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#a3! fic
yuzokasu · 6 months
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Guy enters the nursery. “There you are.”
Citron looks up from where he leans his head on the crib. He flashes Guy a smile.
“Your afternoon lessons will begin in fifteen minutes,” Guy tells him, walking towards him. “You have to–”
“Yes, yes, shhh.” Citron points at the baby in the crib. “Keep your voice down, Guy. You might wake up Tangerine.”
Guy goes quiet. He peers at the baby’s face.
“I might have looked like that when I was a baby, but I don’t think you or me could have known that. Do you think he’ll look more like my father when he grows up?”
“We cannot determine that yet. A week old baby’s features are still developing.”
Citron huffs. “You’re no fun.”
He gently rocks the crib. “But I think things will be different this time. If I spend as much time as I can with Tangerine, we’ll get close. And then maybe my other brothers will become close with me too.”
Guy still stays quiet. The two gaze at the youngest prince’s face, sound asleep.
Citron grabs a stool. “I want to carry him. Help me carry him, Guy.”
“It is not safe, Citronia.”
“It is!” he says in a whisper. “He’s tiny enough! And I need to learn how to carry him, anyways.”
He reaches down to grab Tangerine. Guy immediately lunges forward to support Citron’s hands as he lifts him up, making sure Tangerine won’t slip.
Citron, stubborn as he is, doesn’t let go of Tangerine as he’s out of the crib. “Come on, Guy! I can handle it.”
Guy thinks for a while, Citron staring at him as if he can see the gears turning in his head. He eventually lets go, and to their relief, Citron can support Tangerine’s weight.
“See?” Citron giggles, holding him close. “Oh, he’s so cute up close. Your big brother’s got your back always, okay Tangerine?”
Guy feels something indescribable at the sight.
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hqissodelicate · 11 months
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hAve A greAt trip outfits tournament crack fic (part 1)
it's here: the crack-fic dedicated to the travel outfits category of the a3 outfits tournament! part 1 is about 6k-ish words & part 2 (which i've linked at the end of this) is about 3k-ish. if you prefer reading on AO3 you can also find it here!
special thanks to @f1avovitta for letting me make a couple references to their mukuyuki knb blue's clues pink-blue bracket fic <3 it's really funny go check it out if you haven't already!
warnings? a few mildly suggestive jokes & mentions of alcohol both in part 1 & part 2. also i reference and poke some light-hearted fun at some of the tags you guys left on the polls, all in silly good fun and not intended to harm!
ships? strictly speaking this is all gen but there are also some crumbs of bansaku, misukazu, kazusaku, azakyu, citoita, and citrun that can be read as either platonic or romantic it's up to you
the fic's under the cut hope you enjoy <3
———
Round One
Kazunari saunters into the lounge, shooting a peace sign at his fellow Mankai members gathered there. “Yoo! Kazunari Miyoshi’s in the house bringing the sauce! ✩” 
Sakyo sighs. “Just get on with whatever frivolous agenda you have in mind already.”
“Now, now, Sakyo-san,” Izumi says placatingly. “Kazunari-kun wouldn’t call a company meeting for no reason.”
“Director-chan is right—it’s super-duper important! Take a look!” Kazunari casts his phone to the lounge TV. “Lookie, we’ve been entered into another tournament! ♪”
That gets some mixed reactions from the various Mankai members. Kumon and Taichi start bouncing off the walls with excitement, Banri goes, “Seriously? Another one? Do these people have nothing better to do?”, and Muku mumbles, “Oh, I hope they’re being nice…”
“How many tournaments does that make now?” Itaru questions, sparing a brief glance up from his phone. “There was the pink-blue tournament and the pink-green tournament that Yuki and Muku were nominated for. And not to mention the Spring and Winter Troupes, as well as the whole company, were entered into the found family tournament. Can you imagine if we had to face off against each other? Like Spring Troupe versus Mankai Company, which also contains the Spring Troupe.”
“There’s also the ‘green hair and pronouns’ tournament that Yuki and I are in,” Chikage says. “It was… interesting trying to explain the ‘pronouns’ bit to my coworkers, to say the least.”
“Wasn’t the Director entered into the ‘most visual novel character’ tournament or something?” Kumon wonders, a pensive frown replacing his previous excitement. “What’s that even supposed to mean, anyway? Like, are we actually fictional characters or—”
“This time they’re ranking our outfits on Tumblr!” Kazunari cuts off Kumon’s impending existential crisis by flashing the aforementioned outfits tournament page on the TV. 
“Oh, so we’re competin’ against each other this time instead of being pitted against those basketball people and some dogs,” Banri says. “Sounds fun, especially considerin’ how varied everyone’s fashion sense is.”
“Thank god,” Yuki sighs, his shoulders sagging with relief, “because if I hear one more ‘HE’S NOT BLUE HE’S GREEN’ I’m actually going to enter my villain arc. It was exhausting fighting for my life just to stay in the pink-blue tournament, never mind making it to second place.”
“We did well, though, Yuki-kun! We even made friends with Aomine-kun and Momoi-san. They sent their congratulations for us getting to the finals of the pink-green tournament, by the way.” Muku takes a proper look at the outfits bracket, and his head droops. “Oh, but it looks like we’re competing against each other this time… As in, we’re paired up in the very first round.”
“Seriously? Well, I guess it makes for a nice change of pace since we’ve been entered as a duo in two tournaments now.”
Tsumugi makes several attempts to scroll down the list of categories, nearly reporting the poll moderator for spam three times before finally remembering how scrolling on a touch-screen works. “Wow, there are so many categories. Spring outfits, summer outfits, autumn outfits…”
“Damn, looks like the fans caught on to the fact that we own five copies of the same outfit and we just cycle through one set per season,” Banri says.
“Yeah, actually, WHY do we do that?” Taichi asks. “I’d really like to have some variety in my closet, but every time I try to pick out a shirt I don’t own it’s like there’s some external force compelling me to either buy four more copies of it or don’t buy it at all. I asked my friends at uni if this has ever happened to them too and they asked if I had a fever…”
Banri shrugs nonchalantly. “Makes it easier for whoever has to code our game to just paste our sprites into the different settings we’re supposed to be in, I guess.”
Kumon’s face drains of colour. “Wait, but if that’s the case then doesn’t that mean we’re REALLY fictional chara—”
“‘Travel outfits’? ‘hAve A greAt trip’?” Guy asks. 
“Oh yeah, that. Before you, Chikage-san, Kumon, and Azami joined, we planned a company-wide trip to some Europe-coded place and so we all decided to buy five copies of a brand new outfit instead of just using any of the five copies of the outfits we already had,” Tenma explains, in the same manner one would explain that the sun rises in the east and sets in the west.
Azami rescues Kazunari’s phone from Tsumugi before he accidentally reports the moderator for spam again or worse. He scrolls down the list of the first round’s results and cringes. “No offence but like… what the FUCK are some of these? You call THESE looks? Tenma-san, why were you wearing a life jacket? Was there a risk of drowning at ANY point during the trip?”
It’s an impressive feat how Yuki manages to pinch his expression in such a delicate, dignified manner that still conveys the highest degree of scorn possible. “See, I TOLD you the life jacket was a bad look, you stupid tasteless hack. But did you listen? Nooo, because apparently trusting your costumer’s fashion advice is a terrible idea. Look at how badly you lost to Banri—he beat you by 70 percent.”
Banri snatches the phone from Azami, despite the results being very obviously displayed on the TV screen. “Holy shit, really? Talk about a fucking ratio, Jesus Christ.”
Tenma’s face flushes bright red. “S—some people didn’t like YOUR outfit either, Yuki!”
“The worst I got was ‘it’s a bit busy’. Some fans said you looked like a CHILD, which honestly isn’t wrong since you do behave like a manchild 90 percent of the time. Others said you looked like you were going FISHING.”
“And what’s wrong with fishing?!”
“Nothing wrong with it in and of itself, but wearing fishing gear when you’re clearly not going fishing is a breach of at least ten consecutive fashion rules.”
“It’s okay, Tenma!” Misumi hands Tenma a consolation Mr. Triangle. “You can wear your travel outfit and I’ll wear my summer outfit and we can go fishing for triangular fish together!”
“Do such fish even exist?!”
Wanting to check the result of his match, Muku politely borrows Kazunari’s phone from Banri. Disappointment flashes across his face before he hastily plasters on a smile. “Yuki-kun, you won! Congratulations!”
“Oh?” Yuki eyes the comments and results—which show an overwhelming landslide of a victory of 84.6 percent to 15.4 percent—then Muku’s face. With a sigh, he reaches out with both hands and smushes Muku’s cheeks together.
“Hnhhooheehhoo?”
“Don’t make that face—that fake smile hiding your disappointment. Lots of fans were rooting for the both of us, you know? They said we looked cute together because we were matching with your jacket and my skirt. Some of them even wanted us to tie so we could progress on through the tournament as a pair.”
“Hmhhghee?” Muku repeats himself after Yuki releases his face, “Really? But is that even allowed?”
“Uh—” Yuki does a quick scroll through the blog. “Probably not. In previous instances of ties, the mod would put the contestants into some name-picking wheel to decide the winner. Sounds kinda arbitrary to me but I guess it can’t be helped if it really is a 50-50 split.”
“But it’s the thought that counts,” Kazunari says cheerily, draping his arms over both Yuki and Muku’s shoulders. “‘Sides, Mukkun, you bagged third place in the summer fits category! That’s nothing to scoff at!”
“Even if the mod did allow people who tied to continue as a unit, aren’t you guys sick of constantly being paired up in these tournaments?” Tenma asks.
“No,” Yuki retorts, his tone turning icy. “Muku is a good campaign-mate, because unlike a CERTAIN traitorous hack HE didn’t vote for those dogs over his own troupe mates in the pink-and-blue finals.”
Tenma flinches like he’d been slapped. “LISTEN, they’re not just ‘those dogs’. Blue and Magenta are absolute icons—”
“And I don’t CARE. Muku and I are your troupe mates for god’s sake. You SAW how we were fighting for our lives to prove that I’M pink and HE’S blue despite what our hair colours might indicate, so CAN IT.”
Kazunari’s phone, being passed around the lounge like a blunt, is now with Taichi—who is curled up on the floor sobbing. “W—was my outfit really that bad? I thought it looked nice when I went to buy five copies of it for the trip… Are Hawaiian prints really that ugly? Do I really look like a white dad with a mild alcohol addiction? I’m not even white! Or a dad!”
“There, there,” Omi soothes, gently patting Taichi’s head. “See, someone here defended you; they said you looked cute. I was dragged pretty brutally for my choice of shorts too—someone said I looked like I, uh, ‘pissed paint’ on myself? Which sounds incredibly painful and also difficult to clean up?—so at least we’re in it together.”
Taichi sniffs and looks up at Omi with watery eyes. “That’s… ouch. Still, you made it to round two at least, Omi-kun!”
“Oh yeah, you beat that shitty four eyes,” Azami says. He takes Kazunari’s lounge-hopping phone from Taichi and clicks on the first poll, then turns to sneer at Sakyo. “Looks like it’s another loss in your pocket, old man. Must be fun collecting those, huh? The only time you made it past round one was in the autumn outfits category; I ratioed your wrinkly boomer ass in every other category I was in.”
Sakyo glowers at him. “We’re only halfway through the tournament, brat, nothing’s been decided yet. What the hell is that term, anyway? That’s not how you use the word ratio.”
“Oh wow, tell me you’re an out of touch boomer without telling me you’re an out of touch boomer.”
“Excuse you, I’m a millennial.”  
Near the puddle of tears Taichi is lying in, Kumon too is bawling into Juza’s chest. 
“H—how did Nii-chan lose?” he hiccups between sobs. “That… that outfit was so cool! Everything Nii-chan wears looks cool!”
Juza scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “Guess orange really doesn’t go with my hair.”
“I personally quite like it, Juza-kun!” Homare declares with a wide sweep of his hand. “It was an artistic mix of colours. The orange in your shirt pulls the eye, while the neutral colours of the rest of your ensemble balances out your overall aesthetic making your top the centre of attention!”
Having finished thoroughly dragging Tenma through the mud for his ill decision to vote for Blue and Magenta over his own troupe mates in the pink-blue finals, Yuki turns to Kazunari. “You know, for a guy who lost and got some rather polarised reactions in the tags, you seem to be in a pretty good mood.”
“I mean, it’s all in good fun, y’know!” Kazunari replies breezily. “And my fit was supposed to be artsy. Avant garde, even! Not everyone’s gonna like it but that’s okay! The fact that some fans liked it, and one cutie patootie even used my look in their presentation slides as decor, makes me totes happy! Plus, Saku-saku’s look was super adorbs too so it was lit getting to go up against him! ✩”
Sakuya perks up at the mention of his name. “Thank you, Kazunari-san! I’ll keep working hard in the rest of the tournament to make you proud!”
At that, Kazunari’s eyes turn into the pleading emoji eyes, and he places a hand on his chest. “D—do you mean that, Saku-saku?”
“I do! One hundred percent!”
Kazunari nods. “That’s good to hear, ‘cause—” He inhales, then collapses dramatically to the floor.
“Kazunari-san?! Oh my gosh, Kazunari-san!” Sakuya cries out, falling to his knees by Kazunari’s side.
“T—that means my work here is complete… and—and I can move on… with no regrets…” Kazunari stage-whispers. His chest shuddering with uneven breaths, he clasps Sakuya’s hands in his trembling ones. “Thank you… friend… for making my final battle a worthwhile one…”
Sakuya’s eyes fill with tears. “K—Kazunari-san, you can’t go yet! Not like this! There’s still five categories left!”
“I knew… my time… in this tournament… was always going to be limited. Th—that’s why… it was an honour to have my final defeat at your hands… your sweet swaggy spring hands…”
“No, you can’t! It was only round one! I know you can go so much further in the other categories! Things can’t end like this!”
“Please, friend… I don’t have much time. Promise me… you’ll carry my hopes and dreams with you… and go as far as you can. Only you… can fulfil this dying wish of mine…”
“I—” Sakuya fiercely wipes his tears away with his shoulder since his hands are still wrapped up in Kazunari’s. “Alright, then. If it’s your final wish that’s what I’ll do. I’ll go as far as I can and carry your hopes and dreams with me! Please watch over me from the other side, Kazunari-san!”
A faint smile spreads across Kazunari’s pale lips. “That’s all… I could have ever asked for, friend. As long as you keep me in your heart… I will live forever…”
With that touching final message, Kazunari Miyoshi flops back onto the floor like a dead fish. Despite the absurdity of the bit, Izumi can’t help the pride that fills her at how far the both of them have come as actors—especially when Sakuya throws himself on Kazunari’s unnervingly still chest and lets out an absolutely heart-wrenching wail of “KAZUNARI-SAAAN!” Banri glances at them with raised eyebrows and mutters, “Now what in the shounen anime death scene is going on over there…”
“Looks like the Winter Troupe has received some interesting feedback on our outfits too,” Azuma says, scrolling through the Tumblr page on his phone since Azami is still holding Kazunari’s hostage. 
Tasuku winces when he spots some choice comments about Hisoka’s scarf. “Some people really didn’t like Mikage’s scarf, huh?”
“Oh yeah, the comment about going to clown college was brutal, LOL,” Itaru says.
“Mm…” Hisoka stirs on Azuma’s lap, his eyes blearily cracking open. “Don’t wanna go to clown college.”
Chikage rolls his eyes. “You wouldn’t survive a day at any college, never mind clown college. You’d be falling asleep during class and failing all your assignments. Actually, would you even do them in the first place?”
“Maybe. If they were about marshmallows.”
Azuma smiles down at Hisoka. “A degree in marshmallows? Sounds perfect for you.”
“Mhm. Marshmallogy. I want a degree in that. No, not just a degree. A masters… a PhD.”
“‘Professor Mikage’ does have a nice ring to it,” Tsumugi chuckles.
“Yeah, but his full title would be ‘Professor H. Mikage, PhD in Marshmallogy’,” Tasuku says. “What kind of PhD is that?”
“A good one,” Hisoka mumbles, already drifting back to sleep.
“More like a complete waste of college tuition,” Chikage retorts dryly.
Tsumugi leans closer to Azuma’s phone and lets out a thoughtful hum. “You know, I’m pretty surprised our fans don’t recognise the SSAW logo on my shirt.” 
“That’s because it’s a really obscure brand,” Tasuku points out. “As in, so obscure I think I’ve only seen our company members wearing their stuff. Actually, if it weren’t for our company members buying five copies of every item, their business probably would’ve gone under by now.”
A soft laugh escapes Azuma as he reads through the comments on his poll. “My, I don’t think I’ve been called a GILF before. I’m glad they find my outfit charming.”
“‘GILF’?” Sakuya, having finished grieving Kazunari’s tragic demise in record time, echoes innocently as he trots over. “What does that mean?”
In unison, all the adults in the vicinity stiffen and exchange looks with each other.
Tasuku raises his eyebrows. Who’s gonna tell him?
Homare shakes his head. Certainly not me. I will not be responsible for tainting young Sakuya’s purity!
Azuma brushes Hisoka’s bangs away from his face. He’s a young man now, no longer a boy. Surely it can’t hurt to tell him?  
Chikage adjusts his glasses. I think it’d be more interesting to leave him in the dark.
Itaru taps on his phone pointedly. No one tell him anything. There’s a new gacha coming up soon and I need his innocence untainted so I can bring home my best girl’s SSR without having to spend IRL money.
Tsumugi rubs the back of his head. Sorry, I think I’m in the same boat as Sakuya-kun. What DOES ‘GILF’ mean?
Hisoka snores. Zzz. 
“Um…?” Sakuya pipes up hesitantly, glancing back and forth between the adults making silent but very intense eye contact with each other.
Masumi pops up behind him. “It probably means something like ‘Grandma I’d like to fuck’.”
“GAH, MASUMI-KUN!” Sakuya yelps, nearly leaping a foot into the air.
Azami makes a sound like a boiling kettle. “IT MEANS WHAT NOW?!”
Itaru flings a cushion at Masumi. Or attempts to, but instead it just flops down sadly at his feet. “Masumi, your speaking rights have been revoked. Never speak a single word again unless you can afford to pay for my gacha tokens.”
“Tch, annoying.” Masumi scuffs his slipper on the floor, scowling. “Anyway, how did I lose to that guy over there? His outfit wasn’t anything special. It’s just a leather jacket. And those shoes were ugly.”
“I’m not a stickler for honorifics or anything, nor am I particularly sensitive about my fashion sense, but at least call me by my name,” Tasuku shoots back. “I dunno how much of the feedback I got was positive, anyway. What do you mean I’m ‘being cunty’? Is that supposed to be a compliment or an insult?”
Having mysteriously risen from the dead, Kazunari drapes himself over the back of the couch and shoots its residents a peace sign. “It’s a compliment! I guess back in your time it would’ve been a mega insult to call someone a cunt—”
“I’m only four years older than you, Miyoshi.”
“—but now it’s totes a compliment! Like when people say you’re serving cunt, y’know?”
“I don’t. I don’t even have, you know, that.”
“You don’t need to have one to be serving it! It’s about your drip! Your swagger!” Kazunari waves his arm to demonstrate his point, nearly toppling off the back of the couch if it weren’t for Tasuku catching him in time. “And you were totes serving slay cunt looks with that leather jacket and stunting pose! ✩”
Sakyo scowls at the back of Kazunari’s head. “What’s with this generation and putting words I can understand separately into utterly incomprehensible sentences?”
“Alright, gramps, let’s get you to bed,” Azami announces. “Make sure to take your meds before lights out.”
“Hah?! Don’t treat me like I’m senile, brat.”
“Then maybe don’t fucking ACT like it—”
“Um!” Izumi jumps in before bloodshed can occur. “How about we take a look at who will be progressing on to round two?”
Kazunari brings up the list of round two contestants. “Ooh, looks like the first match on Side A is Itaroon versus Omimi!”
“For real?” Itaru says, glancing up from his phone. “Alright, bet. GLHF, Omi.”
Omi smiles warmly. “Let’s do our best, Itaru-san.”
“Ehh?” Sakuya exclaims when he spots the next sub-bracket. “I’m competing against Yuki-kun AND Citron-san?”
Yuki frowns. “What’s with the three-way fight? Not to mention, Ma isn’t much competition with those atrocious shorts that look like a kid barfed paint all over it, so why is the useless otaku only going up against him while I’m competing with Sakuya and Citron?”
“Same here,” Tsuzuru adds. “I’m up against Arisugawa-san and Banri, while Yukishiro-san and Takato-san’s only opponents are each other.”
“OMG, Nocturnality co-leads slay! ♪”
“I suppose it can’t be helped since we were split into five pairs on each side of the bracket,” Tsumugi says. “The moderator did randomise the pairings so it’s probably as fair as it can get.”
“LOL, I can already see the L Tsuzuru’s going to take,” Itaru says, examining the images of Banri, Homare, and Tsuzuru on full display on the TV. “Maybe not against Homare-san’s striped pants—no offence—but Banri’s probably gonna eat you up.”
Banri shrugs. “Who knows? ‘Course I’m rootin’ for myself ‘cause I haven’t made it past round two in any category yet, but I gotta admit that’s one of Tsuzuru-san’s better looks. Doesn’t look as NPC as usual.”
Tsuzuru lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Seriously, I’d rather you just called me ugly instead of whatever those backhanded compliments are supposed to be…”
Behind Tsuzuru, Citron turns to face Sakuya and Yuki with a look of determination. “I will not lose! May the best outfit avail!”
“You mean prevail,” comes the timely correction.
Sakuya offers his two opponents a beam. “Let’s have a good and fun match, Citron-san, Yuki-kun!”
———
Round Two
“You look like you’ve been sitting there the whole day.”
Kazunari looks up from where he’s multitasking on his phone, tablet, laptop, and desktop monitor. He greets Yuki with a smile, though his eyes are somewhat bloodshot. “Sure have! Been watching the polls ever since breakfast!”
“Seriously?” Yuki scoffs. “Ever considered touching grass?”
“Aww, don’t be like that! Since I lost to Saku-saku in round one I’ve been highkey rooting for him, and the three-way match between him, you, and Ronron’s been tight AF! Uh, no offence, Yukki,” Kazunari adds as a sheepish afterthought, though he compensates for it with a wink. “I’m totes rooting for ya too! ♡”
“And what about me, Kazu?” Citron demands with a dramatic huff. “Are you not giving me roots too?”
“Oh totes! Def rooting for ya too, Ronron!”
Banri snorts through a mouthful of Greek yoghurt. “How can you be rootin’ for three people in the same sub-bracket? Talk about slutty behaviour.”
Citron approaches Kazunari’s spy-like set-up—where the different sub-brackets are displayed on the different devices—and his frown deepens. “Ah… I see I am quite far behind Yuki and Sakuya. I’m not sure if there is a chance for a bareback…”
Tsuzuru chokes on his water. “A chance for a WHAT now?!”
“I think he means comeback,” Itaru supplies helpfully.
“Yes, that is it! Coming in the bareback!”
“STOP SAYING THAT I HATE THAT.”
Omi finds his match displayed on Kazunari’s laptop, and he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “Well, it looks like the results for the match between me and Itaru-san have pretty much been decided. Pretty hard to come back from a gap of 50 percent.”
“GG, Omi. It was fun.”
“Same here; I don’t think I’m beating Azuma-san at this rate,” Tasuku says. 
“Don’t worry, Tasuku,” Azuma replies. “I’ll carry your hopes and dreams in my heart into the next round.”
“Don’t make it sound like I’m dying like Miyoshi did yesterday.”
As the timer on the polls tick down, Banri finds himself unable to sit still. The damn percentages beside his and Tsuzuru’s names keep changing, as do the length of their respective bars (do not make a dick joke DO NOT MAKE A DICK JOKE). Leaving his empty yoghurt bowl on the table, he paces back and forth through the lounge with such intensity that Sakyo snaps at him for trying to burn a hole in the floorboards. Grudgingly, he resorts to fidgeting with a Rubik’s cube while sitting within eyeshot of Kazunari’s set-up.
“I don’t think I’ve seen Ban-chan this antsy before,” Taichi whispers to Omi and Juza. “Is he okay?”
“Dunno,” Juza mumbles through a mouthful of Omi’s freshly baked banana bread. “Maybe he had too much sugar just now.”
“Fuck off, I’m not you,” Banri snaps. “I just wanna make it to round three for ONCE, goddammit. I absolutely destroyed Tenma in round one of both the autumn and rehearsal outfits categories, only to lose to Taichi in round two. I mean, no hard feelings or anythin’ ‘cause your looks in those categories were good, I’ll give you that, but I can’t lose again when fuckin’ HYODO of all people made it to the third place showdown in the rehearsal category. His rehearsal outfit ain’t even all that, with that stupid large-ass 10 on the jacket and pants. Fuckin’ cringe shit. Kumon should’ve beat his ass in round two ‘cause at least his fit was somethin’.”
“Boo! L plus ratio plus your one-length hair is stinky!” Kumon sticks his tongue out at Banri. “I wanted Nii-chan to win even if it meant I’d lose! ‘Cause Nii-chan’s win is my win too!”
Banri ignores Kumon in favour of barrelling on with his tirade. “And imagine losing to Tsuzuru-san. No offence, man, that outfit’s actually decent, but you wear such mid shit the rest of the time it’d be embarrassin’ to lose to you here. I haven’t even had the chance to kick Hyodo’s ass yet, what the fuck.”
Citron grasps Tsuzuru’s shoulder firmly. “Tsuzuru, you must not receive Banri’s words into your heart. Do not let your chronic eldest daughter syndrome win! You must not give away a chance at victory just to keep the peace!”
“Thanks, Citron-san,” Tsuzuru says, sounding rather dead inside. “But I wasn’t going to—it’s not like I can do much about the results anyway, since we’re not allowed to vote on our own polls. Speaking of which, who did you guys vote for?”
“I voted for Omimi ‘cause controversial pants-slash-shorts solidarity! ♪” Kazunari announces, shooting Omi a wink. “If he’s gonna lose to Itaroon, I wanna help to at least close the gap even a teeny bit!”
“Mm, I’m still trying to decide,” Taichi says. “On one hand, Omi-kun’s my roommate and roommate loyalty says I should support him—”
“That’s a thing?” Azami and Yuki respond in unison, earning themselves scowls from their respective roommates.
“—but on the other hand, Itaru-san’s coat is really really cool! Lots of fans are saying he looks super handsome and chic and classy, so maybe if I wore something like that I’d become popular with the ladies too!”
Yuki sniffs. “You’d look like you’re wearing your dad’s clothes if you wore a coat that long. It only works for Mr. Desperately Needs To Touch Grass because he’s tall.”
“Ehh? B—but it’s still not too late for me to have a growth spurt, right?”
“You’re going to be 20 this year.”
“Maybe I’m just a really late bloomer?”
Having solved his Rubik’s cube for the sixth time during the span of that conversation, Banri chimes in, “I helped Sakuya pick out his jacket when we went to buy five copies of our travel outfits together, so obviously he gets my vote.”
“Mhm!” Sakuya nods vigorously. “Banri-kun’s got great taste, and he knows where to get good stuff for really affordable prices. I was struggling to choose between that jacket and another one that was kinda similar but in blue, and he chose this one ‘cause it matched my eyes and hair.”
“Banri’s got a good eye; you really look adorable in that outfit, Saku,” Azuma says, a knowing smile on his lips.
Hisoka lifts his head from his pillow called Homare’s lap and pops a marshmallow into his mouth. “Citron’s outfit looked comfy to sleep in, so I voted for him.”
“THAT was your criteria for picking the best outfit?!” Homare demands incredulously. He’s shaking with so much outrage over this insult to artistry, Hisoka nearly gets jolted off his lap. “Did you not consider the aesthetics of each individual piece, as well as the entire ensemble as a single cohesive entity? Did the combination of patterns and hues mean nothing to you? The textures and gradients? Good gracious, Hisoka-kun, I would dearly like for you to at least put a tad bit of consideration into the art form known as fashion—”
“Shut up, Arisu, I’m trying to sleep.” Hisoka smushes a cushion into Homare’s face, earning himself some muffled splutters of protest, and shifts to pass out on Itaru’s lap instead.
“I think other than Azuma-san, Banri’s got the best outfit on Side B,” Itaru says, unbothered by the sudden addition of a sleeping man on his lap. “But my desire to see the semi-finals dominated by the Spring Troupe—assuming Sakuya wins the other match on Side A too—outweighs my personal taste, so Tsuzuru got my vote.”
“You fuckin’ for real, Itaru-san?!” Banri demands, while Tsuzuru just sighs and mutters, “Is there anyone who actually likes my outfit for what it is, or am I just meant to be the butt of every NPC joke in here?”
“I—I voted for you, Tsuzuru-san!” Muku pipes up.
Tsuzuru glances at Kazunari’s laptop screen, where in real time his vote count ticks up by 1.2 percent, and turns back to Muku. “Did you already vote for me beforehand, or did you do it a second ago out of pity?”
The wilting of Muku’s head tells everyone what they need to know about that.
Five minutes left until round two ends. To increase the sense of drama, Kazunari shuts down all his devices—except his phone, which he casts to the TV and subjects them to his never-ending stock of Tiktoks. 
Having grown bored of his Rubik’s cube, Banri pads over to the kitchen to grab a drink and burn holes in the floor there instead. On the other hand, Itaru—assured of his own victory—reclines against Citron’s shoulder and continues grinding away at some event or another, while Citron makes encouraging noises at him. 
Omi, who’s already accepted his loss, joins Banri in the kitchen to prepare dinner. He figures Kazunari is probably hungry and mildly dehydrated from doing nothing but watching the polls all day, so he should prepare an easy-to-digest dinner with lots of vegetables and fibres to help get Kazunari’s bowels moving so as to avoid a repeat of the Great Kazunari Miyoshi Constipation Incident (no one likes remembering the Great Kazunari Miyoshi Constipation Incident).
Similar to Omi, Tasuku has also accepted his fate and decides to pour Azuma a victory drink in advance. The two clink their glasses together and knock back their shots.
Five, four, three, two—
One.
“It’s over!” Kazunari announces.
The sounds of a glass slamming down on the counter and house slippers meeting their rather violent end against a shelf echo through the kitchen, followed by a shout of “Hey, careful, I’m holding a knife!” But it falls on deaf ears as Banri’s socks squeak on the floorboards, and the man himself stumbles into the lounge, his eyes wide and chest heaving.
“RESULTS?!” he demands, sliding on his knees all the way to the TV—only to spectacularly fall over onto his face when he spots a K-pop fancam playing on loop. “What the fuck—where’s the polls?!”
“Hold on, Setzer, just oneeee more loop—okay, done!” Kazunari switches from the fancam to Tumblr and hits the ‘Banri vs Homare vs Tsuzuru’ link. “Oh. Uh, about that…”
Citron tackles Tsuzuru into a hug. “Many congratulations, Tsuzuru! You are moving on to the semi-finals!”
Banri freezes, unable to comprehend the 34.5 percent beside his name—and the 37.9 percent beside Tsuzuru’s. “I… I lost?”
Azami winces in pity. “If it makes you feel better, you only lost by—” He pauses and does the math on his phone calculator. “—six votes.”
Considering that Banri Settsu was singularly and objectively the most insufferable person ever when he first joined the company and is still the main source of headaches for some of its members (chiefly, Sakyo and Juza), the way his entire demeanour droops like a kicked puppy abandoned in the rain does a pretty damn good job at eliciting pity from the others. Even Juza can’t help but feel bad for him.
“I—it’s okay, Ban-chan!” Taichi says cautiously. “It was only six votes! That’s better than an absolute sweep, right?”
But Banri doesn’t seem to hear him, or even register his presence. His eyes are hollow, vacant of life, as though denying reality would make him numb to the ache of defeat buried deep in his chest like a thorn. “B—but that was one of my best looks. That, and my autumn outfit, and look what became of THAT one too. What… what is my reason for going on if I can never make it past round two in any of these categories?”
Something about those words rub Juza the wrong way. Before his brain catches up to what his body is doing, he finds himself by Banri’s side, giving his head a light swat. “Oi, don’t go givin’ up already. So what if you lost this time? There’s still five more categories. If you wanna fight me in this tournament so badly then lose the shitty attitude and face me like a man, Settsu.”
Juza’s words seem to do the trick. Like he had new life breathed into him, Banri’s eyes light up with fresh determination, and he straightens his back to sneer at his rival. “Like hell I need your useless ass tellin’ me that crap. I know that, dipshit.”
“The hell were you whinin’ about just now, then?”
“Just needed some time to process the news, that’s all, fuck off.” Taking a deep breath, Banri turns to Tsuzuru and sticks out a hand. “Congrats on the W, Tsuzuru-san. Sorry for calling your fashion sense mid just now.”
Tsuzuru accepts the handshake. “It’s fine, I’m used to it at this point.”
“Since you beat me, you’d better win the next one too, got it? I’m rootin’ for both you and Sakuya in this.”
“I’ll do my best, but…” Tsuzuru looks at the TV screen, which is currently displaying the demolition of Tasuku at Azuma’s hands with a difference of over 30 percent in their votes. “Yeah, as I thought, it’s gonna be a tough fight…”
“And Side A?” Citron prompts. “Who are the winners?”
“Well, it’s probs obvious but the first match was a total Itaroon sweep! As for the other one…” Kazunari taps on his screen. Like a bulb, his entire expression lights up, and he pulls Sakuya into a fierce bone-crushing hug. “AAAAH! SAKU-SAKUUUU!”
“K—Kazunari-san! Can’t… breathe…!”
“SAKU-SAKUUUUU!!!”
“AIR!”
With a roll of his eyes, Yuki takes Kazunari’s discarded phone and scrolls through the results. “Huh. It was a pretty close shave of two votes. Congrats on the win, Sakuya.”
What little can be seen of Sakuya’s oxygen-deprived face hidden behind Kazunari’s shoulder brightens. “I won?”
Chikage nods. “Sure did. It was a hard-earned victory; you did well.”
“Hang on…” Taichi says slowly, and everyone can practically see the gears in his head working overtime. “If the winners of round two are Azuma-san, Itaru-san, Tsuzuru-san, and Sakkun… that means both the Summer and Autumn Troupes are completely out of the running!”
“Considering the Spring Troupe hadn’t been doing too well previously—not even making top three in our troupe’s namesake category, leaving Sakuya alone to take us to the top three in the autumn category, and relying on Chigasaki of all people to take second place for us in the rehearsal category—this is quite the impressive turnaround. This means we’re pretty much guaranteed at least two spots in the top three. It just depends on who makes it…” Like a scene straight from an anime, Chikage’s glasses suddenly reflect a sinister sheen from who knows where. “…and whether it’s two out of three or three out of three spots we take.”
Awoken by the sudden influx of malevolent energy in the room, Hisoka lifts his head and levels Chikage with a frown. “Chikage. Stop giving Azuma that scary look.”
“GG, Sakuya,” Itaru says, patting Sakuya’s head. “Looks like the next round’s gonna be a father-son showdown. Dunno what’s going on over at Side B, though. GILF Swag versus Just Some Guy, I guess?”
Tsuzuru’s shoulders droop. “I’m never beating the background character allegations, am I?”
“Don’t be so disheartened, Tsuzuru, I think your outfit has plenty of charm,” Azuma says reassuringly. “Here, a drink to celebrate your hard-earned victory, and to a good and fun match tomorrow on both sides.”
Tsuzuru nods and lifts his glass, as do Sakuya with his mug of warm milk and Itaru with his phone since he doesn’t have a drink. “To a good and fun match tomorrow on both sides!”
———
PART 2
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moonstruck-writing · 1 year
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Title: Sheltered Winter Pairing: Tsuzuru Minagi x reader | A3! Rating: Teen C/Ws: gender-neutral reader, domestic fluff, established relationship, flustered Tsuzuru, Christmas fluff, they all enjoy teasing Tsuzuru Requested by @emilycollins00 <;3 Summary: Christmas arrives right after Tsuzuru and you have started dating, and Kazunari decides it’s the best time to invite you to spend time at Mankai – without Tsuzuroon knowing. Word count: 3k A/N: I hope you can enjoy this as a belated present for Reyes, Emi! I had a lot of fun writing this and I hope you have just as much fun (if not more) reading it <3
Also, Christmas is used here in a general way, it doesn’t have to be the 25th.
Fog clung to the walls of buildings, blurring the skyline of the city. It was cold, but it was a good type of cold. It was Christmas, when it seems that winter isn’t so harsh, and the lights accentuate the beauty of the season. You tried to snuggle further into the scarf around your neck, but it wasn’t enough. Even then, the thought of your destination kept you warm somehow.
You were going to see Tsuzuru. And not just that, but you were going to spend Christmas with him. It felt like a dream, and you felt giddy and excited. It hadn’t passed that much time since you had last seen each other but seeing him in those circumstances felt extra special. Specifically, because you had only begun dating recently. That contributed to the feeling of walking inside a dream. You couldn’t quite believe it, but you knew that soon it would all feel real. The wide smile that spread on your face couldn’t be covered by the scarf.
Receiving the invitation to spend Christmas at Mankai had surprised you, since it came from Kazunari, but you hadn’t thought much about it. You had known him for a long time since you had friends in common, but it hadn’t been until you went to see one of the plays he starred in, that you met Tsuzuru. For some reason, Kazunari had insisted on introducing you and your friends to all the members of Mankai that were present, and that’s when you found out Tsuzuru wasn’t just an actor, but that he wrote the scripts for the plays too. You chatted with him a bit, and soon enough you two connected through your passion for writing and reading. It could’ve been a one-time thing, meeting a kindred spirit and then parting, but it was not. Tsuzuru texted you the title of a book he had mentioned to you – thanks to Kazunari for being the bridge that once again connected you, this time technologically – and you entered Tsuzuru’s world.
And that world came with every single member of Mankai.
You had spent countless times backstage, congratulating the troupe on their plays, and Tsuzuru on the script. You had even spent evenings at the dorms, hanging out with Kazunari and some of the others. But now, it was different.
Now you were spending time at Mankai as Tsuzuru’s partner. Not just a friend, but so much more.
As you approached the dorms, you wondered if you should text Tsuzuru or simply ring the bell. You weren’t sure who would open it, and as much as you wanted to think you were on good terms with many of his fellow actors, you still weren’t as comfortable as you would’ve liked. So you opted for the safer option.
<Tsuzu, I’m at the door.>
It wasn’t long until a message popped on your screen.
<What door?>
You looked around, trying to figure out if there was supposed to be more than one door to the dorms, even if you had always gotten inside through the one you were standing on.
<The entrance door?>
<You’re at the dorms?>
<Yes, I was coming today, don’t you remember?>
You saw his status change from typing to online and then change again. It made your stomach act up.
Meanwhile, Tsuzuru seemed to have started an impromptu gymnastics session. He jumped from the chair he was sitting on, typed and deleted a million questions, and ultimately decided to rush to the bathroom to check his appearance before opening the door.
He had no idea why you were there, but couldn’t bring himself to ask in the end. Had it been his mistake? Had you two made plans beforehand? Because of the way you had phrased it, it didn’t seem you had simply decided to surprise him.
He combed his hair a few times and straightened his hoodie, and then the butterflies appeared. He was going to see you. You were there.
When he opened the door, you greeted him with a smile and a shiver.
“I’m so sorry, you must be so cold, come in quickly.” He instinctively reached for your arm, pulling you inside. The contact lit a fire inside you, melting the cold that was biting at your skin.
“So, what were you doing?” You asked while taking off your shoes.
“Oh, just seeing what new plays were happing around. Fieldwork.” He put his hands inside his hoodie’s pocket and looked at you from behind.
“You want to go see some plays?”
“Yeah, I figured I can also study scriptwriting by seeing the actual performances, not just reading scripts and books.” He shrugged, even if you couldn’t see it. “Want to come with?”
You turned around and flashed him a wide smile. Tsuzuru couldn’t even hear your answer from the waves your reaction had created in him.
“Ah! You’re here!” Kazunari’s voice echoed in the entrance.
Tsuzuru turned around, facing Kazunari. It didn’t take long for him to put two and two together. Tsuzuru sighed, unable to do anything else. But instead of feeling defeated by Kazunari’s ideas, he felt grateful. You were here now.
“You can leave your things in Tsuzuroon’s room.” Kazunari addressed you. “You haven’t seen it yet if I’m not mistaken. And I’m sure you’re extra hyped for it.”
“Hey!” Tsuzuru couldn’t help but grumble. His room was a mess and there was no way he wanted you to see that. Kazunari should’ve given him a heads-up at least!
“Honestly, I do want to see your room.” You looked at Tsuzuru, standing up and finally properly entering the dorms. He didn’t really have any other options. Tsuzuru sighed again, closing his eyes.
“Okay, but just give me a couple of minutes.”
“Ohh, is there something you want to hide, Tsuzuroon?”
The glare Tsuzuru shot him petrified Kazunari. It wasn’t the first time he joked around with him, but it was the first time he saw him reacting in such a way.
“I’ll keep y/n company until you come back, so no need to worry!”
“That’s exactly what I’m worried about.”
You laughed and Tsuzuru’s face seemed to soften a little.
“I’ll come back quickly.” He searched for any signs of discomfort in your eyes, but he only found calmness. Once he disappeared down the corridor, you sat down on the sofa next to Kazunari.
“So it was your idea.” You looked at Kazunari, and he quickly understood what you meant.
“I wanted to WOW Tsuzuroon. You know the word vacay doesn’t really exist in his vocabulary.” There was nothing you could say to that, even if you knew he could’ve gone about other ways with the plan. “And you haven’t been here in a while.”
“Yeah, since before we started dating,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him. “Have you missed m—”
“You’re dating?” Kazunari interrupted you, chuckling to himself. “Man, I did all this to bring you closer!” He leaned further into the sofa, bringing his hands behind his head. “You didn’t need my help at all, did ya?”
You felt a needle pinching at your stomach. It had only been recently that you two started going out together, that’s why…
“I should’ve picked up on the clues, though. Tsuzuroon has been casually mentioning you every now and then.” Kazunari’s words calmed down the dark spiral that had begun forming in your head. “He also–”
“Okay,” Tsuzuru’s voice could be heard from the corridor. “You can come now.”
“We’ll leave this convo for another time.” Kazunari winked at you, and you giggled. He had managed to distract you and now you were more relaxed than before. You were glad you had a friend like him.
You quickly followed Tsuzuru to his room, glad that you hadn’t taken off your coat yet. You could see your breath as you crossed the courtyard. He turned around a couple of times while walking you there, and you exchanged smiles. You felt giddy.
“Masumi isn’t here now, so you can relax.” He said while closing the door after you.
You remembered him from the plays.
“He’s away visiting his family for the holidays?” You asked while removing your coat and scarf. Tsuzuru promptly took them from you and placed them on top of his coats on the hanger on his side of the room.
“He’s out with Izumi and some of the other guys that haven’t gone back home.” You started casually looking around the room and walked closer to his desk to see the books that were piling up there. There, something surprised you.
“You printed this picture!” You pointed at the photograph hanging from his wall, among quotes from plays and novels.
It was a picture of you two, smiling bashfully at the camera. It had been the first selfie you had taken together, and it showed. But you adored that picture.
“Yeah,” Tsuzuru bridged the distance between you two. “Omi was going to print some photographs and I asked him to print this one for me.” Tsuzuru stared at the picture in an attempt to calm his nerves. Having you in his room was doing things to him. Then, his eyes accidentally roamed over his shelves. “Oh! I need to give you your gift.” He picked up a package wrapped in gift wrapping from above. “I can’t believe I almost forgot.” He giggled, and you felt the urge to hug him. Even if you hadn’t talked about it, you two had bought a gift for the other. You felt comforted by the connection that action proved.
Tsuzuru offered the gift to you, and you two sat down on his bed. It was heavy and sturdy like a book, and you didn’t waste any time, quickly tearing the paper.
“What!” You gasped without peeling your eyes from the cover. “It’s the book adaptation of that series!” You looked at Tsuzuru, surprise, awe and confusion all mixing on your face.
“You looked so happy talking about that series, that I thought…” He smiled looking into your eyes.
“I love it!” You hugged him impulsively, trying to show your emotions. He hugged you back, the book you were holding with one hand still between you. “Ah! I also have something for you.” You let go of him, put down the book and went to your coat, searching the pockets. “Here.” You walked back to the bed, offering him the small gift.
He smiled widely, unable to contain his joy. When he finally ripped the paper and opened the small box, his smile widened even more.
“Wow, I—” he looked at you, speechless.
“Do you like it?”
“Of course I do! It’s wonderful.” He looked back at the box in his hands, containing the bracelet you had chosen. It was a thin chain with a small metallic quill. “Can you put it on for me?” You took it from the box, and he pulled his sleeve back, offering you his wrist. When you finished tying it for him, he quickly interlaced his fingers with yours, preventing you from pulling away. “Thank you.”
“I’m glad you like it. I thought it could maybe offer you some support while you write.” You squeezed his hand, emphasizing your point. “And I love your gift, I can’t wait to start reading it.”
“I’m glad.” Tsuzuru’s features softened, and you felt his fingertips running over your knuckles. “Although I don’t want you going home any time soon, so that’ll have to wait.” A playful smile appeared on his lips, and you slowly leaned forward until you were only a few inches apart. He also leaned in, and you joined in a sweet peck.
A kiss that was soon interrupted by the loud sound of furniture being dragged around in another room. It startled you and you pulled away. Embarrassed by your reaction, you looked away, trying to hide your expression from Tsuzuru.
“Are you hungry? I can make us something quick to eat.” He left the box and torn wrapping paper to the side and stood up, tugging your hand.
“Oh, I’m fine, thank you.” You looked at him again.
“Let’s get something to drink, then.”
You stood up and made to let go of his hand, but he didn’t. He kept holding your hand while leaving his room, walking down the corridor to the kitchen. It made you nervous, shy and excited all at once, but more than anything it filled your heart with warmth.
“Oh, hello there.” When you reached the kitchen, a voice greeted you.
“Azuma, I thought you said work got busier during this season.” Tsuzuru looked slightly taken aback.
“Is that your way of telling me I’m not welcome?” He giggled, looking at your intertwined hands. “And who is the kindred soul?”
You had seen Azuma before in the Winter Troupe’s plays, but you had never actually spoken to him, so you quickly introduced yourself.
“Nice to meet you. I hope to be seeing you around here more often.” He gave you a smooth smile, and you wondered how many people had succumbed to that charm.
“I can make us some milkshakes if you want?” Tsuzuru let go of your hand and turned around to face you, to gain back some of the privacy that had been lost due to Azuma’s presence.
“I see you’re trying to show off here.” But his presence wasn’t something that could be forgotten so easily.
“Wha—, no, I’m not!” Tsuzuru quickly looked over at you. “Okay, maybe a little bit…” He owned up to it, surprising you.
“Nothing to be ashamed of, Tsuzuru.” He continued teasing, finding enjoyment in seeing how nervous the usually stoic writer could get. “I can also see why this is the first time I’ve met y/n. You don’t want anyone else taking them away from you, huh?”
“Azuma!” Tsuzuru blushed furiously. He felt humiliated and uncool, exactly the opposite of what he wanted to show you. He only dared to look at you for a second, in which meeting your intense gaze didn’t help to calm him down. To try to distract himself, Tsuzuru went to the cupboards and started taking out a couple of mugs. “I can make us some hot chocolate or coffee or something.”
“I’d love a hot chocolate, but it hasn’t been that long since I had lunch,” you hesitated out loud.
“How about making it a milkshake?”
“Make it three,” Azuma quickly added.
“What were you in the kitchen for?” Tsuzuru sighed, suggesting that he should make his own drink, but he still took out another mug from the cupboard.
“You make a great reluctant big brother, Tsuzuru.” Azuma observed him with a placid smile. You decided to move away to not be a bother to Tsuzuru and sat down next to Azuma. “Do you have siblings, y/n?”
That’s how the questions started – where did you met each other, did you see their plays, what was your favourite – while Tsuzuru worked on making the best milkshakes he remembered from one of his part-time jobs. You started feeling comfortable and wondered if there would be more days like this one in the future. Days where you spend time with Tsuzuru at home, and time seems to slow down.
After giving the whipped cream on top the final touch with some ground cinnamon, he handed you the beverages and sat down. You were all savoring your drinks when Azuma decided to stop drinking.
“What do you like about Tsuzuru?”
Sitting beside you, he seemed to choke on the milkshake and coughed a couple of times.
“Enough!” He was still whipping his mouth with a napkin when he reprimanded Azuma.
“Okay, okay, I’m leaving.” He raised his hands in momentary defeat, then took the mug and stood up. “Y/n can tell you alone.” Azuma winked, finally getting out of the kitchen. Tsuzuru sighed, wanting to dig a hole to get inside. First Kazunari and now Azuma… things weren’t going how he would’ve wanted them to. You hadn’t been dating for long, and he worried that he could do something to make you lose interest. He felt extremely clumsy and out of practice – when was the last time he had tried to impress anyone?
Maybe when he had written the first play for Mankai? But what he wanted to show you went far beyond that. He didn’t want you to just think of him as a good enough scriptwriter – he wanted so much more. And it was scary.
You slurped the last drops of your drink and the sound brought Tsuzuru back to reality.
“This was soooo good.” You licked your lips mindlessly, trying to get every last drop of flavor you could. “To be honest, I am impressed.”
He felt a flush of heat travel from his chest to his face. He eyed the hand you had rested on top of the table and moved his hand closer until your pinkies were touching. But before he could do something else, another person entered the kitchen.
“Oh, hello y/n, it’s been a while.” Tsumugi was carrying the watering can in one hand. He needed to use the sink since the hose in the back garden wasn’t working properly at that moment.
“How are the plants doing?” You had spoken to him when Kazunari and Tsuzuru first invited you to the dorms. Kazunari had insisted on giving you a tour of the place, and you had found him gardening.
“They’re doing well, but I see now it’s a shame I didn’t plant any mistletoe,” Tsumugi said while looking between you and Tsuzuru. “Although I am sure you don’t need it.”
That’s all it took for the both of you to get flustered. Tsumugi finished filling the watering can and turned the tap off, seemingly oblivious to the state he was going to leave you in.
“Feel free to visit the garden any time,” he said as a goodbye. When he left, you finally felt you could breathe again. Was it so obvious now that you were dating?
“Sorry about that, they’re all really… an interesting bunch.” Tsuzuru took the chance to take your hand between his.
“Yeah, I kind of had an inkling they’d be like that, Tsuzu.” You saw the worried look in his eyes and tried to reassure him. You were actually having a lot of fun being there with him.
“Hearing you say my name like that… makes me all warm and fuzzy.” The blush that had spread over his cheeks after Tsumugi’s comment intensified now, filling your heart with love.
You leaned your head on Tsuzuru’s shoulder and allowed him to play with the hand he had between his. Meanwhile, you basked in his heat.
Maybe some other resident of Mankai would come soon to interrupt you, but for now, that moment was yours.
.
.
.
I hope you enjoyed this, interactions and constructive feedback are highly appreciated <3
Masterlist | AO3
Please do NOT repost. Reblogging is okay! Characters belong to their rightful owners, the plot and content here belongs to @moonstruck-writing
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natsu-tte-noodle · 1 year
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Lounge Chronicles - 5:08 AM
(This is something I’ve been writing on and off whenever I get super hit by writer’s block--I thought it might be fun to post it in snippets here before uploading the whole thing to AO3 once it’s done :D enjoy)
Tsuzuru poured his third cup of coffee and plugged his laptop into the wall of the lounge.  Damn outlet on his side of the room for needing to be fixed.  Damn Masumi for wanting a working light in their room.  Damn humidifier, taking up the last available plug in his room when he had a paper due by the end of the day and a laptop battery in desperate need of replacing.
He could only praise the heavens that today was Sunday, and it was Summer and Winter using the practice rooms today, and his current part time job was closed for renovations.  It was a once-in-a-blue-moon day that Tsuzuru didn’t have 800 other obligations to attend to.  He was grateful to be able to completely waste it on this 8,000 word essay.
At this hour, there wasn’t a soul awake in the dorms; not even Itaru stayed up this late if there wasn’t an event with one of his absolute favorite characters, and from what Tsuzuru could gather none were currently running.  Briefly, he glanced at his phone, wondering if he should check out Pocket Kniroun for the first time in almost a year.  Ultimately, though, he decided he had to at least get started before he started falling for distractions.
For once, he had actually just woken up, opting to get up incredibly early instead of staying up incredibly late.  Of course, that didn’t mean he hadn’t stayed up pretty late anyway, hence the third cup of coffee already, but.  Small improvements.
Copy-pasting the cover page format from a previous essay for the same class, he quickly adjusted the information to fit the new assignment, typed out “INSERT TITLE HERE,” and punched the enter key until the cursor moved down to page 2.  Time to write.
…tiiiime to write.
…any day now.
Tsuzuru buried his face in his arms, muffling his groan so as to not wake anyone.
Well, he supposed it wasn’t a code red situation yet.  He still had, what.  18 hours and 46 minutes before this thing was due?  He could spare a little bit of time wasting.  Maybe a mental workout to get his brain juices working.  (He made a mental note to never say “brain juices” again.)
He opened a new word document and started drafting out a backstory for the guy who sweeps the steps in Nocturnality.
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desikauwa · 8 months
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Posting day 2 a bit early!
Today's chosen prompt is broken pieces and the ship is Sakuya/Taichi/Tenma
(Warning: there is angst ahead)
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chigasakism · 2 years
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[ID: Image in the A3! game home screen style with written summary: The Mankai Company's in full swing now, but a lot seems to be going on with Chikage lately. Itaru doesn't know what he's planning; Chikage doesn't know how much Itaru knows. And neither will ask.]
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haru-desune · 2 years
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A3! Fic: Worm’s Eye View
Rating: T
Relationships: Banri & Masumi (Platonic), Juban, SakuMasu
Warnings: None
Tags: Friendship, Pre-Relationship. Swearing, Existential Crisis, Developing Relationship, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Light Angst, Fluff, Hana High Boys, Everyone is suffering except for Sakuya but like it's fine, No Beta We Die Like August, Settsu Banri Swears A Lot, Settsu Banri is a Little Shit, Settsu Banri is Emotionally Aware and Hating Every Second of It
Summary: Step 1: Lie on the floor in a fit of existential angst. Step 2: ?????? Step 3: Profit.
Read it on AO3
Fic Below Cut
A/N - Other ships mentioned: Tasuku/Tsumugi, Azami/Kumon, Sakyo/Izumi, Chikage/Itaru Me, writing a fic that isn't fuyu-centric? It's more likely than you think. This one was just called "Banri and Masumi lie on the floor" in my notes and ended up completely different than how I imagined. Basically a response to waking up with a big case of the sads for most of this week. I've literally never written for any of these guys before so uh... hope it's good! It's also a slightly different style for me, so let me know what you think. You are not immune to the Hana High Boys Headcannons.
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Banri woke up to an alarm blaring his in ear and a dull emptiness in his chest for the fourth time that week. Banri rolled over and went back to sleep. Banri woke up to his roommate stumbling around the room, trying to get dressed in the dark. He let his heavy eyelids pull themselves closed and pretended not to hear Juza's quiet mumble of “shit, shit, sorry” or feel him check for a fever before leaving. Banri woke up thirsty as fuck, and stayed in bed another 15 minutes before slowly levering himself out of bed, determined to grab a glass a water and return to his blanket cocoon. Which is how he found himself near the courtyard door, facing a dilemma. So here's the thing. It wasn't particularly unusual to find Masumi sleeping in unusual places. He and Hisoka had a nasty habit of curling up in some unassuming corner until an unsuspecting troupe member tripped over them. But lying flat on the floor of the common area, headphones around his neck, glaring unfocused at the ceiling was weird even for him. Banri blinked, debated stepping over him to get to the kitchen, then sighed. “You good, dude?”
“Ugh.”
“Cool, cool. What're you doing?” The glare shifted towards him, despite its owner not moving an inch physically. Banri very carefully did not wince. “Okay, stupid question, fair enough. Why are you doing -” He gestured vaguely in Masumi's direction, “that?”
“… Just one of those days.” Well damn. It really was just one of those days, huh? “Mind if I join you?” A shrug. Well, it was the best he was going to get, he supposed. He lay down next to his junior. From this distance, he could hear the tinny beats of some unidentifiable song pulse from the headphones. The weight in his skin shifted and slid and sunk into something more bearable. “You're not usually like this” he said, conversationally. “Mind your own business.” The reply wasn't unexpected, but it wasn't nearly as scathing as it could have been. They lay there in silence for what seemed both hours and minutes. Banri let his eyes find patterns in the dips and cracks in the ceiling, slowly letting his breath even out into something that wasn't suffocating. “I think there's something wrong with me.” The sudden break in the quiet snapped him out of his daze. Shit. He'd sort of forgotten Masumi was there. He bit back a smart ass comment. He didn't have the energy for a fight. Something that sounded a lot like Sakyo laughing tickled the back of his mind at the thought. “What do you mean?” He asked instead, making the valiant effort and great sacrifice of rolling over on his side to face the other boy. Masumi was still staring resolutely at the ceiling, tips of his ears red. “Never mind”. “Nope, you started this man, talk it out.” Unfortunately, three years at Mankai had made him like, 'emotionally aware' or whatever. Gross. There was a solid three minutes where Banri was certain Masumi was just going to ignore him. Then - “Have you ever made something such a big part of yourself that you don't know what to do when it's gone? Or if it becomes… something different?” Banri thinks about a grayscale life blooming into color under the spotlight. About cracked ribs and cold golden eyes transforming into petty jabs, triumphant smiles and heads bent together over the pages of a script, the fire of rivalry still burning bright but at times softening into – he immediately slams the brakes on that train of thought. He does not need that confusing mess of feelings today, thanks. “Is this about Izumi-chan?” he asked instead, steering his focus back to safer waters. Masumi made a frustrated noise. “Yes. No. I don't know!” “Ah.” “Yeah.” Banri let the seconds tick by. “So, are you gonna elaborate or?” Masumi turned his head to glare at him, and he grinned. “I mean, are your feelings gone, or did they change?” The reply came without a split second's hesitation. “I still love her.” “Pog.” “I don't know what that means.” “Itaru-san is your dad, I refuse to believe that.” Masumi blushed and averted his eyes, making him cackle. The other boy rolled his eyes, still red-cheeked. “I still love her.” he said again, instead of acknowledging that Banri was 100% correct, as always. He decided to cut the kid a break. “I'm sensing there's a 'but' here.” “Yesterday I passed by the bakery near campus that sells curry buns and my first thought wasn't whether I could grab some for her, but that Sakuya would probably like the seasonal cherry blossom mochi.” Banri did snap to attention at that. “Okay, I see where you're coming from, but one incident doesn't mean anything. She can't be at the forefront of your mind all the time, logically.” “But she is!” Masumi snapped, “She always has been!” then in a much smaller voice, “And it wasn't just the one time.” “Oh?” “A few days ago she went to the amusement park with Muku and I didn't think anything of it until they already left. And last week I passed up a chance to go grocery shopping with her to go to the movies with you and Sakuya. Last month I forgot to send her a good night DM twice and-” Masumi made another frustrated sound, tangling his hands in his hair. Banri reached to catch them, lowering them before he could start pulling in earnest. It was an unconscious move, this de-escalation, picked up in high school from the rare occasions the normally unflappable student was going through it. He sighed. This would have been a lot easier in high school. Sakuya was way better at handling Masumi than he was. “Fuck man.” Masumi made a small noise of agreement, sounding so lost that it made Banri's skin itch. “But you still love her.” He reminded him. “Of course. She's still the reason I'm here. She's still the reason I act.” Ah. That was it then. Banri regretfully decided to give up on the lying down thing and sit up, cross-legged. It was good while it lasted, but this was more important. “Okay, look, I'm not an expert on all this love crap, okay. But like… you know there are different ways to love people, right? Like, it doesn't always have to be with marriage or dating or whatever in mind. She can still be your muse, even if the way she inspires you has changed.” Masumi finally turned to look at him at that, face painted in disbelief and a little indignation. Banri sighed. “Just… just trust me on this, 'kay?” He said, ruthlessly squashing down the memory of calloused and scarred hands carefully pressing against his forehead just that morning with a gentless that was both unexpected and yet somehow perfectly fitting at the same time. Masumi blinked at him, before a look of understanding washed over his face, and Banri had the horrific realization that he'd very clearly shown his hand. They stared at each other for what, to him, felt like hours as a cold sweat ran down his back. And then Masumi, the fucking brat, had the gall to snort at him. “Oh my god, just tell him you like him, you coward.” “Hey! I just poured my heart out to you, and this is the thanks I get?” “Lame.” “Listen here, you little shit!” “Shut up, you're too loud.” And with that, Masumi turned over, but not fast enough to hide the small smile playing on his lips. Banri was left gaping disbelievingly at his back, a small bubble of laughter struggling to escape his throat at the stupidity of the whole situation. Before long, he was doubled over, clutching his stomach. Masumi's shoulders began to shake, and soon even he was on his back again, coming as close to guffawing as Banri had ever seen him. “You guys look like you're feeling better! I'm glad!” Banri's head snapped up to see Sakuya at the entryway, Juza hovering awkwardly behind him. Masumi raised himself on his elbows, and nodded like he hadn't been just as surprised by the interruption, the liar. Banri snuck a glance at Juza, only to find him looking back. He flushed, but refused to buckle so easily. “Welcome back.” Juza's eyes skittered away. “I'm back.” he said gruffly, and Banri was absolutely counting it a win, despite the warmth filling his chest at such a simple phrase. Masumi rolled his eyes next to him, and Banri reached over to shove him without looking over. Sakuya at least had the decency to look a little sheepish for startling them. “Sorry, for the interruption.” “You weren't interrupting” said Masumi, picking himself up with a baleful glare at Banri, who very maturely didn't stick his tongue out at him. “Oh good!” Sakuya gave them a grin and Banri had to resist the urge to shield his eyes, “Oh yeah, Masumi-kun, thank you for the mochi, I had it during my break today.” Masumi made a noncommittal noise, which anyone else would find disheartening. Sakuya just grinned a little wider, and Masumi's glare softened just a little, and Banri came to a sudden realization. He'd seen that look on Tasuku around Tsumugi, Azami around Kumon, Sakyo around Izumi, and, most disturbingly, Chikage around Itaru. “How come you're walking home with Hyodo?” he asked instead of saying anything about whatever the hell was going on next to him, because contrary to popular belief, he did in fact know when to keep his mouth shut. Take that Sakyo. “We happened to run into each other. We thought we'd go back out for milkshakes in a bit, though. Would you like to join?” “Yeah, I'm in. Masumi?” “Ah, Masumi-kun was probably waiting for Izumi-san, right?” “No, I'll come.” “Really? That's great!” Oh good god, this was hell. He should win the Fleur Award for not screaming through this interaction. If he wasn't 98% sure that Masumi himself didn't know what was going on here, Banri would absolutely be getting him back for that coward comment earlier. Instead, he just had to sit here and be the bigger person and watch this idiot watch Sakuya head off towards his room with a stupid (tiny) smile on his face. Finally, Masumi turned to him, smile slipping into a frown. “What?” “Nothing.” he replied through gritted teeth. “Weirdo.” Banri deserved the Nobel Peace Prize for putting up with this shit. Masumi, completely ignorant to the deep personal sacrifices Banri was making on his behalf, pushed himself to his feet. He paused for just a second, not turning. “Thanks” he said quietly, and headed towards the courtyard himself without waiting for a response. “You're welcome!” Banri shouted back anyway, just to watch him cringe. “What was that about?” Oh yeah. Juza was still here. With him. Alone. After their weird, whatever that had just happened. Good thing Banri was getting really good at ignoring the dancing purple elephants in the room. “We were on the floor.” “Okay?” “Yeah.” “Why?” “Just one of those days.” “Oh. That makes sense, I guess.” For some reason, Banri believed him. They stayed like that, Juza at the door, Banri on the floor, unsure what to do next. Somehow, He was loath to even try to get up. Juza shuffled his feet, hunching into himself in the way he did when he wasn't sure how he was going to be received. It was an act of self-deprication that always made Banri unreasonably angry, though he was never sure at whom. “What?” he snapped. Juza frowned. “I uh… got you this. In case you weren't feeling better or whatever. You don't have to take it but, uh yeah.” he said, pulling a can of lemon tea from his bag and thrusting it toward him. Banri felt all the anger drain from him at the sight. He never did get that water, did he? A burst of laughter that overtook him for the second time before he could stop it. Juza's frown deepened. “Well fuck fox-face, if you didn't want it, you could just say so.” he said, unable to mask the hurt in his voice. “No, no, I'm not- it's not you, you stupid daikon.” He said in between giggles, “I'm just, really, really thirsty.” Juza stared at him like he'd grown a second head. “You're laughing because… you're thirsty?” “Yeah.” “Alright, that's weird even for you.” “Shut up and give me the tea.” “Yeah, yeah” said Juza, finally moving away from the door and walking towards him. But instead of handing him the tea and walking off like Banri had expected, he offered him a hand up. Banri raised an eyebrow, because they didn't do that, they never did that. Juza flushed. “We gotta get ready to go, and you take enough time without you sitting on your ass drinking tea.” He said, not meeting his eyes, “You can walk and drink at the same time.” “Oh fuck you.” Banri replied, without any real heat, “At least I make an effort beyond throwing on a t-shirt and calling it a day.” He reached out and grabbed the hand in front of him anyway, resisting the urge to hold on a little longer than necessary. Juza passed him the tea as they headed towards their room, and he cracked it open immediately, taking a big gulp. It was a little too sweet, but not too bad. He risked a sideways glance, and almost choked, a little blindsided by the way the evening sun highlighted the sharpness of Juza's face.
They can still be your muse even if the way they inspire you has changed, huh? Oh man he was fucked. Juza turned to check why he'd stopped walking, and he shook himeslf out of his revere, walking briskly to catch up. “Thanks.” He said, nudging the other boy in the ribs gently. “You're welcome.” He responded, wide-eyed, and cleared his throat awkwardly. “Are you, uh, feeling better?” Was he? He had been able to ignore the gray tinge to the day between Masumi's existential crisis and… whatever this was. And god this was weird they never did this, but… Banri was willing to admit at least to himself that this was the kind of weird he wouldn't mind experiencing more often. The emptiness wasn't gone completely, but at least he felt a little more… like him. “Yeah, a little, I guess.” “Good. That's uh, good.” Juza offered him a tentative smile. “Yeah.” Their knuckles brushed against each other a little when they walked, and Banri let himself be warm.
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A/N-  Masumi, bursting into room 104 two months later: I think I'm in love with Sakuya! Banri, looking him dead in the eye: JuSt TeLl HiM yOu LiKe HiM YoU cOwArD Juza walks in to find Masumi trying to smother him with a pillow while he cackles like a madman, and decides to spend the evening in Kumon's room instead.
If you don't follow the stage plays, you might not know that Banri has an entire solo song about Juza called Muse from one of the autumn plays and uh… YEAH.
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hajimariwaquartet · 4 months
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"if you're sad this is a sign to draw your two biggest comfort characters as the steven meme." thank you twitter user g4teway31
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knight-a3 · 2 years
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I doodled some moments from Wisdom Fangs (you can read it on Ao3, I don't trust tumblr with links).
To start, this is Hunter after going to the dentist.
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Flapjack demands to be released. Then Darius gets punched in the face.
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Bonus
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everwisp · 9 months
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he’s getting ready for that bday SSR drip next year ✨
[ref]
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lcs-library · 11 months
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Sakuya bolted out of bed, his eyelids snapping open.
His heart racing, he looked around in the darkness, trying to search for any form of familiarity before realizing he was home.
Sighing, he patted his body with his clammy hands to check for any damage before lying down to try going back to sleep.
That was, until a familiar, though sleepy, voice called out to him.
“Sakuya?” Citron whispered, beginning to sit up.
“I’m fine.” Sakuya replied, trying to keep his voice hushed and a smile on his face. The comment was mostly reassurance for himself, anyway.
Yet somehow, Citron saw through it.
“Are you sure about that?” This time, Citron’s voice came out laced with gentle sympathy, the tone feeling familiar on his lips.
Sakuya didn’t have time to even think of a reply before his body came up with one for him. His eyes welled with tears, and he wordlessly crawled over the partition into Citron’s bed.
“Sakuya’s a liar.”
Citron gave him a kind smile, opening the covers for him to come in.
Again, as if he were possessed by a being starved for comfort, Sakuya complied, allowing Citron to drape them both in the soft warmth of the blankets.
“Would you like to talk of it?”
“Mm-mm.” Sakuya shook his head, attempting to hide the wetness beginning to pool on his cheeks.
“Okay.”
With that, Citron reached up to comb his fingers through Sakuya’s hair, each stroke more tender than the last. Each movement felt familiar to him, as it was the same way he used to comfort Tangerine when he came to him like this.
Sakuya closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on his roommate’s hands running along the back of his head in an attempt to fall asleep.
Sadly, it only made things worse.
The softness and familial nature of the touch just added an extra loop to the emotional roller coaster he had taken a trip on. The tears only continued to spill over as Citron made soft shushing noises in an attempt to calm him.
This continued until the soft near-silence was broken by Citron’s whispers.
“Have I told the tale of the lion and the leopard?”
Sakuya shook his head, looking up at a blurry Citron.
“Ah, it is one of the tales I was raised with, so I will tell you. Once in a time…”
The entire time Citron told his fairytale, he held Sakuya close, continuing to stroke his hair; pushing his bangs out of his face, carding through the hair in back of his head, and generally running his fingers all over his head. He dried some tears, managed to get a wet-sounding giggle out of Sakuya, and soon enough, lulled him to sleep.
Once he was sure his child was asleep, Citron’s grin grew just a little wider as his eyes softened.
“Good night, Saku,” he whispered, “sweetest of dreams.”
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hqissodelicate · 9 months
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what died didn’t stay dead [fic]
i threatened to do it, and i did: 1.8k words of azami reflecting on his memories of his mother, on how much he looks like her, and his journey in his life, as he and kumon visit her grave bc it's her death anniversary. it's established azakyu set in the future when azami is like 23 (and kumon is 25). it's not azakyu-centric BUT their relationship plays an important role in helping azami process his thoughts and feelings, if that is anything. cross-posted on ao3 here, enjoy! @emilycollins00 you wanted to see it so hi <3
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A familiar silence stretches languidly between Azami and Kumon in the car, save for the sounds of the engine under them and Kumon humming some old school anime’s opening theme. It’s a soft comforting sort of white noise, the right backdrop for the million and one thoughts racing through Azami’s mind. Kumon keeps his eyes on the road ahead, while Azami gazes out the window, the bouquet of flowers sitting heavy on his lap.
His eyes flick to his reflection in the side mirror before looking away. As the years go by, it has gotten easier to look at his reflection. Most days, anyway. Today is not one such day, not when it’s the day she left the world. But at least there are days when it’s bearable. 
Growing up, he never knew how to feel about everyone telling him how much he looked like his mother. How he walked around essentially wearing a smaller version of her face. Every single detail about his appearance, he’d inherited from her—the aquamarine shade of his eyes, their almond shape framed with thick dark eyelashes, his snow fair complexion, his black hair, the smooth sharp edges of his face, the structure of his nose and lips. Hell, even his height—now standing at 183 cm tall thanks to a growth spurt in his final year of high school—was from her. His father is a short stout man, but his mother was a statuesque stunner who—if she were still here—would have just been slightly shorter than him. Apparently when he was a toddler, his father had joked that if he’d really inherited all his mother’s good looks, they wouldn’t have to worry about finding a bride for him; he’d have girls queuing up around the block begging to be his wife.
(Funny how life turned out, considering it’s his now five-year boyfriend sitting in the driver’s seat.)
But those jokes turned to cold empty dinner times and lonely nights fiddling with his Jin-Gi-Oh cards by himself. Even Sakyo, who was more of a father to him than the chairman had ever been, couldn’t always be with him since he did have other work to attend to. Not that his birth father had been particularly present in his life even before her death, but the chasm only seemed to widen after that. It was like his father couldn’t stand to see his face. Little Azami didn’t understand back then—he just figured his father hated him and blamed him for his wife’s death, blamed him for not being able to save her with that magic brush—but he thinks he gets it now. How would he feel if he saw what was essentially a smaller version of Kumon toddling around when Kumon himself and his silly goofy grin were no longer around? Would he be happy that there was still proof of his beloved with him, or would he want to tear that boy apart for constantly reminding him of the aching gap in his heart—and then himself for doing that to a child so pure and beautiful? Whenever he and his father got into a row, how did his father feel, having the eyes of his dead wife that once gazed at him with love and adoration, now glaring at him with pure vitriol and rage? 
Azami doesn’t remember much of his mother. He can’t help but wonder if that is a blessing or a curse. Perhaps it once upon a time helped shield his younger self from having to confront a pain too large for too small a person to bear. But now, all he has are blurry memories of putting blush and powder on a face that slowly grew more gaunt and pale every day—to the point that no amount of blush could hide just how close to death’s door she was. It was just a farce, all of it; a way to deny the inevitable, not even delay it, because as beautiful as it can be, makeup is all superficial at the end of the day. It can’t change what’s on the inside; it couldn’t bring his mother back to life.
“Hey, you okay?” Kumon asks softly, breaking Azami out of his thoughts. One hand remains on the wheel, while the other lands on Azami’s thigh.
Azami doesn’t mind the contact. He has long since outgrown his “no premarital hand-holding” phase, and he finds Kumon’s touch to be a gentle steady shore that his occasional waves of uncertainty and doubt can always return to. Lacing his fingers through Kumon’s, he replies, “Just thinking about her.”
In contrast to his usual loud talkative self, Kumon remains silent and accepts Azami’s words as they crash out in broken stilted sentences, in awkward hesitations between phrases as he tries to find the right words to pack his complicated, messy feelings into. Words and feelings—they have never been his strong suit, but in Kumon’s easy acceptance he finds the strength to try.
Kumon gives him a sidelong glance and a small, bittersweet smile. “Yeah, of course it wouldn’t bring her back to life. The world would be so broken if makeup was capable of that, like talk about OP, right?”
Azami snorts. Figures that’s the first thing his dork of a boyfriend would say.
“But… I think you made her happy. And I think that made all the difference to her. And now look at you, Mr Top Makeup Artist on Veludo Way. You’re making so many other people happy with your magic brush.”
It made all the difference to her. 
Silence lapses between them once more as the grey of the road whizzes by them. Azami turns those seven words over and over in his head, frontwords, backwards, inside-out, wishing he could go back eighteen years and tell the little boy in the too-big funeral parlour: that small hand gripping that brush made all the difference to her.
They arrive at the graveyard, and Kumon parks. Their hands bridge the gap between themselves as they make their way to Mrs Izumida’s grave. It’s obviously not Azami’s first time being here, and neither is it their first time going together, but it’s still comforting to know Kumon is right there by his side. It doesn’t really get any less painful, but it does get easier knowing now he’s not alone in facing it.
They stop at the familiar tombstone, and Azami gently lets go of Kumon’s hand. Kumon murmurs something like “I’ll be there if you need me” before stepping back, likely to give him some privacy. Azami nods, unsure if he can find his voice now. He scans the name engraved on the grey stone—Misen Izumida—as if needing to make sure it’s real. How silly. It’s been real all these eighteen years; it wouldn’t suddenly become unreal now.
He drops down on one knee and reverently places the bouquet of flowers in front of the tombstone. A moment of hesitation, then he reaches into his coat pocket and brings out a makeup brush. Not just any makeup brush—the brush. His first ever makeup brush, which she once used before handing it down to him to make her beautiful. It has definitely seen better days. The bristles are thinned out, and no matter how hard he’s tried there’s still some residual powder stuck in between. Not to mention the brand logo on the handle has long since faded away with the erosion of time. He doesn’t use it anymore, not when he has newer and better brushes. But while he doesn’t think he’s much of a sentimental person, he can’t bear to throw this one out—it would be like ripping off a limb.
He almost puts the brush down to rest with the flowers, as a tribute of sorts to her. A thank-you, because that brush—filled with love from a mother to her son who would continue growing and finding himself out of her periphery, and with love to his mother from a son who didn’t quite understand what the gauntness in her face meant but knew he wanted to do something about it—took him on a journey from the hospital to his home, out on the streets, to Mankai Company, to one of the most prestigious beauty educational institutes in the country, and now all over Japan in various studios and theatres as far as his name has spread. Now, it should be right that it makes its final stop here with its original owner.
But his hand wavers, and it hits him: he’s never had to make her beautiful, because she had always been beautiful. The proof of it is in his reflection. And sure, call him arrogant if you wish for calling himself beautiful. But he knows beauty when he sees it—and more importantly, it would be just as much of an insult to her as it would be to him to think of himself as anything less than stunning. She was always beautiful; his beautiful, gentle, loving mother who always had a smile dappled in sunshine and words wrapped in warm affection for him no matter how ill she was. And when she could no longer put into words her appreciation for him applying pink blush on her too-pale cheeks, the love in her smile would more than make up for it.
She wouldn’t want this as a tribute, he realises. What she would want is for him to take that special brush and make magic happen for many, many others, the same magic that brought so much light and love to her in her final days. The same brush that had made all the difference to her.
And, he realises, it did for him too. That one magic brush is the reason why he is who he is today. If he hadn’t happened to see her applying makeup that day in the hospital as she waited for her husband to visit her, if he hadn’t gotten curious about it, what would have become of him now? The new chairman of the Ginsenkai family probably, because that was all that Azami would’ve known. 
But this Azami has gotten to see more of the world, has travelled to many different worlds via the stage, all because he had seen his mother putting on makeup. It was just a fun little thing to do back then, before he really understood it all, but it changed the whole trajectory of his life. Even though she rests beyond where he can see for now, she has not stayed dead. She’s still alive, in the memories that the brush holds, in his reflection gazing back at him. 
And that has made all the difference to him.
Tilting his head up to the wide blue sky above him, he pockets his brush, where she would want it to be. Once he’s sure the tears won’t fall—not that there’s anyone else around to judge him, and he knows Kumon won’t—he lowers his head to the grave, and then even lower, envisioning that she’s still in front of him in all her grace and beauty.
“Thank you, Mom. Thank you for being my first ever model.”
——
meaning behind Azami’s mom’s name: according to this website, Misen means: “From Japanese 美 (mi) meaning "beautiful" combined with 仙 (sen) meaning "immortal, transcendent, celestial being, fairy". Other kanji combinations are also possible.” it fit with my vision for this fic that even though she’s dead, her beauty and legacy still lives on with azami as it has transcended the boundaries of life and death
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moonstruck-writing · 1 year
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The International Club's party [Omi Fushimi x reader]
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Pairing: Omi Fushimi x gn!reader | A3! Rating: Teen C/Ws: light platonic angst, romantic fluff, friends to lovers, reader is Omi’s university classmate Summary: You made plans to go to the International Club’s university party, but your friends cancel at the last minute. Luckily, Omi kindly offers to go with you. Word count: 3.4k A/N: I got the inspiration from this post I saw about Omi being good at English, so my thanks go to op <3 Set during Year 2
You breathed in and out slowly, trying to hold back a yawn. It was the last lesson for the day, and then you had a meet-up to look forward to in the evening. You could do that.
Bzzz.
You felt your phone vibrate under your table and cursed mentally. Quickly, you went to put it on silent mode and checked the notification that had made it buzz.
   Sorry but I won’t be able to make it today :/
You closed your eyes, now less sleepy than ever. You should’ve seen it coming, really. It always happened like that in your group of friends. Whenever someone cancelled plans, it was a matter of hours before everyone else deserted too. The problem was, you couldn’t just cancel that plan, not when you had already promised the International Club that you’d be there for sure. And what was more, you had promised them you would bring somebody else to the party with you, too.
   Guys, I already signed us up for tonight! Is there no way you can at least come for a bit? 🗸🗸
You heard the professor coughing and turned your screen off. What had been once a class you couldn’t wait to leave, was now a class you didn’t want to finish. Not when you knew once your friends said no, there was no changing their plans.
But alas, the lesson came to an end. You took your stuff and joined some of your classmates on your way to the exit.
“Finally, the weekend!”
“You have any plans?” Omi asked the classmate he was closest to.
“Yeah, I have to work but there is this friend of a friend that I’ll be meeting too.” He showed a cocky smile.
‘’Oh, a blind date?”
“Yes.”
“I’m so jealous,” you interrupted. “You’re here going on hot dates while my friends have completely ditched me today.”
“Aw, what were you going to do?” They refocused their attention on you, moving aside so you could go down the stairs with them.
“We were going to the International Club’s new event. Well, I’m still going, since I was the one who signed us up for it. I cannot say no now.” You sighed, focusing on not missing any steps. The last thing you needed was tripping and tumbling down the stairs. Or maybe that was exactly what you should do, so you could have an excuse to not go to the party.
“What’s the event about?” Omi asked, interrupting your thoughts.
“It’s a get-together in English. There will be some students from different English-speaking countries, and we’ll chat and play games in English. Like a cultural exchange event.”
“You can speak English well?” Your classmates looked at you in disbelief.
“Yeah, that was my second option for university, if I didn’t get into our program.” You finally arrived at the ground floor and turned around to look at them.
“Wow, I can’t relate at all. I always hated languages at school. But Omi, you’re good at it, aren’t you?”
“Well, I sometimes help the guys at our dorm with their English homework.” He simply shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. You still remembered how when you first met Omi, you thought that humbleness was fake, but now you could see it was painfully true.
“Like a tutor or something?”
“There is a designated tutor, but yeah, I guess I do the same whenever he isn’t available.” He chuckled lightly.
“So you would enjoy going to this International party, then?” Your classmate eyed both of you as if he had just come up with the solution to all your problems. Omi smiled tensely when he saw your reaction.
“That would actually save me. I promised the Club I’d bring at least one other person. And I’d love to have someone I know there.” You waited for an answer, but you could see Omi was hesitating. As much as the idea of him going with you was a miracle, you didn’t want to force him to do anything just because someone else had stood you up. “But it’s… you don’t have to. You’re not my stupid friends who ditch me every now and then.”
“Yeah, I can’t believe they ditched you. I wouldn’t do it. And… it’s been a while since the last time I made last-minute plans,” he said, nodding.
“So you’re in?” You couldn’t believe it, but you restrained yourself before you bounced up and down. You didn’t want to pressure him, knowing how accommodating Omi was.
“If there is enough time for me to go back to the dorms? I am on cooking duty today and I’m not sure someone else will be free,” he said while looking at his watch
“Yeah, sure. The party doesn’t start until 7 pm.” You anxiously bit your lip, waiting for his answer. You couldn’t believe how the events had unfolded. From going with your friends, to going alone with Omi… you felt your stomach churning. Being around Omi at university was one thing, when it was always in a group of people. But meeting with him for the first time outside of campus… you gulped down, forcing yourself to act as usual.
“Cool. I’ll see you there then?”
“Yeah, I’ll send you all the details in a message.” You waved at each other and also said goodbye to your classmate, going in different directions.
___
Your steps echoed as you walked as fast as you could without running. You weren’t late, but you weren’t early either. You cursed mentally as you remembered how if you hadn’t decided to get changed for the third time, you wouldn’t be in a situation like that.
Then, Omi came into view.
He was wearing a button-up shirt, and for a second there you felt completely underdressed. But it wasn’t his clothes, really. They were casual, perfect for an informal and friendly party like this one. It was the fact that he had also changed clothes, and that you were seeing him for the first time outside of the university campus, alone. And it felt too much like a date, except it wasn’t one.
You still didn’t really understand how this turn of events had happened, but you weren’t about to complain. Not even when you felt sweaty as you approached him at the exit of the station.
“Hey,” Omi greeted you with a small wave.
It wasn’t a long walk to the venue they had rented for the party, but you still had thought it better to go together instead of meeting directly at the place.
“I hope my English isn’t too rusty,” Omi casually joked while glancing at you.
“Oh, don’t worry. It’s not about speaking perfectly, but about welcoming and doing something for the other students. And learning a thing or two about their countries.” You offered him a reassuring smile. You weren’t about to let him run off now that he was there with you. “Plus, everyone will be speaking fluently once we start drinking.”
“There’ll be alcohol?”
“You don’t have to drink if you don’t want to, but yes. That’s the main reason why they had to find someplace outside of campus.”
“Good thing today is Friday,” Omi laughed and the sound made you melt. You had forgotten how much you really liked his laugh and everything that came from him. But you soon recollected yourself. You had to keep yourself in check tonight, especially when Omi was being as charming as usual, which meant extremely. You had to find someone at the party to distract you from showing your feelings too much. You didn’t want to scare him away and make him misinterpret your intentions. You were there together as friends, after all.
When you reached the venue, you greeted the hosts and found out some people had also cancelled last minute. Even then, there were quite a few students, both international and national, and there were plenty of snacks and drinks.
Soon enough you started doing some rounds of introductions in English, and you were glad to find out everyone seemed quite friendly and relaxed. And Omi, being humble, had completely misjudged his own ability in English. You had to admit it was impressive and hot. You were so surprised that you had forgotten you weren’t supposed to stare at him so much.
“Your accent is pretty sexy.” Those words startled you out of your haze, and you looked to your side. You vaguely remembered this person’s introduction, but before you could think of anything to reply, Omi moved to stand closer to you.
“Oh, I didn’t know accents could be sexy. What about mine then?” His tone of voice was relaxed, even chirpy, but it nevertheless sent a clear message that they didn’t fail to catch. As the person left, Omi sighed, running his fingers through his short hair.
“Sorry I butted in. Just… let me know if you want me to go hang out somewhere else.” He looked at you apologetically, and it took everything in you not to shoot your hand out and cling to his shirt. You didn’t do it, of course, but he also never left your side. You were grateful for it, especially as time passed by and you started playing drinking games. You really wanted to see Omi being drunk, although you had a hunch that it wouldn’t be so easy to see.
And you’d soon regret having felt so hyper about it.
“Truth or dare!” One of the hosts screamed as the bottle stopped spinning. It pointed clearly in your direction.
Clearing your thoughts, you wondered if you even had an option. You weren’t about to let them order you to do something weird – you could still hear the faint coughing of the guy that had to eat cinnamon a few turns ago.
“Truth.”
“Is there anyone you want to kiss at this party?”
Of course, it had to be a question like that. You were glad it wasn’t anything even more personal.
“Yes.” You tried to say it confidently like it didn’t matter because it was only a game. But your voice came out too breathy to not reveal your embarrassment.
“Who is it?”
“Only one question per turn!” Someone else shouted.
You sighed with relief when they offered you the bottle to spin around for the next person. Your mind was too busy to think of a proper question or dare, so you went with the typical ‘tell us your most embarrassing story.’ Some people complained that was too soft, but fortunately, the person you asked was a great storyteller and soon enough everyone was absorbed in their story.
Everyone but you.
What had pushed you to tell the truth? Of course, it was a game of truth or dare, and by the rules, you should always tell the truth, but even then… What would you do if the bottle spun again and landed on you? You already knew they’d ask who it was. And this time, there was no way you could lie. What would happen if you told the truth?
You glanced at Omi, who was sitting next to you. He was looking at his phone with a frown, and just a second later, he got up and placed the device next to his ear. Was it some sort of emergency?
You tried to refocus your attention on the game, but when a few minutes passed and Omi was still not coming back, you started worrying something bad had happened, so you decided to get up and search for him. Everyone was too excited to pay attention to you, so you easily slipped away from the circle and the room, into the hallway, where you found him still speaking on the phone, now with a less bothered expression on his face.
It wasn’t long till he noticed you and offered you a surprised smile. He quickly shut the conversation and hang up.
“Shouldn’t you be inside the party?” Omi asked approaching you. You simply shrugged your shoulders. “You may lose your chance with that guy. And I won’t take responsibility for it twice.” He joked, but you wanted to laugh for completely different reasons. He thought that random person who had started speaking with you had caught your attention?
“For the record… I didn’t want to kiss that guy.”
“Huh?”
“When they asked me if there was someone I wanted to kiss there, and I said yes… I didn’t mean them.” If there was anything you knew, it was that you didn’t want Omi to believe you had a crush on anyone else.
“Oh. Oh. So someone else caught your eye? So they didn’t even stand a chance.” He laughed and rubbed his neck, visibly uncomfortable. You bit your lip to contain a smile. Yes, no one at the party stood a chance against Omi, but sadly, his thoughts were the opposite at that exact moment. “And who was the lucky one?”
“I also talked with the person,” you ventured, trying to redirect his attention in an attempt to find out the difference in Omi’s mannerisms, how he expressed his discomfort, how he really felt about you, and whether he was simply curious, embarrassed or annoyed.
“Oh. When? I didn’t see you talk much to anyone in particular.” His expression suddenly changed to a serious one, his gaze fixated on you.
“Well, I did.” You wanted to laugh. He probably meant he hadn’t seen anyone else flirting with you, but you had talked with several people. That made you confident that you could just tease him and hide your real feelings. Except, Omi’s humility played tricks on you.
“When? I was next to you for the most part. Unless you mean me.” He chuckled, showing that it was a joke. You felt adrenaline rush through your body, but there was nothing you could do now, so you didn’t deny it. You didn’t want to deny it. The silence between you two stretched for a while as if he was waiting for your reaction. When you couldn’t hold his gaze anymore, something clicked inside him. “You mean ME?!” Omi looked around, realizing he had spoken too loudly. The hallway was mostly empty, but one of the people there turned to look at you with curiosity. When he made sure no one was paying attention to you two anymore, he looked back at you.
“I had a really good time today, Omi. Thank you, you turned what seemed like a disaster into memories I am glad to have.” You smiled at him, not wanting to make things awkward. “I think I should leave now.” You started walking away, unsure if you were making a mistake, but you really didn’t know how to solve that situation.
“Wait!” He rubbed his neck again, but now his discomfort felt slightly different. “You can’t just… throw that bomb and run off.”
“Okay?” You weren’t sure if that meant he felt the same way or not.
“We can walk to the station together?” He suggested, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
You agreed, and after saying goodbye to the hosts of the party, you left. It was slightly chillier than before, the Autumn breeze moving the treetops on the street.
“I am glad I came,” Omi said, breaking the silence. “We haven’t… gone out much together since we were first years, but I really enjoy your company.” He glanced at you, offering a short smile. “We should hang out more.”
“Yeah, I’d love that.” You sighed, unsure whether he really meant it or if it was one of those promises that came from politeness. You knew Omi was a nice guy, so he probably didn’t want to make things awkward between you two. “I guess I have to thank my friends for ditching me this time, otherwise you wouldn’t have come with me.”
“I guess I also have to thank them, then.” Omi laughed softly, compelling you to look at him. “I’ll also have to think of a plan for next time, since it was you who invited me this time.”
Was that… a date? No, you couldn’t let yourself get carried away and misunderstand him like that. It was just…him expressing interest? Omi Fushimi was saying he’d plan the next time you hang out? The guy you had liked since the first day of university, but that you had given up on after seeing how popular he was and how full his hands were not just with classes but also with acting, was now saying he wanted to spend time with you like that?
“Um, sure! I look forward to it.” You hoped your voice hadn’t trembled there. You had been bold enough to hint at your feelings for him because you genuinely thought you had no chance, but he’d be nice enough to ignore it. That, and the alcohol – it gave you courage and hope that in the worst-case scenario, maybe you wouldn’t even remember it, or you could always play it off as a joke. And now, it was way better than a joke.
“Great. I’ll have to make sure not to disappoint you.” Omi smiled again, and this time you felt the air between you two relaxing.
“I think that’s impossible,” you blurted out before you could register the words. It seemed, today you just couldn’t control your mouth.
“Thank you.” Omi laughed; his cheeks tinted a faint pink.
Fortunately, the entrance to the station was near. You felt conflicted because you didn’t want that day to end, but at the same time, you didn’t trust your mouth anymore. It was already a miracle that Omi didn’t think you were embarrassing yourself.
“Could you wait here a second?” Omi suddenly interrupted your thoughts, and you stopped in the middle of the road. He jogged to a nearby vending machine and searched his pockets for change. When he came back to where you were standing, he handed you a water bottle. “Here.”
“Why?” You were slightly confused by that sudden act of generosity.
“Well, we both had something to drink and now you have to go back home alone.”
So, he thought it would help you sober up a bit more just in case.
“You’re saying I am acting completely drunk now?” You feigned being bothered to tease him.
“No! You’re not! I’m just worried, that’s all.” He shook his hands in front of you, wanting to reassure you. “Our stops are in opposite directions, but I can-”
“Omi, it’s fine. I’m fine. Thank you for the water.” You opened it and started drinking. “See? You don’t have to worry.”
He smiled awkwardly, and under the faint lights of the streetlamps, you saw his cheeks were still pink.
“You are a really responsible drunkard, you know?” You said, believing that was a symptom of the alcohol he had consumed. “Here, you should drink some, too.”
He accepted the bottle and took a few gulps before giving it back to you.
“Oh, no, you can keep it. I think you need it more than I do,” you said. It seemed that he was becoming more flushed the more time passed.
“I thought… you wanted to…” he trailed off, looking away from you, but still holding out the bottle for you to take it.
“I wanted to?”
“…indirectly,” he whispered, confusing you further. Maybe he really had a low alcohol tolerance? You hadn’t seen him drink that much. Seeing your confusion, Omi decided to speak up. “I thought you wanted to kiss me indirectly, so this would…”
His words made you blush violently, finally comprehending the meaning behind his words. You took the bottle from him, your heart beating madly.
“I’ll see you at university,” you said, wanting to run away. You started walking again, getting inside the station before he could follow you, and preparing your pass. He rushed inside.
“Text me when you get home,” Omi said to your back. You didn’t dare look back, but you waved your hand just in case.
--
You:      I just got home. 🗸🗸
  I hope you arrived home without any problems too. 🗸🗸
Omi:      I still have a few stations left.
  maybe I’ll use the time to start planning for our date.
  any places you want to go to?
  wait, don’t tell me. I want to surprise you :)
You squealed and sunk your face into your pillow, feeling giddy. It would be a date.
.
.
.
I hope you enjoyed this, interactions and constructive feedback are appreciated <3
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Please do NOT repost. Reblogging is okay! Characters belong to their rightful owners, the plot and content here belongs to @moonstruck-writing
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stelmao · 1 year
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of covens and magicians is really great u guys should read it
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desikauwa · 7 months
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I've done it! I've finished A3! rarepair week 2023. Today's final ship is bansakuten!
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chigasakism · 8 months
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[ID: Image in the A3! game home screen style with written summary: Sakyo's developed a few bad habits. These may or may not involve listening to a certain gamer's streams on the regular.]
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