be halfway there. Once you see each other I’m sure conversation between you two will flow like period blood.”

That’s enough for one night, Y/n decides as she turns to properly face the verbal massacre on her screen. Chiharu’s similitude of choice was simply too out-of-pocket even for her.

“I’ll come if you promise never to use that comparison again,” she says.

“Great!” She can feel Chiharu raising a triumphant fist. “Finally, I did something right. Okay, so I’ll leave you be now. Night- night!”

Shutting the door behind her, Chiharu lets out a sigh of contentment. This might just be her greatest achievement of the year.

“Chiharu,” She whisper-yells to herself, a smile on her face, “You dumb fucking bitch. You made it.”

On the other side of the door, Y/n carefully picks up the sandwich. She brings it to her lips and the first bite tastes like food that is neither exquisite nor too bland, merely meant to stave off the hunger while not tasting horribly too much like hay. The second bite is a log in her throat, hard to swallow. The third tastes like ‘loss’.

“Mama, your belly is so pretty,” she says.

They’re sitting on the sofa in their old apartment, the fabric of the cover soft to the touch, like the fuzz of the peaches that her auntie has just sliced nicely and placed on a plate for them to enjoy. It’s summer but the evening is caressed by a beautiful breeze. The day is hot enough to remind everyone it’s still the hottest season of the year but not so much so that they have to wipe off their sweat every two minutes.

Her mom is near her, gently rubbing her belly and smiling down at it. Y/n thinks her mom is very beautiful. Her light brown eyes are always so much prettier when she smiles and sunlight adores her hair. How Y/n wishes she could be like her.

“It’s true, baby.” Her auntie lifts her up and sits Y/n down on her lap, “Mama is so pretty.”

Her mom laughs and kisses Y/n on the cheek. The little girl can’t help but giggle. Then her stomach rumbles; a noise that can’t go unheard in a house as quiet as theirs, especially with the TV turned off. Her mom and auntie look at one another before shrieking with laughter.

“Is my little girl hungry?” Her mom asks.

Y/n nods and quietly says, “Yes, mama.”

“Okay, sit here, baby. Auntie will make you a sandwich.”

Just as her aunt is about to lift Y/n off her lap, her mom gets up, one hand supporting her back and the other on her belly still drawing soothing circles.

“No, stay there.” She says, making her way to the kitchen. “You must be tired of cooking and cleaning since dawn.”

Her aunt sighs. “It’s nothing. You’re the one that’s pregnant.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t make my little girl a sandwich, does it?”

While her mom prepares her sandwich, which will undoubtedly make her eat less at dinner, her auntie takes to tickle the life out of her. Tears pool in her eyes as she tries to wriggle out of the woman’s hold, giggling all the while. Then, finally managing to do so, she throws her arms around her auntie’s neck and asks for a piggyback around the living room. So, the woman does and Y/n feels safe and content at the speed at which her auntie is marching and with her head buried in the crook of the woman’s neck. She could just doze off.

“It’s readyyyyy!” Her mom calls as she walks out of the kitchen.

Instantly, Y/n asks to be let down (which her aunt doe) and dashes across the living room to where her mom is, wrapping her arms around her legs. She feels her mom’s hand rest atop her head as they both head toward the dining table. Y/n climbs on the chair, eager to taste the sandwich.

It has everything in it that she likes; ham, arugula, pesto sauce, peanut butter, cherry tomatoes, cucumbers, and walnuts. Her mouth is assaulted by the flavors all at once. Every bite is a bit of worldly joy reserved for her alone, even the crumbs. She listens to her mom and auntie talk about the dinner planned for tonight, one in celebration of her dad’s promotion at work. An invitation has been sent to her dad’s superior, who is also his friend.

There is too much happiness in her heart because everyone is happy and she’s just had her favorite meal. I guess the universe decided she’d had too much of it. A few months later, they were on their way to a different prefecture. And the fault, they had decided, was hers. No longer was the sandwich made for her. Her mom didn’t kiss her cheek, whether she was blissful or blue.

But years down the line she’d make this sandwich for her friends at her auntie’s house during summer break. For one month, she’d take a bite out of joy with them, have her fill then starve again.

Even now, with that awareness in mind, Y/n devours it all.

   December 31st, New Year’s Eve

Her eyes cannot stand the light that bleeds from the lampposts so she squints, hoping to catch a glimpse of Kuroo’s apartment. Chiharu and Ayame walk ahead of her, careful not to leave her too far behind. The elevator is filled with their giggles and the mirror is a movie. Y/n watches on with a smile as they tug on each other’s arms and reapply their lipstick. Then they’re out and walking towards Kuroo’s apartment (a penthouse really).

The door swings open and there stands the host in all his rabid glory. He pulls Ayame in for a kiss then wrestles Chiharu for a hug. At Godspeed, his eyes land on Y/n. A maniacal smile that would incense anyone that isn’t his friend grows on his face at the sight of her.

“Y/n!” He exclaims, crushing her in his embrace, “Where have you been loca? It’s been ages!”

Patting him on the back, she immediately starts to tease him.

“Do I discern the absence of a comb, Jacob?”

Kuroo kicks the door closed. “I am ever so poor, Y/n!”

“Positively destitute.” She shoots, rolling her eyes.

He laughs and leads the way to the living room.

“Without you around to bully me lovingly?” He whines theatrically, “Of course, I’ve been destitute! Forlorn even!”

He hugs her a bit tighter before finally letting her go.

“Kenma’s in his room.” He tells her. “The sly bastard promised he would join the party. I should have known his words were but sweet deceit.”

Y/n laughs softly at his words. She’s always loved Kuroo’s theatrics. He never means for his jokes or dramatic displays to be malicious. Though, he does lack the tact to say the right things on a day-to-day basis. Nevertheless, he always apologizes, practically begging on his knees for forgiveness. Kuroo is someone everyone needs in their life. Y/n realizes she wants to make him feel like a friend that she wants in her life. It’s time she stopped treating him like a stranger.

So, she keeps the conversation going. They talk about their health, studies, movies they’ve watched, and books they’ve read. They gossip about everything and everyone, laughing at each other’s jokes until Ayame joyfully pulls him away to dance. Y/n waves at them before heading toward Kenma’s ‘hideout’.

Rapping her fingers against the door, she waits for the sound of his voice. After the second time, she hears him yell ‘I’ll be there in a bit, Kuroo!’. She hasn’t been here in a while. The atmosphere is one she’s not used to and usually, it wouldn’t be something to shy away from. But it’s Kenma and everything about him used to be familiar, like every time they talked their planes of existence found a common solution.

Grabbing the door handle, she tries to silence all the chastising voices in her head. In his chair, Kenma remains unmoving, clicking away with his mouse. This leads her to believe that he’s still unaware that it’s her standing in his room, not Kuroo. Did they forget to tell him? Could it be that he’s purposefully acting like she’s not even here? Is she overstepping by entering? Has she ruined everything?

Then, something seems to snap in him. Maybe it’s the silence that follows the pattern of her footsteps as she halts in the center of the room. It might be the hope that she hasn’t flaked on her promise to show up for her friends. It could be the hope that his friend is finally back. Kenma spins in his chair and his eyes widen at the sight of her. Before she can even raise her hand in a greeting he springs from his seat and wraps his arms around her shoulders.

“Missed you.” He breathes.

Her chest feels heavy as if loaded with stones and there’s a noose around her neck as she says, “I missed you too.”

Somewhere between her being scared of being turned away and him lunging for her, the fear of rejection had turned into confusion. But it’s okay because as she and Kenma sit at one of his desks, what came seems like a foggy memory. The first thing he asks about is whether she’s okay, whatever that means. Y/n responds with a shrug and a ‘better’, recalling the past few weeks; her fight with Oikawa, her departure from his apartment, and the visit to Rin’s childhood home. She asks him the same question, which he answers with a slight smile and a ‘better now’. After that they talk about random things; the plant they ‘adopted’, how Kuroo keeps blasting phonk music through the speakers at 7 in the morning, how Chiharu talked to Kenma about wanting to make things right, and so on.

“How are things going with your company?” Y/n inquires while munching on a tangerine.

“Smoothly for now.” Kenma takes another tangerine from the bowl and peels it. “We’ve been developing this game but we can’t seem to get the designs right.”

“Can I take a look?”

“Sure.”

He clicks on the file the designer emailed him. She scans the entire document, tilting her head in thought.

“A bit repetitive.” Y/n concludes, popping another slice in her mouth, and Kenma nods. “Tell me more about the lore within the game. I know you kept what we discussed at the beginning but Rin told me you’ve expanded on it.”

He tells her all about it, fishing the old sketches and diagrams out of the drawer. They go through it one more time before he tells her about the additions to the lore. She, in turn, offers advice on how to apply these changes to the characters’ dialogues and designs. If things remain as disjointed as they are at the moment then it will only be detrimental down the line.  She jots down everything for him to keep in mind and discuss with the designer when at their next meeting.

Just as the dust of their efforts begins to settle, Kenma hits her with a most befuddling question.

“What would you do if your best friend confessed to you?”

Y/n frowns. “Best friend? Confession?”

“Yeah, like…” His Adam’s apple bobs up and down and his nervous gaze flits between his feet and the screen. “How would you react if they disclosed their feelings for you?”

“As in… romantic feelings?” Y/n asks and Kenma nods shyly. “I haven’t given it much thought.”

Kenma turns to her, eyes roaming her face. “But you’ve had feelings for someone before.”

“He was never my friend. Never wanted to be.” She shrugs. “Sorry, I can’t help you.”

There’s a beat of silence, during which Kenma can’t decide whether to look his friend in the eye or zone out. Ultimately, he decides to tell her the truth of it.

“The guy I like is in a relationship with someone else.”

Confessing is like cutting of the straps of a bag loaded with stones and letting it fall to the ground. His shoulders feel light and his lungs can finally fill with air. It’s not like coming out is a big deal in their friend group. Chiharu is asexual and Y/n, Rin, and Oikawa are bisexual. Only Kuroo and Ayame seem to be straight (Kuroo not so much lol).

Y/n’s frown deepens. “Why would you fall for someone who looks like he has hellcats style his hair on the daily?”  

Kenma holds back a gasp. He hadn’t imagined she’d figure him out so easily.

“How did you know it was him?” He groans in embarrassment, dragging his hands down his face.  

“Kenma, you and I barely go out.” Y/n points out. “I don’t think people in relationships, other than Kuroo, are a common sight for you.”

Defeated, he mouths. “Brutal.”

After gorging on tangerines some more, Kenma decides to make good on his promise to Kuroo and the party. The hellcat wastes no time in dragging the unwilling gamer to the dance floor. If the taller boy takes notice of how his friend at once flinches at and melts under his touch, he doesn’t give it away. Instead, he spins the boy around and gather’s the boy’s hair in a ponytail. Before Kenma can make his escape, Kuroo throws his arm around his waist and pulls him toward a group of guys dancing their worries away, 100% under the influence.

In the kitchen, Y/n finds Chiharu shoving a rolled slice of pizza in her mouth with zero concern for the choking hazard she has created and Ayame encouraging her in true cheerleader fashion. The latter waves Y/n over and hands her a slice of the shrimp pizza she’s been keeping an eye on since it was delivered. For the next 20 minutes or so, the three of them chatter by shouting over the music and can only manage to grasp about half of what the other is saying.

“Tooru-kun is coming, isn’t he?” Ayame asks at one point, having had to repeat the question for the third time.

Y/n notices how Chiharu slows down, only taking a small bite of the pepperoni after the daredevil atrocity she swallowed before.

“He said he’d think it over.” She says, blowing a wisp of neon green and black hair away from her face. “He’s been really busy with practice lately. Which is fine, I guess. As long as he’s not drinking.”

Ayame’s face twists with concern, “Is he getting any help?”

“Don’t think so.” Chiharu sighs. “He’s so stubborn, claiming it’s just a passing phase. That he can quit whenever he wants but just chooses not to.”

Y/n looks away from the two. This conversation couldn’t be further from what she wanted it to be. It only serves as a reminder of how insensitive she was with regard to his alcohol dependency the last time she saw him, how she’d cornered him because of how cornered she’d felt herself.

“What about you?” She asks Chiharu and when she turns to look at them the girl looks almost surprised to hear her ask.

“I’m tired, to be honest,” Chiharu answers with a sigh, the beginning of a smile detectable in her voice. “I just want to fly to Iceland and sleep for a year. So many fucking assignments piling up that I can’t see over them.” She shakes her head. “I almost asked for your help.”

Y/n holds back a scoff. “As if I would have been of any help.”

“No, but you would have been there to listen to me ranting while I look for the brush I’m holding.”

“I would have let you look for hours until you finally realized.”

Ayame and Chiharu laugh at that, already drunk off their wits. Y/n briefly wonders whether the jolly and spirited girl would remain as such if Kenma’s feelings for her boyfriend. Their friend group would certainly crumble. Nothing would be the same. There was no reason for her to be in the know since Kenma had no intention of confessing to Kuroo anyway.

Suddenly, Chiharu nudges her with her elbow. “Rin was looking for you before he decided that hotboxing in Kuroo’s bedroom was a good idea.”

Y/n looks at the crowd in the living room, past which lay the stairs to the second floor where Kenma’s and Kuroo’s respective bedrooms are.

“Is he still there?” she asks.

Ayame nods. “Yeah, I think so.”

Y/n nods and finishes the slice of pizza in her hand.

“Tell him to get his ass over here!” Chiharu yells over the music as Y/n heads out of the kitchen. “There’s pizza!”

None of them are coming down to eat and Chiharu knows that.

Y/n navigates around the sweaty bodies and takes the stairs. Once she’s in front of Kuroo’s bedroom, she knocks, then knocks again. Before she entirely surrenders, the door is thrown open and the face of Suna Rintaro looms over hers. The smile is slow to grow but once it does, there is nothing quite as inviting. Though even if he were frowning that wouldn’t change how he tugs her into the room, turning the key so that nobody dares disturb their peace. In but a few seconds, she finds herself in his embrace as his arms wind around her shoulders. Fabric softener and the earthy tones of his perfume curl inside her lungs and, in turn, her insides curl with a feeling that isn’t altogether unfamiliar.  The same is happening on his end.

I hope you can understand my frustration when I tell you that they each believe themselves to be utterly alone in this flurry of sensations. But it gets bearable, both for them, me, and you, once they plop down on the bed beside each other, ruffling Kuroo’s silky bedsheets as they get comfortable.

Y/n turns her head to the right to look at him only to find him already gazing.

“I was expecting to find you passed out,” She confesses.

Rin crosses his arms beneath his head. “Felt like lying to people for fun tonight.”

“Finishing the year strong.”

“Now that you’re here looking like this? Yes.”

As if his words weren’t enough to fluster and confound her, he turns and, supporting his weight on his elbow, brings his other palm to her face. Rin has always been observant. Always scrutinizing. Always picking up on what others can’t be bothered to spare a second look at. It’s no surprise that he’s able to tell she didn’t do the makeup herself, save for one thing.

“Did Ayame do your makeup?” His thumb rests on her cheek, careful not to press too hard on the artwork.

Y/n’s eyes try to search his but they’re someplace else. “Not all of it.”

“Figured. Your eyes have your touch.” Rin’s eyes shoot up to meet hers. Picking up on the bubbling self-consciousness, he adds. “In a good way.”

He wishes he could kiss her eyelids, the glitter painting his lips with the same brilliance that it has bestowed upon her eyes. Rin thinks that she looks much like what he imagines the universe to feel; the galaxies scattered above and below, within and around it, feed something lonely, and a black eye that beholds and consumes them. Her gaze feels like the joy of adolescence come to life, only better, more thrilling, and intimate. He wishes he could kiss them because he desperately wants to. Because he can’t look into them for too long without losing himself completely.

“I was kinda afraid to enter.”

Rin’s eyebrows shoot up. Then they furrow. His hand, on the other hand, stays still.

“Why would you be afraid?” He asks.  

She shrugs. “Thought you might be with someone.”

His chuckle, though inaudible to everyone else, bounces inside her skull. Not even the music coursing through the veins of the entire building (Kuroo has paid good money for the neighbors to tolerate this level of acoustic pollution) can drown it out. Y/n can feel his chest vibrate. It’s as if each gulp of air has him drawing closer.

“That’s not a reason, angel.” He finally says.  

“What would constitute a reason then?”

“You’re the only one that doesn’t need one.”

Her reluctance comes out in the elongated but fading. “Why?”

Well, what should he say to that? What would be considered a response that wouldn’t have her shutting down right before his eyes; face turned away, lids shut tight, feed padding across the floor as he watches her leave? How can he prevent that from happening while telling the truth? Because you’re the only part of me I can’t reject. Suna Rintaro is observant but words often fail him when it matters most. The stronger he feels about something, the more excruciating it is for him to express it. If I had to describe it, it would be; the truth of his soul is the flesh beneath all the misperceptions and alter egos. He never bares it, never lets it bleed.

“If you hadn’t shown up,” He leans down to whisper in her ear, I’d have spray-painted 2012 Tumblr poetry on your bedroom door.”

Y/n groans and pushes him away, face scrunching in disgust at the stupid tilt of his lips. “That’s torturous, Rin. I’d rather you choked me.”

If she weren’t too busy cringing at the flashbacks of 2012 Tumblr poetry, she would see his eyes darken by small degrees until the final sparkle in them is replaced by a glint of mischief and lust. Never before has he felt the urge to tease someone so primally. It’s either he gets to touch her in some way or his dick hardens in his jeans and he has to look for some stranger to spend the night with.

His breath catches in his throat as it occurs to him that this might be it. If this worked, it could end up with them kissing. Worst case scenario, he could play it off as teasing.

“Like this?”

Bringing his fingers to her neck, he watches her questioning eyes flit from his hand to his eyes. The pad of his thumb relaxes on her vein, feeling it pulsate. Slowly, his gaze travels upwards to her lips. They part with a sigh just as he applies a bit of pressure on both sides of her neck. He alternates between slow caresses, teasing, little scratches, and using ‘force’, a combination that builds up anticipation even amidst puzzlement. It’s a rhythm he doesn’t care to create with anyone else truth be told, as it is too intimate. But she is aware of none of this.

Then her hand clasps around his wrist, putting a stop to his ministrations. For a moment, he thinks she’ll tell him he’s getting ahead of himself.

“Why do you touch me like the people you sleep with?” She asks instead.

There it is… obliviousness. He can take confusion. He can understand not being used to having your friends kink-choke you. What he won’t stand for is mentioning others while he’s literally dying to get a taste of her mouth.

“You don’t know how I touch them.” He states.

Her grip relaxes around his wrists but his touch doesn’t abandon her neck. The skin tingles from his earlier attentions, sending intervals of want straight to her lower regions.

“Maybe not while you fuck them.” Y/n adds, “But I’ve seen you flirt.”

“Is that so?” Rin raises a brow. “Tell me how I touch them then.”

The encouragement isn’t all that convincing. So, she hesitates at first. But the expectant hum coming from him urges her to try and describe to him how his sexual encounters are filtered through the perception of the one person that mattered.

“You rest your hand on their thighs. Rub your thumb in circles.” She begins, “Like this.”

Before she can even lift her hand off the covers, Rin’s fingers have already left her neck in favor of her thigh, making sure to slide smoothly across her torso. If only she wasn’t wearing tights, he thinks, I could feel the warmth of her skin seep into mine so much faster.

“Go on.” He says, rubbing circles on her covered thigh, just where her black corduroy skirt ends.

“Then, when you pull them toward the dance floor, your hand goes around their middle.” Her breath hitches as his actions follow each gasping word, “Sometimes your fingers press into their sides.”

Getting above her, Rin uses his knee to part her thighs. Her skirt rides up a little as he does so, though not nearly as much as he wishes it did. Therefore, he takes matters into his own hands and lifts her thighs off the bed enough for his fingers to slide the skirt further up a few more inches. His nails then dig into her supple flesh only to abandon the area for her waist, settling there as he leans ever so close. Barely 3 inches stand between their lips now.

“And when you kiss them…” Y/n trails off, unable to decide whether to stare at his lips or into his eyes.

Rin hums, nodding. “When I kiss them?”

“You wrap your hand around their neck, lifting up their chin.”

Having been desperate for an opening, Rin doesn’t hesitate to make his way up to her throat, ‘forcefully’ cupping her jaw, eliciting a small gasp from her. One hand on her waist, the other on her face, he goes in for the kill, his own lips parting in response to hers. Fuck’s sake he can’t wait to have her at last, to feel her all around him, be intoxicated by her touch, drowning in her sighs and whimpers as he takes from and gives to her again and again and again. With the way her hands come up his shoulders, holding on for dear life as if he’s about to turn into thin air. As if he’d so much as think about replacing the feeling of her around him for the mindless snogging with someone random.

Rin has always imagined he could take it slow with her when the time came. But the present is unfolding quite differently. Two seconds in and he can’t handle the way their lips are simply touching, as if his mouth isn’t dying to devour hers, as if his teeth aren’t suddenly sharper in want of her lips. So, he initiates a deeper kiss by being the first to introduce his tongue, sliding it into her mouth and waiting for her to reciprocate. Y/n does so soon enough, getting to feel it toying with hers just for a second or two before it draws back to get a taste of her lips. After flicking her lower lip, he starts to nip at it, tugging and releasing as she moans in response. Then he adds tongue again, this time bringing the hand resting on her waist up to her chest, fondling her breasts as she leans forward for more.

The moment he stops the kiss to smile down at her with his eyes closed in bliss is the moment Y/n unwittingly spoils the mood.

“Then you disappear.”

Rin peers down at her in confusion but doesn’t draw farther from her.

“Do I disappear when I’m with you?”

“No.” But it comes out more as a question.

“I see no crowd here.” His jaw flexes. “For all our friends know, I’m currently fucking the shit out of you right now.”

He wishes his dick didn’t twitch at his own words and so does she. But more than horny, Rin is frustrated and, somehow, hurt. That’s why he can’t help but draw back, kneeling between her thighs as he contemplates asking an extremely risky question.

“Why do you think I don’t disappear with you?” He asks instead.

She looks to the side before he cups her jaw to redirect her gaze to him.

“Because,” She says, swallowing, “You don’t see me that way.”

There it is, Rin groans internally, that stubborn need to assume everything about me. If only she could stop thinking I don’t desire her, just because she believes no one else ever has. If she were to ask me straight-up, I would tell her. But how can I convince her that I want to kiss her, fuck her, and be with her, if she hasn’t understood it by now? I literally had my tongue inside her mouth two seconds ago. Even now, I’m kneeling between her legs with a boner I can’t tame.

“You don’t understand how I see you.” He mutters, relinquishing her.

Her chest burns as he moves to sit at the edge of the bed, seemingly in thought as he stares at the door.

“Are you leaving?” Why is her voice suddenly so small, she wonders.

“The party? No.” Rin answers, getting off the bed and heading for the door. “Just this room.”

Rin knows he feels the most cared for in her presence. What he doesn’t know is the feeling of being that one item at the store that is no one’s first, second, or final pick because it’s at the very front. The item is some random person’s final resort when there is no one they can turn to. Then discarded without a second thought. He doesn’t know that speaking his mind would put an end to this agonizing wait for his feelings to be perceived in their purest form. He doesn’t realize that he wouldn’t be disposed of by someone who knows what it’s like to be treated as such. And because none of this occurs to him, he shuts the door behind him and joins the mindless mayhem in the living room, feeling none of the joy and excitement, and all of the disdain and exasperation for himself and the way things turned out.

Y/n’s chest still burns, even as she rubs her palms raw over her thighs to make her brain think it’s her hand that hurts.  

   Tooru is one lousy bastard to come here unfashionably late, knowing well and clear that he’s about to slink away from the party just 30 minutes after his arrival. Even that’s being generous. This is neither the time nor the place for him to be all smiley and shit. All he wants to do right now is pop a can open and drain his poison of choice. It’s the final night of the year after all. Aren’t they all supposed to get irrevocably wasted and make decisions they would loathe to make while sober? At least, that’s what he tells himself as he turns off the engine and steps out of the car with a sigh.

He doesn’t catch the anxious murmurs at first as he locks the car doors. But as he takes to the steps a voice, small and whispery, seeps into his ears. If it were anyone else, he might have hurried over and asked if they needed any help. But it’s her voice and the thought of her turning him away once again is daunting, to say the least. Reluctant, however, he makes for the benches among the trees lining the perimeter of the apartment building. Here, Tooru notices, the wind beats the earth much more gently.

“Fuck, I messed up.”

His eyebrows come together in confusion. Because there she’s standing, crouching with her palms planted on her face as if she wishes she could skin it alive, one strip of skin at a time. Tooru has no time to take in her outfit⸺ the knee-length gray wool coat, the black corduroy skirt from before, the iron-grey turtleneck, and the black shoes⸺ because her tirade goes on, becoming more hurried by the second.

“Hey.” He says, making his way to her. At the sound of his voice, she flinches and immediately stands, wiping at her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Hey, what’s wrong? Why are you out here in the cold?”

Tooru tries to sneak a peek at her face, but she pushes him away.

“Leave me alone.” She mutters, waiting for him to leave.

But Tooru is nothing if not stubborn.

Taking hold of her elbow gently, he asks, “Y/n what happened?”

Y/n groans and shakes him off of her.

“You happened.” She bites out and pushes against his chest, forcing him to stumble back a step. “Go away.”

“Y/n-

“No!”

The breath catches in his throat, and for a few wintry moments, in which she glares at him with incomparable loathing, Tooru dares neither to inhale nor exhale. He can only stand still, wishing he could reshape the course of time, remodeling history so she didn’t have to hurt. But he only waits for her to carry on.

“Ever since-” She begins, eyes shut tight and words cut short as it physically pains her to speak them and look at him as she does. With a newfound ache, she glares at him again, forefinger digging into his chest. “Ever since you showed up everything is all wrong. It’s all wrong! I was okay. Everything was okay. It was over. I was- I had left you behind! And now you won’t disappear! Why won’t you disappear? Go away.”

It's clear to Tooru that he has absolutely no right to be hurt, and that he deserves every manner of abuse in existence. But he’d be lying if he were to claim that her wanting him out of her life isn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened to him for quite some time. The Tooru from before, the one always in denial and going around laying waste to everything in search of refuge from his fears, would have been ecstatic. Right? Yes… and no. But that is a matter reserved for later.

The concern of the present is her breaking down in front of him, face crumpling like a wet shirt as her eyes fill with tears and she crouches again, covering her ears as if doing so will lessen the gravity of what she believes to be true. Unable to take it anymore, Tooru crouches before her, wrapping his fingers around her wrists. But she shakes her head and continues.

“I messed up. It’s my fault. I messed up. Messed up. I’m sorry. I messed up. I’m-  

“Hey, hey, look at me.” He soothes the girl, rubbing circles on her skin. “It’s fine. Here, sit with me. Let’s regulate your breathing. Breathe with me, won’t you.”

They stay like that for some time, 10 minutes or so, until she finally opens her eyes and slowly removes her hands from her ears.

“Can you speak now?” Tooru asks when he feels it is safe to do so. She doesn’t answer so he tries a different route. “Do you want to?”

She stands and, too ashamed to meet his worried gaze, looks at her shoes. By now, he’s released her wrists and she’s free to run away if she so wishes. Though he can’t promise he won’t follow her as he’s worried sick her state of mind might be too muddled to trust her to look at both sides of the road before crossing.

“Do you not want it to be me who listens?” He tries again. Y/n nods and he glances up at the building. “Let me go get Suna or Kenma.”

Before he can bolt for the entrance, she grabs onto his coat.

“No, I, ngh.” She turns her face to the side, wiping at her nose with her coat sleeve (which would be disgusting if she hadn’t just broken-down minutes before). “I just- I hate that you found me.”

Tooru takes in her facial expressions. The way she averts her eyes, utterly ashamed of what he had witnessed and the way she was holding onto him. He places his hand on hers and her eyes shoot straight to where they touch.

“Do you hate that you want to tell me?” He says, all too aware of the answer.

Again, she looks away, this time nodding slowly.

“It’s okay. I understand.” Tooru faces her fully, acting as if he doesn’t want to crawl into a hole and eat dirt. “I’m not leaving unless you’re leaving with me.” He smiles even though she still refuses to look at him. “I would flip the coin again but I’m not certain I’ll be able to accept whatever fate the coin chooses for us. I’d end up sitting here, by your side, until the very end.”

She looks at him now. It’s nothing more than fleeting glances at first. Then their gazes lock and Tooru has to fight the urge to dust the snowflakes off her cheeks and melt the frost, which is steadily settling on her lashes from all the crying, between his gloved fingers.

Instead, he takes her by the hand and leads her toward his car and for the first time Y/n doesn’t question his motives. Tooru drives them to a quiet café that has yet to close as it wants to milk whatever customers might be wandering about the city of Tokyo at this hour. She doesn’t seem ready to speak yet so he takes the liberty to place both of their orders. Coffee would be downright catastrophic to her mental state at the moment. It was known for worsening symptoms of anxiety and the last thing she needed was a repeat of what had happened not even half an hour ago. So, he orders tea for both; peppermint for her and chamomile for himself. He pays and joins her at the table near the air conditioner.

After the waiter has served the tea, it takes a long moment for Y/n to look up from the crumpled napkin currently being picked to shreds.

“I messed up.” It comes out like a whimper and her face crumples up again. “I really did. Like I always do.”  

Tooru doesn’t know where to begin. Truly, he doesn’t know.

“Why do you say that?” But this question seems like a decent place to start.

Her fingers work faster at picking apart the napkin and she says, “I went there, thinking it would be like nothing had happened.”

“And it isn’t?”

How could it be? Kenma had only stopped texting under the assumption that she needed a break from what had happened, not because he’d thought the damage irreparable. Kuroo missed the way she would argue a point to the finish line (the line being Kuroo either smiling at the depth of information or admitting defeat with a theatrical sigh of exasperation). Chiharu and Ayame were wicked anxious about how things might turn out between them if she decided to go through with the whole moving-out thing. Which was more than likely by this point. Suna would do anything for her, that much was clear to anyone. And Tooru… he would do anything she wanted. He’d be anything she wanted him to be. Even if that meant he’d be gone.

All any of them wished for when it came to Y/n and her relation to the rest was for her to let herself be cared for. But as he watches her try and fight back tears, Tooru says none of this and just hears her out to the end.

“Kenma has been trying to meet with me and this is the first time I’ve seen him since then. And none of them will ever forgive me for that night.” Abandoning the napkin, her hands come up to her ears scratching at the skin behind the shell. “I ruined everything. I want to run away. Never see anyone I know ever again.”

Suna won’t forgive her. She is sure he won’t because she’s repulsive, stupid, and cowardly. If only they knew each other’s hearts and their own the way that I do.

“Iwa-chan said he hopes you see none of us again.”

His voice, a careful and soothing voice, is filtered through the scratching noise that so provides her comfort. But the words are as confusing as this version of Oikawa Tooru, the one that doesn’t seem to mind her presence.

“Although now it’s impossible since we’ve already crossed paths.” He lets out a humorless chuckle. “But yes. He feels responsible for your situation even though he knows it’s not his fault. He thinks of you like family, the same way he considers me his brother. So, it’s complicated for him.”

Noticing the crinkle in her brow, he smiles a little and clarifies. “I think he’d love to see you again, to know you’re not going to run away because of mistakes that aren’t his to bear.”

Her hands relax but stay put.

“Why are you telling me this?” She asks.

Tooru wastes no time providing ample evidence.

“Kuroo made sure to buy your favorite snacks.” He begins counting on his fingers. “Ayame and Kenma picked your favorite songs. Chiharu convinced you to come. And Suna… I trust I don’t need to explain.” He ignores the grimace that passes over her face at the mention of the boy. “You’re mistaken in thinking you’ve laid waste to everything. They may not know and therefore not understand everything fully, but they wouldn’t let your absence dictate the way they see you.”

But that makes zero sense. She isn’t there, hasn’t been part of their lives for weeks, and hasn’t deigned to ask what has happened in her absence. Even then, that doesn’t explain how Iwaizumi is in any way related to the new life she has made of herself and her convoluted relationships if you could call them that.

Y/n brings her hands to the table, toying with the napkin before shooting a glance at the steaming cup of peppermint tea.

“How could Maki, Mattsun, and Iwa not hate me?” Her gaze snaps to him. “You do.”

His chest tightens. His throat constricts. All of a sudden, the air conditioner is bringing his lungs to a boil and the high-quality fabric of the turtleneck makes him itch. He wants out. But that would mean failing to succeed in being let in by her.

Tooru pulls at the fabric around his neck to let the skin breathe.

“Even if that were true, that doesn’t mean it should be their truth.” He hopes he sounds reassuring but knows he doesn’t. Seeing the distrust in the way she slightly purses her lips and the barely noticeable narrowing of her eyes, Tooru tries to plead his case. “I am trying to make up for what I did. Please, believe me. I’m aware it might prove futile. Still… it’s not the only reason why I’m in this café with you right now.”

Her expression tells him that he has yet to make himself understood or appear trustworthy in her eyes. Tooru leans back in his chair and places his left hand on the table, drumming his fingers to a ghostly beat.

“I’m here because you shouldn’t have to turn your back on everything a second time.” He says in one breath. I don’t ever want to look at your back while you run away again. “Because I don’t want you to think it’s your fault.”

The thing about blame and guilt, Tooru begins to understand as her face scrunches once again and she looks away in shame, is that they’re obsessive lovers. Please, have me. I’m all yours. I won’t ever leave you. Everyone says we’re meant to be. What would people think if you divorced us? Please, don’t let go.

Tooru’s fingers still and he reaches out and takes her left hand in his. Y/n flinches but doesn’t pull away.

“It isn’t your fault.” He repeats.

The young man doesn’t expect his words to be the cure, however much he wishes that were the case.

“You’re here trying to lie that I’m not to blame.” She uses her coat sleeve to wipe her eyes, now all red and swollen, with traces of mascara on her waterline from the smudging. “But it’s easy for you to say because you’ve always known that if not your mom, then your friends would have your back. And if your friends abandoned you, you’d still have a place to crash-land softly into.”

His thumb traces the outline of her knuckles. Once Tooru has fully processed her words, a thought occurs to him. He decides to be brave.

“From now on, each time you make mistakes let me be the one you crash-land into.” He looks at her with hope and sincerity in his eyes. “Second by second, I’ll try to make it all better.”

Y/n sniffles. “A part of my brain keeps telling me it’s too soon to trust you.”

“And the other part?” He smirks. “What does it whisper?”

“It says that you are kind.”

His breath hitches. Her dark eyes are too honest, too straightforward for him.

“Which one are you going to put your faith in?” He asks, slowly but playfully still.

Y/n tucks her hair behind her ear and looks to the side. “I don’t- I don’t know.”

While vague, the answer is decidedly honest. Tooru can’t ask for more than that.

“Can I be honest with you?” He says, pulling his chair a bit forward so he can comfortably rest his elbows on the table while still holding her hand.

“Might as well.” She mutters. “Since you already brought me here.”

Tooru clears his throat.

“I had planned on asking you to move in with me. But then.” He smiles sheepishly. “Then I thought about how delusional I was being, how illogical it would be for me to assume you would even consider my offer. I thought ‘Are you that selfish’, ‘Are you that stupid’. Yet, when I told the others, they immediately thought I was being strange but kind.”

Y/n tilts her head as if considering him and everything coming out of his mouth, then looks down. She doesn’t seem surprised, almost as if she’s heard of this before.

“You say that as if you think they’re wrong.” She points out the distrust in his tone. “People have always believed you to be considerate… generous.”

He lets out an awkward chuckle. “I was just desperate. Selfish too.”

The good thing about the silence that ensues is her hand in his. There is no protest as he caresses the back of it, following the curve of her bones. They’ve always been thin, delicate. Each time he had yanked and pulled at her, the fragility of those bones had filled him with instant regret. Yet, every single time, he’d managed to hold on a bit tighter, anxious to keep her there at any cost. Now, he can’t help but shoot furtive admiring glances at the slope of her nose, the delicate arch of her eyebrows, and the dainty cheekbones. All too afraid to so much as gaze at them for too long, lest she catches on and perceives his presence as threatening.

But he wants to say so many things, and they’re all locked in his chest like one big sigh begging to be released.

For more than a year, I’ve been thinking about how it must have been for you when you helped Emiko paint those posters for my games, only for her to follow my lead and hurt you in the end.

When you took care of your little brother after he got scraped his knees playing outside, only for him to emulate my behavior toward you. When you got Maki’s number for that one girl only for her to laugh when I said that you ate disgustingly. When you helped that guy with the chemistry problem only for him to purposely smash his ball into your face. And countless other cases such as this.

I was always the enabler. It fills me with rage.

Tooru shuts his eyes and says, “I’m sorry I ever let the world believe I am the kind one of us two.”

He wishes she would speak, say anything, only not subject him to that unforthcoming silence that follows his apology. Her hand, which until then had remained still and soft under his hands, stirs to life once more. Tooru feels her fingers clench and, instinctively, he gently drags his digits across the back of her hand.

Then, she begins.

“But you are kinder than me. You’re nice to people.” Y/n says with a voice that betrays no uncertainty. “You’re just not kind to me.”

Tooru winces, and when his eyes trail up to her face, the breath in his throat turns to stone. The look on her face is one of resignation as much as it is of self-loathing. It makes him want to shatter something, makes him want to drive his car off a cliff and drown at the bottom of the sea.

Careful not to startle her, he eases her fingers and threads them with his as he moves to sit on the chair to her left.

“I am so, so, sorry.” He confesses, “So sorry I let you believe it was your fault.”

He means every word. He wishes he could make her believe them.

Y/n eyes him skeptically. “How can I be sure this isn’t a long-term prank?”

All Tooru can do is chuckle and offer her an apologetic smile.

“I would beg you to have faith in me,” He says, “But that would be blasphemy.”

Before she can digest his words, an idea blooms in his head. His fingers tighten around hers, which catches her attention; dark eyes flitting from where their hands are touching up to his grinning face.

“What if we treat this as a little experiment?” He proposes with a mien that is almost hopeful. “A project. Treat me like a test subject. Dissect my intentions. Lobotomize my conscience. Bring everything to light and do what you think is best.”

Y/n considers his proposition in silence, holding his gaze as she does.

“Projects have a due date.” She points out.

It doesn’t take Tooru long to think of a deadline. What matters is that she’s taking him seriously.

“How does one year sound?”

“Are you sure you can make up for twelve years in just one?”

His faith in himself wavers at her words. “Do you think it will take longer?”

“I want it to take less. I don’t like-

“Wasting time on things doomed to fail. It’s inefficient.” He nods. Then, as if injected with a lethal dose of dopamine, Tooru makes a gesture as if flipping his hair. “I, however, am unfortunately enamored with what you call failures. I can’t help but want to tend to wounds. So,” He says, leaning closer so that their knees are brushing against each other, “Is a year fine with you?”

Nervous, Y/n brings her other hand to her wrist, scratching at the soft skin.

“A year and a day from tonight.” She tells him.

Tooru fake pouts, “Are you so certain I am going to fail? You wound me, pretty.”

“I don’t think it’s possible for me to hurt you. But just in case… you know.” She shoots him a look as if everything she’s saying is supposed to make sense. And, surprisingly, it does. “I don’t want to ruin New Year’s Eve for you. For all I know, that could be the first time you find yourself on the receiving end of rejection.”

Tooru makes as if to swoon. “So, you do think I’m doomed to fail.”

“Well, yes.” Her response is so deadpan it makes him bark out a laugh.

Though, on a more serious note, this is her trying. Just the fact that she’s willing to go through with this says enough about her commitment to what she had previously agreed to do with Rin. But he hates her now. He doesn’t want to experience everything as it happens in the continuum of a moment. All of it is her fault. But if she can have it with someone else, someone that, until a few hours ago, she would much rather steer clear of, then so be it. What she doesn’t understand is that she doesn’t have to choose. She doesn’t know that Rin could never leave her behind.

The two of them take their tea with two packets of sugar. Over the years, they’ve picked up on each other’s taste; Tooru all the more oblivious to his penchant for observing her whenever she was in the room. He takes in the sight of her as he urges her to talk about random things. He breathes in her scent as she wraps the green scarf, all frayed and spotted with lint, around her neck.  

“Why won’t you throw this thing away?” He asks when they’re out in front of the café.

“Listen, Oikawa-

He tuts, shaking his index finger. “Not if you keep calling me by my last name, I won’t.”  

He sounds playful and his brown eyes sparkle with childlike curiosity. So, she thinks, he’s not being malicious?

“I was supposed to give this to you on your birthday. Well, not supposed to because nobody made me buy it.” She hesitates in divulging the rest to him but ultimately decides to go with it. Her fingers feel the cloth around her neck. “I heard you say you prefer winter over summer because in summer it’s harder to practice, and… I thought you’d like it. And that it would make you hate me less.”

But she hadn’t given it to him and he had continued to believe that for him to be at peace she needed to disappear. Even if she’d chosen differently, Tooru is almost certain he would have found a way to trample on her attempt to befriend him. It would have been no more than wasted effort.

He speaks her name softly, so tenderly that even Tooru himself can barely hear it. But Y/n catches it and looks up at him. She recoils when he takes hold of the scarf and looks away.

“Trust me.” He angles his head so she can see him without having to look up.

Slowly, Tooru unwraps the worn-down fabric and does the same with his thick midnight blue scarf. He then wraps the thick, expensive (believe that it is) cloth around her neck. He can feel her gaze on him as he does the same with her scarf. He can tell she’s more than confused.

“There,” He says, patting the soft material that conceals her lips from view, “Now this feels right.”

Unable to formulate a proper sentence, Y/n simply nods and follows Tooru who immediately heads for his car. The scarf smells too nice for her to argue with him and have him yank it off of her. She breathes him in the entire car ride to the nearest park. His scent settles in her lungs like oxygen and Y/N loathes the moment she’ll have to remove it once she returns home.

Leaning against the railing, they watch the fireworks light up the sky and their reflection in the water mirroring the Big Bang of the New Year.

  Age 17, the night of Tooru’s Birthday

“You should sleep here tonight sweetie.”

Truly, Tooru’s mother shouldn’t have said that. She should have left it well enough alone so Y/n could have worked out some plan of how to evade her mother’s blows and, most importantly, prevent others from bearing witness. But now… now that the offer has been made, it’s like a shroud has fallen over every piece of furniture and every speck of thought.

It shows plainly on Tooru’s face; his stare, the way he sucks in his cheek, his arms crossed over his chest. It would be ridiculous to presume he is anything other than displeased. She’s learned to read him to an extent. Without a doubt, that stance promises that nothing good would come out of staying the night.

“No.” Y/n asserts as politely as she can. She can spy Tooru raising an eyebrow at her words, “I don’t need to. I can just climb from his balcony into mine.”

Yuiko sighs and rubs her soft hands up and down Y/n’s arms. “Sweetie, we already discussed this. That’s extremely dangerous. Just sleep in Tooru’s room tonight. Okay? In the morning we can have breakfast and you can go home after that. Hm, how does that sound?”

“It’s fine.” Y/n insists, placing her hand above the one Tooru’s mom is gently holding her arm with. “I can do it. I’ll be careful not to slip.”

“See, that’s exactly what I fear, sweetie. What if your carefulness isn’t careful enough?” Y/n makes to respond when Yuiko cranes her head in Tooru’s direction, who looks infinitely more cheerful than he was five seconds ago. “Tooru, help me out a little. Convince her that it’s dangerous.”

And that’s the final nail in the coffin. How she wishes something would pulverize her where she stands, that her ashes would be scattered by a storm. Because there is no way Oikawa Tooru, the same person who told her just hours ago that she’d be lucky enough to die while scaling the building before her mom learns of her mistake, would be able to feign any utterance in favor of her continued existence. “Just sleep in my room tonight.” Those words, coming from him, shock her and it shows candidly on her face. He pushes himself off the wall with a smile and reaches for Y/n’s arm, separating her from Yuiko, who returns his smile with one of relief and gratitude. “It’s dangerous to do what you’re thinking of doing.”

As she steps from the security of the living room into his domain, Y/n is the only one not smiling. He releases her the moment the door clicks shut and heads toward the mini-fridge beside his studying desk without casting even a glance her way. The entire time she stands in the center of his bedroom like a stupid bitch, Tooru drinks from a bottle of water, pulls out two cans of beer, and then turns on the TV.

She takes the opportunity to sneak out into the balcony. She tries to make as little noise as possible yet he catches on anyway.

“In a bit, mom will bring you clothes to sleep in.” He stares her down as if to challenge her. “Do you want her to realize you’ve risked your life despite her begging you not to?”

Refusing to back down, Y/n says, “Don’t you want me to leave?”

Before he can answer, there comes a knock at the door. He gestures with his hand for her to answer it. She opens the door just enough to smile briefly at Yuiko.

“Here you go, sweetie,” The woman hands her a baggy, short-sleeved white shirt and a pair of grayish purple shorts along with panties to match. The last item has Y/n’s eyes flitting from Yuiko to the side to make her understand she can’t undress with her son in the same room. “Oh, I don’t think Tooru will mind. He can just turn the other way as you change. Besides,” Yuiko opens the door a little wider and motions to the wall next to the shelves where his numerous figurines stand, “You can use his bathroom. You can even take a shower if you want. Tooru always keeps spare sponges on hand.”

“Alright.”

That is all Y/n says and Yuiko smiles and wishes the two of them goodnight, leaving Y/n with the obvious choice to change out of her garments in the bathroom. Tooru says nothing but she can still perceive the tension emitting from him; penetrating her skin, crawling under it like maggots, rushing through her blood vessels like a substitute for blood. It has sweat pooling at her brow and along the length of her neck. Yet her goosebumps rise all over her arms like rashes that refuse to go away unless treated with some poultice. It’s a disease, this tension. No more, no less. So, she enters the bathroom in order to alleviate the symptoms, if only for a short while.

The clothes don’t exactly fit her. Tooru’s sister, Sayako-san, was much curvier than Y/n when she was her age. But that’s not the issue here. The problem is that Y/n, like any sane person, never wears a bra when she sleeps, and she doesn’t know what he’ll have to say about it. But, like her aunt always says, the need for comfort should always surpass the need for approval or the fear of prejudice.

Obviously, she exits without taking a shower. That would only make him angrier at her and all she wants to do is sleep and pretend he’s anything but furious.

“Out already?” His voice startles her just a little, “Why didn’t you take a shower?”

Walking towards the foot of the bed, Y/n looks at him (seated on the small blue couch and wearing glasses that would look ugly on her). He pauses whatever he was watching before her emergence and makes his way to her. She can hear the gears turning in his head at an inhuman speed, and dread drops in her stomach like a boulder into the sea; heavier than anything she feels when not in his presence.

“I didn’t think you’d appreciate me using your stuff.” Y/n answers.

Stopping less than a meter from where she’s sitting, Tooru scoffs.

“You’re already using my room. Might as well clean up after yourself. Besides,” He draws nearer and she instinctively stands as if to defend herself from any manner of attack. Before she can move out of his way, he yanks her by the arm so that she’s standing in front of him once again, “You’re used to lusting after everything that’s mine.”

“I don’t want to take anything away from you, though.” Her response is bland yet immediate, like a knee-jerk reaction. It’s all she can do to convince herself that she doesn’t need to convince him of anything, to make him understand that she’s not the enemy. “Your mom is just ni-

He clamps his palm over her mouth and grins while leading her to his closet.

“If you want me to treat you better than you deserve even for just one night, you have to stop acting so innocent around me.”

Y/n tears his hand off her face as gently as she can so as not to arouse suspicion that his actions fluster and terrify her.

“You’re wrong.” She says, and he glares down at her. “I’m not-

Tooru shoves two towels in her hands.

“Go shower.” She looks at the back of his head as he sits on the couch, “Hurry. I need to shower too.”

That makes her feel even worse about staying the night; such a burden, a useless log that is tossed from a home that is dismissive of her existence to another that half-wishes she didn’t exist at all. To escape the turmoil, she does as he says; showers using his imported shampoo, shower gel, his extra blue sponge, and spare toothbrush. She’s like 1546385% certain he’s going to chuck it straight into the bin the moment she’s out of his house, perhaps even earlier.

He pushes past her before she’s even completely out of the bathroom.

She scans the bedroom for any place to sit that wouldn’t displease him. If she were to sit on the couch, that would undoubtedly leave room for remarks such as ‘What makes you think you can watch TV with me’ or ‘Why aren’t you asleep’. As for the latter, she doesn’t know where she’s going to sleep. She very much doubts he’s letting her sleep in his bed. Should she sit on the chair beside his desk? Should she stand with her shoulders against the wall? Y/n opts for the last option.

He's towel-drying his hair when he says, “What are you doing?”

Y/n doesn’t bother answering and instead asks a question of her own, “Where am I going to sleep?”

Tooru doesn’t tear his eyes away from her face as he approaches her, brushing his damp hair all the while. She can either hold his gaze and irritate him, or she can look literally anyplace else. The outcome will remain the same. Obviously, she opts for the latter.

“Where do you think?” He asks, no emotion detectable in his voice.  

“Any spare sheets?” She asks, “Since I’m taking the couch-

“Ever the martyr, aren’t you?”

“But you don’t want-  

Tooru no longer bothers to veil his displeasure with frayed niceties. He takes a step in her direction. She stays rooted in place as if his words have cast a spell on her.

“Why?” He sneers, “So that you can tell mom about how mean I’ve been to you? Is that it?” Y/n makes to answer him honestly. He tilts up her chin as if to urge their gazes to lock. “Fucking look at me while I’m speaking to you.”  

She does no such thing, choosing instead to speak with her stare piercing his collarbone.

“I’m not a martyr and-

This time he grabs her jaw and forces their eyes to meet. “I said look at me.”

Now, it’s not like she doesn’t try to yank herself free of his hold, and pry his fingers off her face until she’s no longer tormented by the deprecation and doubts swirling in his brown irises. But admittedly, it would be unrealistic for someone of her physique and athletic ineptitude to overpower someone of Oikawa Tooru’s caliber. Not to mention that he seems to meet her efforts with resilience. Determination makes his eyes gleam with something so feral in nature, so unlike his public image, that she ceases her attempts to liberate herself.

“I’m not a martyr and I’m not going to tell your mom.” Trying not to let on how defeated she feels, Y/n holds on to his forearm (a futile gesture of defiance), “I just want to sleep.”

To keep her mind off the fact that the space between their bodies keeps diminishing, she focuses on literally everything else; the almost imperceptible birthmark on the left side of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the wet strands that are beginning to lose some of their wet-glisten, the curve of his parted lips, and the breaths slipping in and out from between them. It doesn’t work out well. His presence becomes even more overwhelming.

“Well then,” He says, putting some distance between the two of them, “I think this is the right time to tell you I am no brute. You can sleep in my bed, especially now that you’re clean. But if you think I’m going to let you sleep so early,” The look he gives her, as he removes his hand from her jaw to pull her toward the sofa, is nothing short of a warning, “You’re severely mistaken.”

What happens after seems unreal to both of them. Tooru is baffled at himself when he pushes one bottle of beer after another her way at the same time that he’s draining his own. He doesn’t know why he trusts her at this very moment, nor why their hushed laughter makes him feel the vastness between their faces so severely. Their bodies reel from the sheer stupidity of the people in YouTube compilation videos making a fool of themselves in public. At one point he has to stop himself from laughing because he’s afraid he’s going to piss his pants right then and there.

He can sense her hesitation when he offers to microwave some pizza, but he doesn’t understand why that could be. It doesn’t occur to him that it might be because of him or the fact that the noise could wake his mom. Putting his finger in front of his lips in a shushing gesture, he assures her that his mother sleeps like a log and that, for good measure, he’s going to stop the microwave before the beeping sound.

It becomes obvious that she’s starving when he sets the plate on the low table and she all but inhales a slice. At first, he’s worried that she’s going to choke you know. But then she looks closes her eyes and smiles as though she’s having the nicest of dreams. Tooru leaves it be.

It's in the early hours of the morning that they have calmed down somewhat, each of them staring off into space as though the trophies or the buzzing TV screen will provide answers that they cannot get from having a sincere conversation.

As usual, Tooru is the first to speak.

“How do you manage to be alone?”

Under normal circumstances, they would be holding their breath. But they are so… lethargic and drunk that such behavior doesn’t even present itself as a possibility.

Depending on the dose of sincerity and the form it was served, her answer could be either poison or medicine. Even in her inebriated state, Y/n takes a few seconds to answer him truthfully.

“Silence is a good amplifier.” She tells him, and his eyebrows comically climb up on his forehead. “I can hear my heart beating, and everything around me and about me comes alive. I remain invisible to anyone but myself.”  

Sensing that there is more that she wishes to express, he waits for her to finish.

“In silence, I find the strength not to die.”

Her words send tremors right through Tooru’s core, so much so that the can of beer almost slips from his hands (it doesn’t help that his palms have gotten clammy). So, a good minute passes until he’s ready to elaborate on his understanding of her perception of solitude.

“By your logic, the will to live can only be found in solitude.” He settles for looking at her arms as he asks the following question, “People make you want to die?”

“No,” Her answer isn’t immediate but neither of them pays any heed to the belatedness. “Not all the time.”

Resting his head against the couch, Tooru groans.

“Solitude would kill me.” He confesses and takes a sip, “I want to be around the people I care about and never be parted from them. I want to be surrounded by those that adore me, admire me, and never see the end of their idolization of me.” The silence that ensues puts a strain on the otherwise peaceful atmosphere. Still refusing to spare her a glance, he says, “Go on. Say what you have to say.”

This time her response is prompt.

“Sounds a lot like you’re desperate for belonging.”

Tooru’s eyes go wide and he scoffs to emphasize his incredulity at her assumption. His hands are now clammy from the bottle sweating in his hold and itching to search despairingly for some reprieve.

“I do belong. With my friends, my mom, my sister, and my nephew.” His gaze settles on her shoulder as he continues, “Where do you belong?”

Y/n chuckles and Tooru can tell she would rather avoid answering his question.

“Not here.” She answers.

His gaze slowly travels up her neck and cheekbone, finally meeting her eyes in a room where the only source of radiance is the TV screen and the moonlight barging in. What is there to say, he wonders, about her? What is the best thing to say at this very moment? While she sits beside him⸺ cheek propped up on her folded right knee as her left foot rocks back and forth almost imperceptibly, her face tinged a mellow shade of red from the alcohol that just an hour ago used to fill the many bottles that now stand hollow⸺ he doubts he should say anything whatsoever.

But he does so either way.

“Is that how you feel?”

Because not speaking to her feels like a crime against his nature.

She shoots right back. “Isn’t that what you think?”

Now they’re both engaging in a battle of gazes that they are trying to saturate with some manner of temerity. It takes an absurd amount of courage not to flee his own home in search of something insignificant, vulgar, and utterly deplorable just to get the chasteness of the moments spent in her presence to flee from him. It takes several moments of breaths scarcely drawn for him to set his foot down and tell this urge ‘tonight I’m going to stay’.

While he’s mustering the courage to stay where he’s happiest, his hands have a mind of their own; slowly inching in the direction of her left hand until the tips of their fingers are touching just barely. It is stronger than Tooru, the desire to flip their worlds upside down. So, he settles for her hand, his fingers now caressing the hard skin camouflaging the softest of flesh.

Unsure whether to smile or solidify his poker face, Tooru tells her, “Your hands are callused.”

She isn’t far behind. “So are yours.”

Being the narrator has its perks and curses. I get to witness the gradual growth of their affection, which is still too great for their bodies; it spills through the cuts and cracks, bleeding light into a room otherwise washed by the dark. I get to watch him smile as though he’s found the one home that truly feels like one, that ephemeral thing called comfort that slips through the gaps of time, from one heartbeat to the next, that singular thing humans call belonging. I get to see the tremulous dawn of something similar peek above the curve of her lips, as if she’s a little afraid, a little nervous, and a little bit overwhelmed. I get to register his intangible regret and her contented confusion. I get to remember this night as it slips from their minds entirely, the defective record player refusing to let the joy take root… bloom. I get to regret remembering while time flies by, content that it has conquered their misery.

But for now, in the dead of night, he clings to the feeling of familiarity⸺ the scent he adores and forgets time and time again, the rhythmic pattern of her breaths and the rise and fall of her chest⸺ like a child clinging to his birthday balloon. He lets the warmth of her balance the shivers of the 3 AM breeze, because it is, as he slowly begins to understand, the easiest thing to be in her presence. He doesn’t have to pretend, to set his standards for himself so high that he sprains every aspect of his being in the climb to reach it. He can… exist.

He can show her all the memes he has on his phone and she can do the same. He can let her in on jokes his friend group cracks on the daily, revel in her laughter, muffled though it is. He can, in his drunken stupor, twirl strands of her hair around his forefinger, relish the smoothness of it, and let it fall only to repeat it over and over and over again.

She, too, can bask in his beaming smile. The gleam in his brown eyes is genuine, as pure as a candid picture of a raindrop about to plummet into the earth. As if the joy she’s experiencing was not crafted for her, a pang comes where her heart resides, and then another.

“I’m sorry, you know,” Her words invite confusion, but she does not allow him the opportunity to give voice to it. “For being here.”

Tooru knows not how to respond, so he lets his smile speak for him. And when she falls asleep at 3:52 AM, he allows himself the luxury to lie with his back turned to her.

You should know, reader, that the day he learned she’d left home for good wasn’t the first time he’d curled up in bed like a small child afraid of the dark. This isn’t the first time either. If it’s to hold back guilty tears, to suppress apologies that he thinks are either beneath him or above someone as vile as him, he’s more than willing to assume the demeanor of a four-year-old. He’s much too stranded on the mud-like admixture of arrogance and self-loathing to say things like ‘It’s fine’ or ‘Goodnight’. Every bit of his cowardice replenishes his strength to send a drunken prayer; that he might forget he ever felt at home with her.

In the afternoon, when his mom questions him about her whereabouts, she is nowhere to be seen. He thinks he is glad she has gone, so in a way, he got his wish. He believes himself relieved that the evidence of her warmth on his sheets has given way to coolness. But I know how dismayed he is to see her at the playground, sitting on a swing as she converses with Iwaizumi next to her, looking every bit like the girl that he has alienated yet toward whom he keeps gravitating. I know that the discomfort roiling in his chest is nothing but a mixture of fear and shame wound around his lungs like pythons around their prey.

  The music is a drowned thing. Utterly insignificant in comparison to the scream jammed tight in his throat. Barbed wires press insistently against his muscles, shredding his skin. Rin needs someone he can share them with, wrap them in his hurt so they can both be secure within the sky-high fence. What better person to do this with than a stranger? They wouldn’t mind if he were to leave, never to show his face again. They certainly wouldn’t care if he was thinking about anything else while pleasuring them.

As he wraps his fingers around the girl’s neck, angling his head for better access to her lips, he forgets to factor in that people aren’t cutouts of one another.

She breaks away slowly, taking in the distressed look on his face as she asks, “You’re not thinking about me, are you?”

Rin scoffs and leans in once more.

“What does it matter?” He says, lips merely an inch away from hers.

“It doesn’t to me.” The girl shrugs, placing her hands on his arms, which has him halting to look where she’s touching him and then back up at her face. “But you’re not enjoying this.”

Shaking her off, Rin seethes, “How the fuck would you know?”

The girl rolls her eyes.

“I’m just saying you’re not present.” She leans in. “No need to be a little bitch.”

In a second, they’re making out again, but this time Rin is strangely stiff, rigid in his movements. This has never happened to him before. She breaks away, putting some space between them.

“See?” She says with a soft laugh, but Rin refuses to open his eyes. The girl pats him on the arm. “Happy New Year.”

Rin doesn’t say it back because she leaves. Although, there’s a very small chance he would have actually mustered the patience or ability to speak. It’s only after the song ends and ‘house of balloons’ starts playing that gathers the courage to tear his own eyelids open. Everything is painted with splotches of color and it takes a few seconds for him to see clearly. As clearly as he can see in a room lit only by an imitation of a mirror ball.

His mission is to search the house for her. Maybe she’s still where he left her?

“Out.” He tells the couple that’s about to hotbox in Kuroo’s room. “Only Kuroo’s close friends can be here.”

They do as he says, apologizing before stepping out of the room with blunts between their fingers. Rin’s search doesn’t stop here. He trawls the crevices of the penthouse and hounds everyone for any possible sliver of information that they might have on Y/n’s whereabouts. To no avail. She’s no longer here. And if he were to bet on something, it would be that she left almost immediately after he left her there alone and would probably rather not lay eyes on him for the time being.

So, Rin returns to Kuroo’s room and sits on the right side of the bed, feeling the place where she had lain before.

“It was meant to be you.” He mutters, his throat wound tight around the words. “This year was supposed to start with you.”

He watches the fireworks pain the night into day, all the while trying to resist the urge to text or call her. He lies to himself saying this is what has to be done if he wishes for them to remain as tightly knit as they’ve been since they met. His lips throb with want for the feeling of hers as he deceives himself into cowardice because doing otherwise would mean risking everything all over again.

Remember when I said they’d never kissed before? Yeah, I lied so they didn’t have to. 

Taglist: @kurookinnie​ This is so late I’m sorry! 

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[chiinuis]

[SSR] Toi Shiramatsu ━ SAKURA Dance; Cherry Blossoms, Light, and You

On a day, when dancing with the cherry blossoms ━ Part 2 🌸

┃Cherry Blossom Festival Venue

MC: Thanks for taking part in the parade, everyone! The performance was amazing!

Toi: Thank you, Chief.

I was so excited… and super nervous… but it was so much fun dancing!

Renga: The audience even joined in! They had a blast!

Yukikaze: Yes, there was a lot of cheering and applause.

Everyone was smiling.

Ryui: The dance was amazing.

To the point where the celestial maiden left her feather robe behind and ran away.

Toi: It was as if everyone's hearts were united.

It felt… warm.

The reason the parade was livened up was because—

My brother and the chief, and—

Renga-san, Yukikaze-san, who danced with me.

Once again, let me express my gratitude. Thank you very much.

MC: No, thank you!

Thank you for making this a wonderful event.

Now that we have free time, shall we go cherry blossom viewing?

Ryui: Besides the parade, there's also the arranged food trucks and collaborative food… also a lot of other things.

Let’s spread our wings together, Toi.

Toi: Yeah.

Ryui: —Still, there are a lot of people here. Make sure to hold my hand tightly so we don’t get lost.

Toi: Mhm!

MC: The weather is nice and the cherry blossoms are in full bloom…

It’s a perfect day for viewing.

Toi: Wow… there’s a lot of customers waiting at the stalls too…!

There’s a huge line up at the food trucks over there.

Yukikaze: Those were Renga’s suggestions.

…”Cherry blossom coloured large servings of French fries that everyone can enjoy”.

They seem to be very popular.

Toi: I believe they are very particular about using Himalayan rock salt, which is reminiscent of cherry blossoms, right? The french fries I tried were delicious…

Renga: There’s also a stall selling “cherry blossom coloured shumai dumplings made with shrimp,” per Yukikaze’s request.

What a long line!

Everyone looks so happy buying it…

(...I was right not to ask for revenge on the 34,000 yen fries…!)

MC: Yeah…

Aren’t you hungry, Toi-kun?

You were in quite a hurry, so you didn’t eat properly at lunch, did you?

I can buy you something!

Toi: No, no way. I’m fine.

(rumble)

...Ah…

Yukikaze: Seems like your stomach says otherwise with that loud noise.

Renga: Okay! Let’s go our separate ways and buy some food!

MC: Ryui-kun, will you wait here with Toi-kun?

I’ll be back soon.

Ryui: Alright, don't get lost.

Toi: You’re too kind, chief…

Ryui: I wouldn’t say too kind.

Toi: …The cherry blossoms are beautiful.

Ryui: They’re beautiful because you’re here.

Cherry blossoms match you well.

Toi: Brother…

Ryui: Hm…

Toi: ?

Ryui: I wouldn’t let the cherry blossoms kidnap you. I wouldn’t let you go anywhere without me.

Toi: …Brother… we’ll be together like this forever…

MC: I’m back! I brought cherry blossom coloured shumai, cherry blossom coloured french fries, cherry blossom coloured cotton candy, cherry blossom mochi flavoured crepes, cherry blossom soda, and much more!

Ryui: Seriously?! He came back so quick.

Renga: The clerk said they have “senju”¹...

There’s only a few people in the world like that.

Yukikaze: It only took a few seconds from handing over the money to receiving the item.

It was incredibly efficient. The 15th ward is amazing.

MC: Thanks to that, I was able to buy a lot.

Here you go! French fries.

Be careful, they’re hot.

Toi: Ah! Thank you very much!

…!

Ah…! They’re delicious…!

Come on, you too, big brother! Have some!

Ryui: …Ah. Hmm, they’re certainly delicious.

Toi: Hehe, guess so. Munch munch…

…Huh?

What’s that? There’s noise coming from over there…

MC: Huh? …Ah, there’s a show going on on the stage! It’s starting!

Yukikaze: Ah. I think the first performance was…

“Magician Samba Dancers”...

Renga: Already?!

Wow, today has gone by so quickly.

Toi: ….Munch…..

Ryui: Are you not hungry anymore, Toi?

Toi: Eh…? No, I’m just eating slowly… there’s so much…

Ryui: No one will blame you if you eat them if you’re hungry, especially these snacks.

MC: Yeah. In fact, it’s something that should be done at times like this.

Ryui: …There you go. Just don’t let go of my hand.

Toi: …!

(Brother’s hands are so warm when I hold them…)

(The cherry blossoms are so beautiful, and the food is delicious. The chief and everyone else have dazzling smiles.)

…Cherry blossom viewing is sure fun.

¹. "Senju" is a word translating directly to "a thousand hands" or "a thousand skills", referring to how fast the service was.

[aquamarine-oceanfront]

TADC Tower Records Cafe collaboration information

A few hours ago, the official Japanese Amazing Digital Circus Twitter account revealed that the series would be collaborating with two Tower Records Cafes in the country. Ticket pre-sales begin on the 18th (JST), and the actual collab will start between October 31st and November 1st (depending on the store) and run until the 25th.

What will this entail, exactly? As Tower Records' post on the matter says (roughly translated):

ポムニたちをはじめとしたキャラクターたちのイメージコラボメニューの販売やオリジナルメニュー特典のほか、コラボ限定描き下ろしを使用した店内装飾で皆さまをお迎えいたします！ In addition to selling new menu items styled after Pomni and company, as well as specially-made bonus postcards, everyone who comes will be greeted with in-store collab artwork (made just for the occasion)!

They'll also be selling merchandise (some new, some pre-existing) to people who consume the event's food.

That's the gist of it, but I felt like summarizing all the relevant information I could (near-entirely from the aforementioned blog post) - the fruit of my efforts is just below the jump.

To begin with, attending the cafe requires advance reservations, with each time slot lasting for an hour & twenty minutes. Attendees buy online tickets (worth 500 yen per person, accompanied by a 500 yen meal coupon) tied to the number of seats they'll need - oddly, they're grouped into either 2 or 4 seats independent of the flat 500 yen/person rate, which means that a single diner is still technically in the "2 seats" category despite obviously only needing one.

(Also: they do offer same-day tickets if - and only if - there happens to be vacancy. They don't come with any meal coupons, though.)

(As a second side note, every price I mention in this post includes tax.)

Of course, your ticket won't (entirely) cover the cost of food and drink. The Cafe limits the amount of either you can buy: a single person (500 yen) can purchase no more than 1 food item, 1 sweet, and 3 drinks. (This is also the limit for same-day tickets.) However, the upper limit scales in accordance with the price of the ticket (and, in turn, the amount of people expected to be in your group) - at absolute most (4 people/2,000 yen), diners can get 4 food items, 4 sweets, and 12 drinks.

Right now, I imagine, you're probably wanting to see those food items. Without further ado, here are the two options (both costing 1,890 yen):

Pomni Hamburger: Includes buns, hamburger patty, pickles, a chedder cheese slice, red-leaf lettuce, tomato, and ketchup. Served with French fries & monaka. (I'm not 100% sure about that last one but it's the only translation of モナカ that seemed plausible in this context.)

Ragatha Omurice: Includes chicken rice, a thin omelette "sheet" (オムシート), and ketchup. Served with potato salad, red-leaf lettuce, mozzarella cheese, cherry tomatoes, & monaka.

Now we move on to the sweets:

Caine Cupcake (1,690 yen): A cupcake with strawberry whip, strawberries, blueberries, mixed berries, mint, powdered sugar, chocolate sweets, strawberry sauce, & monaka.

Zooble Parfait (1,690 yen): Includes a strawberry no-bake cake (literally "rare cake," or レアケーキ - I assume it's a cold or at least cool treat), mango ice cream, corn flakes, mascarpone whip, blueberry sauce, yogurt, mixed berries, mint, chocolate sweets, rolled chocolate, & monaka.

Jax Pancake (1,890 yen): A thick hotcake served with blueberry sauce, mixed berries, blueberry cream, whipped cream, strawberries, blueberries, chervil, silver dragees (tiny edible decorations), powdered sugar, monaka, & latte (panna?) cotta.

The drinks make up the largest category by far - each one is priced at 900 yen:

Gangle Berry Tea (HOT): Made with raspberry syrup, black tea, mixed berries, and mint. Also mentioned (but not pictured): whipped cream & monaka.

Jax Blueberry Yogurt: Made with blueberry sauce, drinkable yogurt, blueberries, whipped cream, and mint. Not pictured: monaka.

Ragatha Blue Lemonade (HOT): Made with blue curaçao syrup, lemonade, and lemon slices. Not pictured: whipped cream & monaka.

Pomni & Kinger Strawberry Milk: Made with strawberry syrup, diced strawberries, milk, whipped cream, strawberry sauce, and a cherry. Not pictured: monaka.

Caine & Bubble Cranberry Juice: Cranberry juice with raspberries and star-shaped nata de coco. Not pictured: whipped cream & monaka.

Finally, there's only one takeout option:

Takeout Bottle w/Popcorn (980 yen): Specifically popcorn colored red, blue, & yellow. They make these in-store, and Tower Records recommends you eat them as soon as possible (regardless of whether you open it or not). They're also exempt from the aforementioned purchase limits - buy as much as you'd like. (Or as much as is available - each store will keep the public updated on their inventory through their respective Twitter accounts.)

(Curiously, one of the many disclaimers seems to state that the "collab & takeout menus will be available for the whole [financial] year." I don't know if I'm misinterpreting the original Japanese sentence - コラボメニュー・テイクアウトメニューは通期提供です。)

As an extra bonus, every order (including the takeaway bottle) comes with a bonus postcard featuring some of the event's artwork. The selection differs depending on the date: come before November 12th and you'll get one of these at random:

However, if you come between the 12th and the 25th (the event's closing date), you'll instead get one of these:

Finally, people who pay for any of the aforementioned dishes will be allowed to purchase merchandise on-site.

The above promo picture conveniently separates the new items (top) from the existing ones (bottom). The former includes acrylic stands and badges (sold either individually or as a full set of 8 - the latter being the upper limit for them no matter what), clear files, and mugs (1 per person). The latter is mostly stuff InfoLens made for the Japanese market (some of which will only go on sale on November 7th), with the lone exception of Jax's AniMatez figure. Also: the limit is specifically per person, not per the number of seats - so one attendee won't be considered two people, even if they're technically in the "2 seats" category. (Remember that from earlier?)

[preciouslittletoonette]

(I copied all of this from Discord, forgive me for how disorganised this might end up being, I had so many thoughts on this AU)

Mickey is the Blot's Dad AU

Read under the cut

EDIT: Part 2 here

Been thinking heavily about the Blot being Mickey's son and the what if Mickey took him in and actually raised him idea that I drew so here are the thoughts I thought up about it:

-Sequence of events: Mickey makes the mini statue of himself -> not satisfied cuz it droops -> paints it some more until the Blot is born -> Mickey panics like he initially did in the game -> throws Thinner at it -> Blot roars in pain and begins to melt -> Mickey is about to run away but stops because he hears a whimper -> stops and sees the Blot writhing in pain, whimpering and sobbing in such a way it kind of reminds Mickey of a very young child -> in a split second decision, Mickey then doused the Blot in more paint to null the thinner's pain and stabilise its form -> hears Yen Sid coming and grabs the Blot while running away -> only trace that either of them were there were the black drippings left behind by the Blot leading to the mirror.

- Mickey then proceeds to introduce the Blot to his dads and both Walt & Ub are minutes away from an an aneurysm because *what the fuck is that* and Walt nearly collapses in tears as Mickey then announces he intends to be the creature's father.

- I'm not sure yet if the Thinner Disaster happens or not because in the cutscene, it looks like the Jug was accidentally dragged down by the Blot entering into Wasteland's portal

- Perhaps for the sake of drama, it does. Mickey in his haste to get himself and the Blot out of the workshop accidentally knocks the Jug over. The Thinner Disaster happens, toons still die, but the Blot Wars don't happen (...yet?) So Ortensia still lives and the Mad Doctor doesn't betray Oswald (...yet?)

- After the Disaster happens, and thanks to the Blot Wars not happening immediately afterwards, the Wastelanders kind of immediately get into "repair everything as much as possible" mode and thanks to Ortensia still being alive, Oswald and the forgotten toons still have hope and there's things getting done.

- They then retrieve the Jug and move it to Mickeyjunk Mountain. There is a familiar black gunk on the bottle that piques the interest of one very Mad Doctor. Don't worry he's not going to do anything with it... yet.

The Blot's life in the Cartoon World:

- The Blot isn't called the Blot. That doesn't feel like a name he'd give himself and more like something the other Wastelanders would've given him that he'd accept cuz it sounded badass enough.

- But the Blot still doesn't have a name per say. Mickey struggles to name him something because nothing seems to fit. Regular human names are too boring and plain or too uppity and long, but toon names close to Mickey's are too silly for his rather melancholic boy. So Mickey in the end resolves to calling him "Kid" or "Son". Kid becomes the de facto name for the Blot amongst the Disney toons too.

- Mickey becomes very adamant that if Mickey can't decide a name, then the Blot will have to decide a name for himself. This was inspired by the confusion back in 2023 regarding Mickey's public domain status and whether or not his name could be used since it was trademarked. Mickey doesn't want the Blot to be named by humans because then that name would not be his own. So he's very protective over the Blot's freedom of choice and decisions.

- I'm still debating on how much the Blot *loves* Mickey. I'm debating on it either being an open kind of love that a kid gives to their parent, or the kind of "I love you but I'm not gonna show it" like a cat's or a "I recognise and associate you with positivity and safety and therefore I will favour your presence over others". But whatever level it is, the Blot does hold a lot of affection for Mickey even after their rocky start.

- It goes without saying that once Mickey gets used to the otherness of the Blot, he adores his baby. He is ride or die for this lil creature he made.

- The Blot is still very morally dubious. And he is still encompasses the worst of Mickey's traits such as his irresponsibility and carelessness, but his Oswald traits are more subdued. He is capable of deep hatred and long grudges and he is very obsessive. But Mickey's attempts at raising him are tempering these darker traits. He isn't longing for fame yet because he's got his family's love for the time being

- The Blot is not a toon. The humans can't really tell but the toons definitely can. It gives them a feeling of uncanny valley the same way certain human toons give that feeling to humans too. This makes a lot of toons apprehensive of the Blot and doesn't score him a lot of friends.

- The Blot's form is very unstable. Even trying to hold the shape of his ears to look like Mickey's takes an exhausting amount of effort to maintain for long periods of time. And the only thing that can stabilise him is consuming paint, the same kind of paint used to create toons.

- Because of his instability and the discrimination directed against him because of his offness, Mickey is very over protective. If he even sniffs a whiff of discrimination in the Blot's direction, your face will be acquainted with Mickey's mallet and the sidewalk. No one messes with his baby 😤

- How much the Blot likes you depends on your proximity to Mickey. If your name is Minnie or Pluto, you're basically golden, set for life. With Donald, Goofy and Daisy, its similar but on a slightly. Everyone connected to them is tolerated. But everyone outside of that- potential op and in the future, potential food.

- The Blot doesn't have a heart so after a few years (I'd say about 5), the Blot eventually fades and becomes forgotten. Mickey is understandably distraught. Cuz to him, one moment his son was there and the next he wasn't. He believes he is fully at fault because of a health thing Mickey believes he neglected. And Mickey never gets over it.

- The humans are baffled. Because when toons are forgotten, usually whatever magic that causes remembered toons to forget their forgotten friends would kick in and scramble and edit the memories to exclude them. But that's not happening here cuz the Blot's not fully a toon so Mickey and the others continue to remember him. And they grieve him deeply. Something that irks the studio greatly because the memory edit thing exists so that toons wouldn't feel grief for their fallen brethren in the first place (headcanon of mine)

And now... the Blot is in Wasteland. What will he do. I'll explain later

[mousegard]

aria of the black eagle kicks off its third act with an isekai adventure in fodlan!

Symphogear W: Aria of the Black Eagle, Season 2

Episode 1: Ties Binding Two Worlds

Maria Cadenzavna Eve wakes up to find herself at Garreg Mach Monastery. Ferdinand von Aeigr starts learning a new language. Chris pulls an Army of Darkness.

Gwendal’s men still had their weapons pointed at her, and Felix’s men were still waiting with swords drawn at the opposite end of the alleyway. “Alright, listen up, you primitive jarheads!” She leveled her Billion Maiden at the soldiers, pointing one set of barrels in Felix’s direction and another in Gwendal’s. She squeezed the triggers. Another deafening roar sent a volley of white-hot bullets into the ground at the soldier’s feet, forcing them all to scurry backward. Wisps of smoke curled from the barrels as their spinning slowly came to a stop. “These babies here are custom-designed with top-of-the-line specs to meet and exceed the output of the T249 Vigilante, the biggest Gatling gun ever made! That’s four, count ‘em, four sets of three-barreled rotary cannons, two per hand, each capable of firing three thousand rounds per minute, more than enough to kill anything that moves, with the equivalent firepower of one thousand light tanks. Each.” She thrust the guns forward. The soldiers all took another leap back. She couldn’t help but laugh. Who was helpless now? “It costs four hundred thousand yen to fire this weapon for twelve seconds… and I’m a fucking billionaire!” She looked down one barrel, then another, licking her lips. “So I guess the question is… how much are you guys’ shitty lives worth?” Sylvain stared at her, slack-jawed. He wasn’t alone. “Hey, moron—Sylvain. You wanna blow this place?” she asked him.