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#i like to imagine them (in a normal timeline) being able to gaze into the future where June doesn't tadpole Gortash and being horrified

torhues · 2 years

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iwaizumi hajime.

iwaizumi made it clear when you broke up with him— that you wouldn't get together— as if it wasn't an unspoken rule already. you weren't so sure of his words but, pride had your conscience in its hands and you agreed, saying you wouldn't even think about doing that.

now you're sitting in a fancy cake shop in Florence, with iwaizumi in front of you. the last time you saw him was in highschool, when you broke up with him on the way to airport, when he said the two of you would be just fine even in a long distance relationship, when you said it was hard for you, when he asked whether you trust him, and when you said you do but it had started to shake.

the last time you saw him was around five years ago, see you don't even remember the timeline. you've been keeping a blurry image of him walking away as a souvenir for your eyes failed to give you a clearer look back then.

the orders are sitting on the table but you don't care enough to tend to them. on other days, you would take a picture— multiple pictures— send it to your friends, post it on your social media account if you feel like it, make it another insignificant moment of your life saved in the gallery. on other days, you would enjoy the dessert but today, the pear sauce on vanilla bread seems to reduce your appetite.

"i can't believe we're meeting all the way here, in Italy," albeit, he seems to enjoy his cake.

you imagined meeting him in California or Japan, or somewhere in Canada, at most, since he always wanted to visit the country, especially during fall, and coincidently, you've enrolled in the fall course for post-graduate studies, at some university. not Italy, not in the middle of your vacation that was supposed to be some sort of self-sobriety programme.

you nod. "me neither,"

and then he starts talking about college, what he has been up to recently, directing the same questions to you while you do your best to give a brief response. it isn't the timing that is making you feel out of place but instead, it's how normal iwaizumi is. you don't expect an argument, not an iwaizumi who can never forget you for your impromptu breakup and, neither the one who would ask you to get back together because living without you feels like hell,

like diving deep into the ocean without oxygen.

you don't want to have a melodramatic conversation but, you don't want him to act like you didn't leave him with loose ends, as if you didn't hurt him when all he ever did was make you happy. you want him to hate you, to utter all the words along the lines of love and loathe, to tell you that he loved you and still did, that it was so hard to move on and every breath pierced like glass shards in the heart, that he spent nights crying while reading your texts knowing you'd never come back and when he has been doing better finally, you appear in his life like nothing ever happened, and drag him back to step one. you want him to tell you things that resonate with the yearning you have for him in his heart, desperately beautiful yet painful, so that you don't have to ask yourself over and over again, am i the only one who still feels this way?

"how's life?" you ask this once, instead of letting him ask all the questions that you don't have a definite answer to.

iwaizumi pauses, he takes a breath, a look out of the glass windows, your eyes follow his gaze, there's a soft smile on his face.

iwaizumi lifts up his fingers. "i'm engaged," he's engaged. "and it'd be appreciated if you could make it to the wedding next month," and he's inviting you to his wedding next month.

he continues about how suddenly things happened and how sorry he is for not being able to invite you to the engagement; you don't mind any of it, quite frankly. you didn't even expect him to do that after changing your number. that's not what you're worried about, that is not even the worst part.

iwaizumi is engaged.

the sixteen year old boy who told you that he'd marry you the moment you both turn eighteen, the eighteen year old guy who promised to stay by your side— one who shared his firsts with you and swore to make you his last— is engaged. your heart is racing at a thousand miles per second, and for all the wrong reasons.

now that you notice, his smile has gotten wider, and he's talking about the girl he met in college and how she makes him feel like the happiest person ever. you notice the way he still fiddles with his fingers while talking about someone or something that he adores, the way he says those words with eyes that seem like they would never run out of love to give. the sunset shines upon him, he looks exactly the way he did on your first date.

do you smile the same way at her?

you know, you're in no place to complain, for you were the one to leave him when he begged you to say. it's not that you don't want him to move on in life, you said he deserved someone better the day you broke up, it still rings in your head as a reminder of your biggest mistake. you want to happy for him but, something about him moving on and you being stuck in the same place leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

"yn," he calls your name, you respond by shifting your eyes in his direction. "are you listening?" you are, albeit, you don't know how much you're processing.

you're picturing them together, doing everything you did with him; holding hands, going on dates, kissing, hugging, sleeping next to each other, movie nights that felt ever so intimate— you imagine her sharing every little memory but one that's a better version. you feel as if yo—

"if i ask you to get back with me, would you?" you ask, letting the words you've been suppressing for so long flow like water in a stream, one that could potentially flood everything around.

"yn, i'm engaged—"

"i mean, had you not been engaged and had i asked you to get back together," you clarify, "would you have agreed?"

there's a pause, a series of silence, strings of regret, traces of shared memories from the past that fill the little gaps in the air like blood in sinusoids. you remember your first fight with iwaizumi, and you want to know what he's thinking. it's not like you can tell, you forgot how to do that long ago. iwaizumi rarely ever looks disappointed or upset enough to give you a silent treatment. for a second, you think it's that, but it turns out you're wrong.

he doesn't look sad or angry, not disappointed at your question considering he's about to get married. instead, iwaizumi looks like he's hurting. as if he has waited for long, hoping to catch a glance of you somewhere even if it's in middle of a crowd because it's fine, that works. he can always reach you out amidst a crowd. iwaizumi looks like he doesn't have a definite answer to your question, but he is telling you that it's your fault.

a second passes and his phone rings. your eyes fall upon the caller ID, it's a name with a heart, you think it's her. it has to be, because iwaizumi, without sparing you a second glance, stands up, and puts on his coat, ready to leave. the little hope of getting an answer to that question goes off the moment he picks up his phone, or maybe even before that, because it doesn't look like iwaizumi has an answer to that.

but he stops. "no," he says.

and you realise, to him, you're the memory he buried deep in his mind while to you, iwaizumi is the air you struggle to breathe.

#♡ hues'.#♡ handmade.#iwaizumi x reader #haikyuu x reader #iwaizumi hajime #haikyuu #haikyuu fic #iwaizumi fic #haikyuu angst #iwaizumi angst #haikyuu drabbles #iwaizumi drabble #haikyuu headcanons #iwaizumi headcanons #haikyuu iwaizumi #my god what is this .#i swear this sounded better in my head #like rlly

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cybermeep · 2 months

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as to not taint the humor of the millipede post, i say this separately and as its own sort of weird entry thing; today was not all that nice. if you somehow wish to read emotional ramblings then feel free below i suppose. this will all probably be very embarrassing & stupid & gone at a certain point

at first, it seemed to be fine; by all accounts, i felt normal. i was happy, content, neutral, what have you. near the end of first period, i felt a sudden and all encompassing sort of emotional pain which is hard to explain besides a knife in ones gut. i try to shrug it off, go back to normal; i listen to instructions of my teacher before i ask to sit outside. i proceed to bawl my eyes out silently.

and you may ask, WHY? and i ask the exact same thing! i have no clue why i suddenly break down like this, but i do, and its heavy and uncomfortable. i sob out of both guilt and intense emotions unable to be placed anywhere definitively. i sob because i don’t know what else to do, as trying to hold my emotions in has seemingly only made me sick thus far in the day.

i continue to cry for an uncomfortable amount of time i won’t disclose. a teacher who i enjoy greatly sits beside me in the hall; without even having to say the words aloud, i answer him. i talk quietly of things i remember and talk of how upset i feel; not mad upset, but sad upset. he seems confused on what too much of something would be. ive been wondering this for months. he asks if it was possibly seen as something more intimate. i say this could be likely and i feel far worse; i feel awful, actually. he runs off because hes a busy man. i think about our conversation and i feel overwhelmingly distressed. i feel sick. i feel as if ive ruined everything by accidentally implying something different then what i may mean. i dont enjoy the vague way certain events occur. i hate being vague, i hate not being able to read between the lines of things; vagueness scares me to a point of distress and acute worry, which is probably hypocritical.

i have to resort to one of the stupidest things ive imagined in a long time in order to not feel the overwhelming & all encompassing feeling of wanting to [REDACTED]; imagining myself as stanley from the stanley parable and being lectured about how this action would quote make the timeline collapse in on itself or quote ruin the game by the narrator. i can imagine his voice clearly in my mind saying STANLEY, YOU CAN’T SELF-IMMOLATE STANLEY, THAT WOULD RUIN EVERYTHING WE WORKED FOR! something stupid like that. its odd that it helped.

i was fine, although i then proceeded to not be fine. got asked if i was okay. answered truthfully and said no. an acquaintance prompted me to talk about it with her, then simply.. left. had to find the girl she enjoys being with. she said she would find me later and talk about it; i really didn’t want to talk about it. i moved to put on my headphones then realized it was stupid & was already on the verge of tears again at simply the discussion from before & feeling like a circus animal being heavily scrutinized and laughed at under intense gaze. i get to class but i am overwhelmingly unable to do anything but cry.

i get to go to the library, but at the detriment to my friends. i text one and tell her i won’t be at lunch as im dealing with emotional distress and don’t want to quote, be a debbie downer. i am saddened at my actions; i wish i would’ve just went and talked with them, but i also don’t wish that i did because i hate distressing those i care about. i didn’t want to put more on my friends plates. i’d deal with it myself

of course, nothing is ever sound & calm for long; the area which i feel comfortable crying in is overtaken and i move uncomfortably. i am asked if im okay. i lie blatantly to a girl ive known as an acquaintance for years. i feel bad for lying; i don’t want her to worry about me. it wasn’t important, anyway. eventually i regain my composure and get back to class. it ends and i move on; as per usual, my mood fluctuates and i soon find myself worried sick and leaving her classroom.

i stay after although i know the chess club is cancelled for this week. i don’t like the change. its not as if im mad at the change, i just so desperately wanted to believe the days i dealt with before actually still accumulated to something i enjoyed. now the one thing i enjoy is off to not occur for next week, either; giving me very little to look forward to, if anything

i sit in the airlock. i write in my notebook a list of things someone would do before self-immolation. hypothetically, of course. maybe four or five things on it are actually things one would care about. one is to play a DLC, another is to finish a novel; one is to stay in order to see the cicadas arrive & to visit the cemetery in the spring like someone (fine, me!) mentioned weeks back that i wanted to do. its uncomfortable how the novel i enjoyed dearly was not one of the important things on the list.

it takes quite a lot to kill me, i think. kind of like a tick.

i’ll be fine; i always am. i think ive gotten better. im slowly feeling more and more sane again, although the stress puke is still prevalent. as ive lived on, its gone down to a point where i just gag; don’t puke. i enjoy documenting when i do feel things like this, strangely enough. having an archive of my life makes me feel sane. its also interesting to look back on.

thanks if you read this somehow, even after the warning of how stupid it would be. i appreciate you, hypothetical reader. i enjoy your hypothetical quiet company

#cybers tangents

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red-the-ghost · 1 year

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Tomura Shigaraki x Yn (part 1/2)

-this takes place in the season 4 timeline for those wondering!!!!-

You were taking a shower, cleaning yourself up after a mission. For a moment you just stood there, embracing the warmth surrounding you as you reflected on how the day had passed. You hadn’t seen Shigaraki or Dabi all day before or after completing your mission, you knew Dabi didn’t care too much for the whole ‘teamwork’ side of the LOV and apparently Shigaraki had a meeting with this guy ‘Overhaul.’ *what could he possibly want? Apart from being our new leader* your teeth clenched as you began to think of him. You remembered his face all too well, you remember his walk, and you remember the fact he not only took Mr Compress’ arm but also killed Big Sis Magne. Opening your eyes you switch off the water and reach for a towel before lightly drying yourself off and wrapping it around you. Taking a second towel you try to remove as much water from your hair as you could be bothered to before exiting and making your way to your room. After taking a few steps inside you knew he was there.

“Hm?” You say, letting him know you’re aware of his presence, that you’re aware of his very existence. It was funny, you could tell when he entered a room, or if he was behind you or if he wasn’t there at all- this slightly irritated him, it irritated him but also confused him how only you were able to tell where he was. “Bad timing?” Shigaraki croaks, turning away slightly as he watches you walk past to your drawers before pulling out a shirt, some Pyjama bottoms and underwear. “Not at all.” You look in his direction for a brief second before walking towards your bed. Shigaraki stood across from you, leaning against the wall. You double check that your towel is tucked around you- unable to fall down- before placing your shirt over your head then removing the hair now caught under your shirt, Shigaraki turns away and began staring at your drawers to avoid the awkwardness of seeing you as you finish getting dressed. You notice he’s wearing the gloves you bought him, they’re black and only cover two fingers, allowing him to touch things without decaying them, even when he’s in a bad mood. “How’d it go?” You question, now fully dressed and starting to towel dry your hair with the second towel you took. There’s a brief pause before he turns to look at you , “irritating” he began, allowing himself to lift a finger and scratch at his neck for a second. “He wanted you, Kurogiri and a few others for a while.” Your breath hitches for a moment as your eyes narrow, there’s a long pause now. You could tell that Shigaraki wanted to speak again, but wanted a response from you first- unusual as he normally loves talking at people rather than to them. You sit down on your bed and shuffle back a bit to rest your back on your headboard, dropping your towel to the floor forgetting about your slightly damp hair. “When do I go?” You question as you stare into his face, looking for an answer in his expression before he physically gives you one. Instead, he walks a bit closer and sits upon the bottom of your bed. He leans back, still sat up though, and looked towards the ceiling.

You watch as his hair falls down his face, revealing his jawline and facial features more clearly. You allow your eyes to wander around his face, tracing every inch of skin from his nose to his eyes to his lips, your gaze stretches across his jawline, slowly moving down his neck, passing over his bobbing Adam’s apple before reaching the collar of his shirt. You loop around again, glancing at every curve, every line and every feature on his face wishing you could reach out and touch them, or even kiss them. Your mind wanders and despite the conversation you two were just having you start imagining what it would be like to actually kiss him, to plant these kisses across his face before wandering down his neck, listening to whatever noises squeaked out of him. You wonder what he’d say, what he’d do- would he push you away? Yell at you? Call you names? Decay you? Or would he reciprocate? Would he kiss you back, deeply? Passionately? Softly? Would he trace kisses down your neck and where would he put his hands? *what the actual fuck am i thinking* you snap back to reality and you can feel how warm your face is, you shake your head a bit, trying to erase the clear blushing from your cheeks before watching as his head turns to face you, his eyes heavy from stress and lack of sleep, now staring at you. You wonder what he could be thinking, Shigaraki was always a wild card. However, your thoughts are interrupted by the movement of his mouth, “you’re not” he says, his breath shaky and unnerved. You tilt your head a bit to the left, now confused at what he was saying due to your lack of attention.

He sighs, “you’re not going” he begins, “Toga and Twice are instead.” You slightly jolt up a bit, fixing your posture. “What? Why? That’s not fair to put that on them. Just let me go-“ he raises his hand slightly to motion you to stop and let him continue. You weren’t scared of him hurting you because 1-you’ve been working with him for a while and 2-he was wearing his gloves, you thought it coincidental that he always wears them around you.

“It’s already decided” he finishes, allowing his hand to drop back down onto your bed. You watch in silence for a few minutes. “Okay” you say, “But. Why?” He stops looking at you, and looks at your door instead. “Why?” He begins “well, you’re a valuable asset, your quirk is important. Much like Kurogiri’s. We need it, and you. And you work better on missions than they do, I suppose.” You sigh, and look at the wall, “is that it? I’m just a ‘good asset’ to you?” You question, bringing your legs up to your chest and hugging them close. “No.” He replies. You turn your head to find him already staring at you. “No, that’s not it at all” his words rattle inside your brain and you don’t know what to say. You had a sense you ment something to him but you didn’t know what. You watched as, without saying another word, he stood back up and walked out your room, slowly closing the door behind you.

To be continued!

In the second part it will be his confession and maybe a bit spicy >:)

#mha #Shigaraki #Tomura #Tomura Shigaraki #my hero academia #bnha #shigaraki x yn

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kashimos-hajime · 3 years

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the colour yellow | jjk

summary: “You once said love manifests the most twisted curses. I never thought of it that way before, but I’m starting to think you’re right.”

WARNINGS: ANGST!! hanahaki disease but not an au, HOSPITALS, DEATH, DESCRIPTIONS OF DISEASE, UNHEALTHY WEIGHT LOSS, pining, unrequited love, complicated feelings, its just sad. there are some light-hearted moments, and happier/softer aspects in the ending but it is generally sad in the ‘what could have been’ department pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader, past geto suguru x fem!reader, mentions of satosugu word count: 29.9k lmao

a/n: i just needed to get the hanahaki out of my system. it did not work. i took liberties w the timeline because idc about actual jjk canon in this fic thanks.

playlist for this fic

crossposted on ao3 x

Your Innate Technique always gave you a green thumb. Meaning, similarly enough to Yaga, you could plant cursed energy into objects.

Where it deviated, Satoru knows, is the type of object. Plants—trees, leaves, flowers.

Ironic, he thinks numbly as he walks through the hospital. Shoko had told him that at this point it was palliative care until you died—nothing else would work. Cursed energy only fed your sickness, and even her technique could not heal the damage fast enough. Stupid. Idiotic. Cruel.

Cruel. That was the word.

He hadn’t seen it himself but from how his old friend had described it, it could only be cruel.

His footsteps tap along the linoleum floors, urgent, but not too fast. A part of him dreads what he will see—his mind swirls with the possibilities, and of guilt.

Why didn’t he just come sooner? Why did he think it was okay to wait, to dismiss Itadori when he said you’d been checked in for your coughing fits?

“She’s strong. She’ll be fine,” he had said. Itadori’s small frown. “A little feather in her throat isn’t going to knock her down.”

Why? Why? Why? Why did he say that?

Because it had to be serious to put you in the hospital. For fuck’s sake, you were still that teenage girl who stood outside his dorm window in the middle of a thunderstorm to bring Fushiguro a birthday present before you left for a curse expedition a thousand years ago, and the woman who welcomed him into your home unprompted on December 24th, your cheeks dry, lips pressed in a brave smile.

You had held him tight enough he could not see the blood, scrubbed him in a bathtub, ran your fingers through his hair until the sweat and grime was gone. You took care of him because he knows the belief that no one should be left behind to suffer alone has been engrained in you since the day he’s met you.

He should’ve known. A girl abandoned for being cursed had turned into woman with a saviour complex who’d barely even think about telling him you were dying.

Dying, of all things, from a disease no one knows how to cure. And you’re a sorcerer.

He could’ve laughed. The irony is enough to make him smile.

Your room’s in a tiny corner of the hospital, down the hall from a nurse’s station, and as he walks through, he can see the grey sunlight streaming through the window, glaring against his glasses. He lifts them to rub the heel of his hand into his eye.

He doesn’t want you to worry when you see him, and mostly, he needs to stall. His heart is in knots in his chest, and he spots a chair beside the door with your name in the plastic slate, so he sits down. His knees feel gummy and he leans forward, the visitor’s pass clipped to the front of his shirt hanging.

Satoru tugs the glasses off his face, fits his palm over his brow and squeezes his eyes shut. It’s chilling in this dead end, and he swallows tightly. Everything tastes so dry as he looks up and shoves his hand underneath the sanitizer dispenser, rubbing it all over his hands just so he has something to do.

After a few minutes, he gets up and sets a hand on the knob.

It can’t be as bad as he’s imagining. At most, you’re a bit sick, but you’ll still be spritely, warm in the lips and with arms outstretched and, “Satoru, finally!”

He opens the door.

You’re sitting hunched over in bed. Silhouette outlined by the white-grey sunlight from outside your hospital room, you’re trembling as you hold onto a receptacle. An IV is hooked to your arm, a hospital gown is barely hiding anything, and it feels immoral to even look so Satoru doesn’t. Instead, he pauses by the doorframe and closes his eyes for a moment as your gaze flashes to him.

He feels it, to be honest. The heat of your stare until it is wrenched away by a violent cough you instinctually muffle by your palm, blood splattering over your hand, soft, velveteen purple petals falling from your lips and into the receptacle in your lap.

You’re supposed to have a green thumb.

Vines bend to your will if you command it, you can summon forth thorns to impale your opponents, send thick creeping ivy to barricade a doorway. It doesn’t matter if there is no greenery in your immediate area. At the sweep of your hand, the ground could rumble with the sound of trees twisting their gnarled roots into feet to march at your command.

Just as long as they’re within range and you’ve touched them in the past few hours, they’re yours.

So, why can’t you stop this?

Plants are supposed to listen to you, right? As he stares at your shaking body on the bed, curved over the plastic tub, thick globs of bloodied spit drip from your lips and soaked purple blossom petals entwine with your life essence. His heart plummets to his chest. You retch, spit, choke, and every sound stabs him in the chest as he takes a weak step forward, hand stretched out limply.

Your name flutters, barely leaves his lips before you’re looking at him again, a bit of a mortifying image but nonetheless.

Even so, you smile, despite the blood painting your face, the exhaustion morphing your body. You look like you haven’t slept in weeks, and your hands shake around the receptacle. You look battered, bruised along the arms where the needles keeping you filled with antibiotics, medicine you need, had punctured you.

And still, you’re beaming at him. He thinks he’s going to be sick.

“Hi, Satoru.”

His hand falls. Eyes wide, he cannot take another step. You wipe at your lips, tossing the tissue into the trash before pushing the plastic receptacle onto the table and swinging your legs off the bed.

“Don’t—“ he croaks but you don’t listen, sliding your feet into slippers and grabbing your IV stand to take a step towards him. Your knees nearly give in but you stick out a hand before he can rush to catch you. Then, you’re pushing yourself up and walking over to him. It’s more of a shuffle, but Gojo finds he can’t care as you land on his chest, hands pressing into his back.

You’re a bit cold in his arms, and he wraps himself around you, trying to rub the heat back into your skin as you shudder, but your heart is still racing as it always does around him, and you…

You’re the type of person who can shift how the air feels and looks to his Six Eyes with your smile or your tears or your frown, and in that moment, the air bleeds yellow with your joy. It’s so bright in his soul that it makes his heart skip as you shift on your feet against him, hands sliding down so your arms can circle his waist and haul him closer.

“Gojo Satoru turning off his infinity for little ole me,” you murmur, voice raspy, as he closes his eyes, cradling your head. Without another word, he sinks into you. “Talk about the world ending.”

Why didn’t you just call him? Why did you let him stay away for so long? He doesn’t want to ask why it’s happening, or how. He already knows you’ll just lie. But he wants to know if you think so lowly of him that you thought you didn’t matter to him.

After Suguru…

How could you think that? He’s screaming inside his mind as he touches your back, feels the faint protruding ridges along your skin when he pushes down. It makes your spine a bit more pronounced along the knobs, your shoulder blades a bit bumpy, but otherwise, it’s almost normal. One wouldn’t even be able to tell without touching you and actively searching for it. How could you think I don’t care?

This isn’t the work of a cursed spirit, that much he knows. It seems much more seductive, sneaking yet unhurried in its nature. This is agony in effigy. There’s something rotten inside you, but he can’t tell what it is. The energy is everywhere.

You pull back to look up at him with a soft smile, then tap his nose and tell him to join you before turning around and climbing back into bed with energy that betrays your earlier fits. You grab your robe that you’ve left on your bed before getting up again and walking around, shrugging the fabric back onto your shoulders.

He sits down in a visitor’s chair that is still cold.

“It comes and goes,” you explain first with your new, croaky voice, stretching your arms above your head and rubbing your neck. It doesn’t look painful, but you clear your throat a lot to see if it helps. So far, nothing. “So, it’s just like a really bad coughing fit, to be honest.”

“How long has it been going on?” Your hip cracks and you let out a relieved sigh. Satoru arches an eyebrow as you animatedly stretch your face. “What are you doing, silly?”

“It got worse a few weeks ago, enough that Nanami insisted I check myself in around two weeks ago?” you say, after counting on your fingers. Satoru’s heart plummets. “But it’s levelled out since I’ve been moved here and off-campus. And I’m stretching. When I get back out there, I have to remember how to emote.” You flash him a bedazzling grin and a bit of the weight lifts off his shoulders as you swallow down another cough. This time, it’s successful and you only let out a short, raspy breath before shaking it out.

You aren’t even doing that bad.

The blood, the flowers, that must’ve been just a bad bout, but otherwise, you seem quite normal.

That’s what he tells himself, and he believes it.

With relief, he stretches out his legs, leaning his head back on his hands. Your room’s pretty nice—much nicer than an average hospital room. Plants on the windowsills, some get-well-soon cards and a desk in the corner filled books that you look like you haven’t even begun to read, some paintings hanging off the walls.

You wave a hand to grab his attention again.

“Don’t look,” you chastise, tying the robe around your waist. “Some of these are works in progress.”

“So Itadori and Shoko were just exaggerating,” he assumes. You look up at him, quirking an eyebrow. “If you’re attempting to paint, I know all that’s happened is that you’ve lost your mind.”

“Shut up.”

“Well, they made it out as if you were dying. If it’s just a lung issue, they could probably just fix it and we can get back to exorcising curses and making fun of Fushiguro’s teen angst,” he says, crossing his legs at the ankles. You step over them to go to the window and examine your plants, and he eyes you in his peripheral, watching you inspect one of the leaves before looking next at some blooming flowers. You don’t answer, and the grey light makes you look melancholy until you shrug.

“The doctors say I need to rest, save my strength and all that,” you finally say vaguely. “And don’t make fun of Fushiguro.”

“I’d never do that.”

You tilt your head and arch an eyebrow skeptically before flicking his forehead with a sharp donk. “I’m not above slapping the shit out of you.” He opens his mouth to argue and you hold up a finger, shutting him up. “And you can’t hit back as revenge. Ill hospital patient rights.”

“You can’t take the moral stand. Vengeance has no gender bias,” he exclaims, sitting up but you merely smirk, leaning over and shoving your face into his space before turning your head to present your cheek. His eyes widen as you poke your own face tauntingly.

“Do it, then.”

Gawking for a moment, Satoru stares but you only wink and he pushes you away lightly. You stumble a bit and he jumps to his feet to catch you but you manage to right yourself up, shooting him a foul glare. He glares back in response.

“Well, obviously, I wasn’t going to actually slap you,” he says, indignant.

“So you pushed me instead? Gojo, in your words, you are the strongest. You never know how to control the strength you push out.”

“Yes, I do!”

“One time, you patted Megumi on the back and you sent him into the pavement.”

“He was nine.”

“It still happened!” you cry, although an impish smile is already curling at your lips and it isn’t long before it spreads to Satoru, warm bright yellow and enough that it absolves any of the remaining pain in his body as you straighten up, holding onto your IV stand for support. The metal rattles a bit as the wheels roll. Your feet brush the ground. You lift your head up wretchedly.

It’s almost like that weakness sobers you.

The expression that overtakes you frightens Satoru to fucking death.

His face feels like it numbs, staring at the darkness that seeps the light away. You stare at the metal pole your fingers are wrapped so tightly around, and then you look at the bag hanging there, clear and round and soft to your touch as you straighten up.

“Satoru,” you say softly.

“Yeah?” His voice is so quiet he’s not sure he even speaks. He can’t remember the last time you had looked so dispassionate at anything in his life. Even death had left its mark—black frowns, long streaks underneath your eyes.

Your apathy is dark purple, an endless void colour.

“When I die, make sure Shoko’s the one who cuts me open to find out what’s wrong with me.”

Something prickles at his fingertips. He touches your shoulder and half-thinks his fingers will go right through you.

“You’re not going to die,” he insists firmly. “It’s just a bad cough.” You look up at him and blink. Then you touch your lips and shudder down another cough.

“We all die.”

“It’s not your time, yet.” His fingers dig into your shoulder. You don’t even wince even though you’re clenching his jaw but he can’t find it in himself to loosen his hold. It feels like the Jaws of Death. A crocodile’s bite.

So much for not being able to control his own power.

“It’s just a bad cough.” He ignores everything Shoko had said. Sometimes she’s wrong—sometimes, it’s not even that bad. He’d just seen it, hadn’t he? You were stretching, jumping onto your bed, acting like nothing was wrong.

Palliative care? As if you needed it—

You blink, then, and look at him. Stare at him as if you’d never said those words, and he had never reached out.

You jerk your shoulder out of his grip. It stings more than it should.

“Right. But I’m just saying. You know how you always say I’ve got a few screws loose. It just makes sense someone will wanna crack me open to see what was going on up there and I want it to be her.”

You smile, and the yellow cancels out the purple.

Colour theory.

But Satoru doesn’t smile back.

“What about the flowers?” he asks after a while. You’ve climbed back onto bed and he’s sat back down. You’re blowing into a spirometer, and every time, without fail, the ball shoots up to the top, clattering against the plastic. He watches, hoping that the next time, it’ll do the same thing again.

You stop and look at him. “What about them?”

“Is it some optical illusion? Why are they in your throat?”

“That’s a harder nut to crack,” you muse. “I don’t really know. It’s like when you’ve got food in your esophagus and you’re trying to cough it up so it doesn’t feel stuck anymore except it keeps building up. That only started a few days ago, though, so maybe, someone drugged me or something.” He doesn’t laugh and you frown. “Not funny?”

He shakes his head. “It’s freaky.”

He sits on the bench on campus.

He’s cancelled classes because he didn’t come up with a standard lesson plan and his students are glad to have a Monday afternoon off, even if they’d never say it to his face. In truth, he’d spent the whole weekend at the hospital until he reeked of antiseptic and pollen.

You coughed up five petals, and without fail, a nurse would come in hourly intervals to collect them. Shoko came once, to check up on you and to collect the samples. If she was surprised Satoru was sitting in the corner on his phone, she didn’t voice it.

“She’s not even doing that bad,” he says to the air, more accusatory than anything. The woman standing by him doesn’t answer and sits down beside him uninvited. Turning to look at her, his eyes narrow behind his blindfold. “You said she needed palliative care until she died. The doctor said she could leave tonight.”

“Those aren’t mutually exclusive concepts,” she informs, not looking at him. Shoko looks a bit out of place in the warm colours of the garden. Half a corpse herself. Waif-like. “The doctor’s letting her relax in the comfort of her own home before she dies. That’s all.”

“She’s not going to die.”

She snorts. “Denial isn’t a good colour on you.” The words could’ve been delivered colder. Satoru is grateful that they weren’t.

Shoko rests her hands on her knees, tilts her head up, and sighs. Her long hair is like warm chocolate in the sunlight, spilling down her arched back from the knot she tied. “If you have any idea on how to fix this, I’m listening with both ears.”

“I don’t even know what it is,” he says. “Coughing and flowers? I’ve never heard of a sickness like that before.”

“Nanami pointed out that it could be a curse someone placed on her. I don’t know why, but it’d be an explanation.” Satoru spreads his legs, plants an elbow on his knee and leans forward to look at the ants travelling along the cobblestone before his shoe. “It manifested on some negative emotion lingering inside her and it’s growing every day, but she won’t budge.” Shoko sighs. Her purple eye bags look worse in the sunlight, but he would never tell her that. “Maybe you’d have a better chance digging into her. With Geto gone, there’s no one else to ask, is there?”

“What about you? What happened to girls and their little secrets?” he jokes, trying to ignore the ache that begins to bloom in his chest. Shoko eyes him wryly.

“I have suspicions, but there are some things girls don’t ask other girls,” she retorts. “It’s never been my business anyway. My job is to treat her, and I’ve given her options. It’s up to her to take them. Grief is a birthing ground for curses, and if she’s letting them feed on her freely, you know what fate is waiting for her.”

With that, she gets up and leaves as quickly as she arrived. Satoru swallows the smell of flowers and feels sick.

Monday night, Satoru pulls up his laptop and looks through, searching up words he can string together in a coherent sense to get the answers he wants. As rare as it probably is, some research wouldn’t hurt, would it? Some curses had a trademark affliction—maybe this one does, too.

So he searches up flower coughing to see if there has ever been a record of strange deaths that have made the news. If not, he’ll go to the jujutsu databases, but for now, maybe some publicity could put some answers to this question.

He is surprised when one of the first results is flower coughing disease.

When he hits enter, the white screen blasts into blue irises with numerous results all repeating the same two words.

HANAHAKI DISEASE

And Satoru reads, and reads, and reads. He reads two weeks to three months, he reads unrequited love, and removal, and disappearance of romantic feelings and capacity for romantic love.

He reads fictional disease and wonders how much of it really is fictional.

His phone pings with a text, and he grabs at it, tilts it just enough to get a glimpse of the screen. It’s from you, and he hasn’t read a text from you in so long he almost doesn’t recognize who it’s from except he does because… who else could it be?

[Greenbean] 11:02 PM

hey!!! guess whos finally fucking free oh my god

ugh out of the hospital and forgot how actual air smelled like lol bitch im so hungry i could eat a zoo

Letting his phone clatter, he sighs and rubs his face roughy, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before snapping his laptop shut and getting up. His phone buzzes again and he reaches for it blindly, the screen lighting up as he goes to bed.

[Greenbean] 11:03 PM

we should get smth to eat!! i wanna go to that new ramen place in ikebukoro

[Satoru] 11:03 PM

fine but you good???? who picked you up from the hospital? still insulted you didnt let me tbh

also what did the doctor say???

[Greenbean] 11:04 PM

bc ur a menace who doesnt know how to drive

he said itd get worse before itd get better so still gotta go for checkups but yeah dont worry and nanami came bc he didnt trust me not to try and walk home lol but he did buy me dinner

wasnt enough though!!!

…

[Greenbean] 11:06 PM

ok but fr does he think im insane

clearly id flash some skin and hitch a ride duh

…

[Greenbean] 11:10 PM

youre just gonna leave me on read? yikes

[Satoru] 11:12 PM

i was getting ready to sleep silly

and yeah ill come pick you up on saturday for lunch?

[Greenbean] 11:15 PM

sorry making instant noodles rn but yeah that sounds fine

wait youre sleeping so early lmfao

[Satoru] 11:16 PM

im old :/

[Greenbean] 11:18 PM

u sure are

(image sent)

look!!! my babies are still alive!!! idk how but miracles do exist im tellin ya

[Satoru] 11:24 PM

inumaki, maki, and fushiguro broke into ur home to water them but dont tell them i told u

[Greenbean] 11:24 PM

wtf

[Satoru] 11:25 PM

yeah idk when but i think u teaching inumaki how to pick locks has opened up too many possibilities but also its really funny thanks

now go to sleep u need to rest

[Greenbean] 11:28 PM

whos gonna make me lol youre not my dad

[Satoru] 11:29 PM

lol

remember how i can teleport

lol so cool

[Greenbean] 11:30 PM

dude

wtf

fine

goodnight hoe </3

[Satoru] 11:31 PM

goodnight knock off poison ivy <3

“You’ve looked better,” Shoko says. Satoru raises his head wearily as he pushes off the wall. Shoko’s holding a cup of coffee, her lab coat fresh on her shoulders and eye bags looking more printed on rather than natural swelling. Satoru can’t help but feel the same exhaustion. “Definitely looked worse. What do you want? It’s early.”

“Have you ever heard of Hanahaki disease?” he asks. She shakes her head, and he pulls up the page on his phone and hands it to her. She takes it from him and her eyes scan the screen as he continues, “It’s this fictional disease, something that stems from unrequited love, and I think it could be related to whatever she’s experiencing.”

“I thought you were set on willing her to survive,” she replies dryly, shooting him a quick look and adjusting the coffee in her hand. “But this is definitely one of your stranger theories.”

Satoru ignores that last part. “It’d make sense. With her Cursed Technique, maybe it manifested in a way that links to it.”

She pushes into the office, setting the coffee on her desk and sitting down. Satoru sits down on the exam table closest and leans forward eagerly as she continues to read the page, scrolling down occasionally before scrolling back up and sighing. “This is a stretch. The timeline doesn’t match up to what this is saying.”

“This is a curse. It doesn’t have to follow fiction.” His body feels sore, janky even, everywhere. He barely got a wink of sleep last night and he knows he’s paying for it, now. “Hell knows life rarely does, anyway. But the symptoms matches too well, doesn’t it? The flowers—you’ve done scans, haven’t you?”

She deliberates his words carefully as she looks to the file cabinet and pulls out a binder. Satoru catches a flash of your name on the spine before she moves her coffee and his phone out of the way to flip it open.

“The scans we’ve taken have only just begun to show small growths in her trachea,” she allows, “and we don’t fully understand how cursed energy affects our bodies, so I suppose it could be something like Hanahaki, if the negative energy stemming from December 24th was what brought this on or if these symptoms started when we were still students, but she’s been experiencing shortness of breath a few months before Christmas.” Satoru’s lungs squeeze the last of the air out of them at that, and a cold sweat drops down his spine as she hands his phone back to him. “It only started getting worse Suguru’s death, which meant there had to have been a trigger before that.”

In the back of his head, he hears your voice, light and yellow, saying a few weeks. It got worse a few weeks ago.

“Worse?”

“The first petal fell some time after Christmas. It’s been a slow, but steady progression since then. Sometimes, it’s two or three. When it’s not a good day, there can be as many as seven to ten.” Shoko switches on the lamp on the corner of her desk and adjusting the direction of the white light before flipping the page. “But if we can find the original trigger and alleviate that pressure it’s putting on her, we could buy her more time.”

“So it’s been nearly six months since the first petal,” he says. Shoko nods. Satoru is grateful for the blindfold—she can’t see how blank everything looks on his face. “It said sometimes, the disease can last for eighteen months.”

“As you said, this isn’t a fairytale.” She half-spins on her chair to face him and leans back into it, crossing one leg over the other and jiggling her knee. “I saw that one of the solutions is excise the growths at the cost of the attachment. That was one of the options I gave her when the growths first appeared. She said she wanted more time before she could decide.”

He frowned. “Why?”

“Because she’s smart, and likes to push her damned limits. And if this is truly the basis of the curse”—she gestures to Satoru’s phone. Her expression flickers—“those flowers are feeding off cursed energy. Cutting them out would remove those negative emotions, but at a cost of something else. Maybe whatever feelings she has regarding the trigger.”

Satoru looks down at his phone. It feels heavier than a thousand cinderblocks in his clammy hands. His fingers are numb as his screen dims and finally locks itself. Pressing the button, it illuminates again to reveal a picture of a cactus you gave him for his birthday years ago, blooming with delicate purple petals.

His heart rends. That cactus is long dead now.

“But, Suguru’s dead.”

“That’s why I asked you to ask her,” Shoko mutters.

Turning to her binder again, she picks up a pen and clicks it, lowering it to the paper before pausing, and Satoru looks up as she stares at whatever words are printed into the page distantly. A strange affliction is on her face, almost tormented, and Satoru is not-so-kindly reminded that before Suguru and Satoru, Shoko was your best friend first.

“Tell her how idiotic she’s being,” she enforces quietly. “The longer it lives, the more permanent damage is inflicted. With the unpredictable nature of curses, that won’t take long and by then, it’ll be too late to consider removing it.”

Saturday comes too fast, yet not fast enough. By the end of the week, Satoru is all but finished with teaching, and is waiting outside your apartment, leaning against the car as he scrolls through his phone. He’s done a bit more research on this Hanahaki disease, but even the word makes him shiver with the implications.

“Satoru!” Turning, he catches you loping easily towards him. You’re dressed in billowy, wide-legged dark mint green pants and a pretty white top that makes you look more nymph than human, with a canvas tote bag hanging off your shoulder. You flash him a smile as you fiddle with the fabric tie at the waistband of your pants nervously. “Hi.”

“Hey. Hope you don’t mind I brought Ijichi along for the ride since someone claims I can’t drive.”

“You don’t have your license, sir,” Ijichi says wearily as you bend over to wave through the window. "It would be illegal for you to be on the road in any capacity—oh, hello, ma’am. It’s nice to see you doing so well.”

“Thanks, Ijichi. I think I’m doing better after getting out of there,” you say as Satoru opens the car door for you and he smirks, eyes crinkling behind his sunglasses. You straighten up, looking at him before poking his chest and it’s almost just like the good ole days as you break out into a grin that crinkles your entire face. “What’s with you being a gentleman? It better not be because I was in the hospital.”

“Of course not,” he admonishes. “I wouldn’t dare dream of being polite to you of all people.” Still, he sidesteps and sweeps his arm, gesturing for you to climb in first which you do, exhaling a bit shakily as you settle in and slide over. By the time he’s settled in beside you, you have a fist over your lips and you’re clearing your throat testily.

A worm of unease wriggles into his stomach as he clips in his seatbelt, pulling the lapels of his unbuttoned green shirt free from the strap. Legs spreading, he lets his hands fold in his lap as Ijichi begins to drive them to their destination. You’ve lowered your hand by now, looking out the window, and it’s not bright enough that Satoru can read your expression on the glass.

It’s clear you don’t want to talk about it, but still, that nagging feeling bites at him as he rolls the divider up between the backseat and the front—a mock of privacy.

“The place we’re going to gives me the same vibe as that family-owned restaurant we went to when we were students. The one in Kagurazaka,” you say after a while, turning back to look at him. You’re wearing a bracelet that jangles when you move your hand to adjust the seatbelt across your chest. “I think you’ll like it.”

“Have you been?”

“One time, before I checked in,” you tell him, smiling still. “It was really good. The perfect last meal.” Satoru does well enough to hide his frown at your choice of words as you meet his eyes. “You know, you can ask. I’m not fragile.”

“I don’t have anything to ask,” he lies. “I’m just glad you’re out of the hospital.”

“Me, too. I’ve missed so much and it drove me insane. Yaga-sensei insists that I don’t work until I’m sure I’m feeling better,” you add. “But to be honest, there’s nothing much that can be done to make me feel better.”

“I see. So you’re still coughing up flowers?”

“Petals,” you correct, “and a bit. Don’t worry. It’ll get better soon.” You wave a hand and turn to look out the window and Satoru’s appetite all but vanishes. He doesn’t know why you’re so intent on lying to him about the severity of your condition, but as your knee jiggles relentlessly the whole car ride with unbridled excitement, he wonders if you’re even aware of how sick you could be.

His Six Eyes scan your body for signs of a curse. Normally, those plagued have their little burdens hanging off their shoulders, prying their head open, biting into an arm or leg, but he finds yours lives inside your chest, just barely hidden by the yellow light brimming from your body as you reach forward to lower the divider and talk to Ijichi.

They reach Ikebukuro before they’re dropped off after Satoru insists on walking the rest of the way.

“Give us some privacy, Ijichi! We both know you’ll just eavesdrop for the juicy details,” he exclaims loudly, leading to the man to blush furiously, stuttering that he’d do no such thing, and earning Satoru a smack on the back of his head, knocking his sunglasses askew.

“Thanks for the ride, Ijichi,” you say warmly as if you hadn’t slapped a concussion into Satoru. The Assistant Director dips his head. “See you later!” With that, he drives off and the two sorcerers are left in the busy street. Satoru looks around curiously, but you tug him along up the main road of the district and immediately turn right into one of the smaller streets. A few cyclists race past, as well as cars, but the traffic seems relatively slow despite it being the weekend. There are people walking along the white lines separating the lanes, chatting merrily as you lead him to the restaurant.

“I forgot how actual sunlight felt,” you sigh, stretching your arms high above your head as if to touch the wind breezing through. Inhaling deeply, you close your eyes. Satoru waits for you to begin to cough, and you hold it in, throat tensing a bit.

He looks away, and pretends he doesn’t hear your sharp exhale, the soft cough you try to muffle with your hand. Instead, he looks at their surroundings, traces the green roads, watches a man park his bicycle and take the plastic bags out of the basket before rushing into a store. The air smells faintly of smoke, and Satoru waves in front of his face to see if it’ll help dispel the scent, but it’s so engrained with the hint of meat, honey, sweets, and flowers, that he can’t.

“I saw Suguru here once,” you tell him suddenly. He blinks, head snapping to you, and you’re already regarding him with a faint smile, eyes a bit dimmer. The warm yellow energy has faded to a burnt orange as you look ahead. “A year or two after he left. It’s why I moved closer a few years ago. I guess I had this weird hope that I’d see him again, but I never really did.” A faint grin graces your lips again, as if you’re not even aware you’re smiling. Fondness overtakes you. “I think about him a lot these days.”

“Me, too.”

“Of course,” you chuckle a bit, rubbing at the back of your neck. “I’m being insensitive.”

“No, you’re not. He meant a lot to you, too. I don’t own him, or his memory.”

“I know, but he was still your best friend.” Unbidden, a voice in Satoru’s voice finishes it for you. My one and only.

“Did you guys talk about anything?”

“Not really anything important,” you say, shrugging, but by the way your eyes shift in the light, glimmer differently, he knows you’re lying. He knows it’s none of his business, but a part of him hungers for new parts of Suguru and it’s powerful enough to take control of his tongue.

“Nothing’s not important. He was a wanted criminal.”

“I think we both know somehow that part never mattered to us.” You look at him, and run a thumb under the strap of your bag. “To any of us. But…” You tilt your head to him and your smile grows tender. “…since you asked, we talked about us. He told me about what he wanted, the kind of world he was determined to create. He paid for my dinner, kissed me goodnight like it was normal, and then he was gone. Never saw him again until last December.”

It shouldn’t sting as much as it does.

He remembers that day ten years ago in Shinjuku. The coldness in which Suguru had looked at him. He can’t imagine that same poison directed at you. He couldn’t even imagine Suguru looking at him like that in the first place until he did.

“Are you the strongest because you’re Gojo Satoru or are you Gojo Satoru because you’re the strongest?”

“I used to have nightmares about it,” you continue distantly. “Because I could’ve left with him, but I didn’t. And I could’ve killed him, but I didn’t do that either.”

“If you want to kill me, kill me. There’s meaning in that, too.”

Satoru’s chest tightens. His heart feels rotten to the core. “I didn’t, either, until I did.” You smile a bit more, at the irony. “Would you? Have gone with him, that is.”

“I didn’t, so what’s the point in debating it?” you ask before shrugging thoughtlessly and answering anyway. “I think tackling curses at the source is important. I just didn’t like the way he was doing it. If I thought I could somehow change his mind, just a bit, on his methods, maybe, but by then, he was too far gone.”

Your eyes, chips of glinting sunstone, mellow as a cyclist trills at them with a bell to get out of the way. You step out of the way, away from Satoru for a moment, before returning to him, and when the back of his hand brushes yours, he’s startled at how cold your skin is.

Satoru is quiet as he absorbs all of this. He doesn’t really know what to say, and you don’t prod him for a reaction as they turn the corner again.

“It’s just over there,” you say, pointing to a small restaurant, people milling by the door. There’s a sign hanging over the door, off-white with black kanji painted on and your arm falls. “There’s a line. Huh.”

“We can wait,” Satoru says when they stop at the edge of the crowd. “I don’t mind.”

“Okay. I’ll go put our names in then come back.” You disappear into the crowd for a moment before resurfacing and joining his side again, something in your hand. “It should be, like, fifteen minutes. I said the bar was okay.”

“That’s fine.” Shoving his sunglasses up into his hair, he cracks his knuckles and migrates to the wall. You follow, and he slouches against the concrete pillar. You adjust the tote bag against your body and lean against the other side just around the corner. Their elbows brush, and you tilt your head to look at him, smiling. Your face has caught the sun perfectly, and Satoru can’t help but smile back.

He wonders how to bring up this Hanahaki disease theory. You look so perfect, so happy in this moment where their eyes meet, that he can’t bring it up. Maybe it’s selfish, but it feels like it’s been so long since the two of them even managed to see each other for more than an hour. With how overworked jujutsu sorcerers are, it’s hard to recall the last time they both had downtime at the same time that wasn’t spent catching up on sleep.

You look away, shoulders shaking, as if that’s enough to hide your coughing, and he thinks, Later. There’ll be time for that later.

“Here’s the menu,” you tell him once you’ve calmed down, extending your hand. He takes the paper, unfolding it as you cross your arms and tilt your head back on the concrete. Reading down the list, he keeps an eye on you out of the corner of his vision, and your fingers play at your lips as you swallow. Reaching into your bag, you twist the cap of a water bottle and chug half of it down.

“Do you have any medicine? For your coughing?” he asks casually. You hit your chest with a firm fist, clearing your throat and looking at him in surprise. The water bottle returns to your bag.

“Oh, uh, no. It doesn’t work. Just gotta keep hydrated and avoid any possible triggers,” you inform. You turn up the street as you speak, crossing your legs at the ankles and sinking against the concrete.

“And what are those triggers?”

“And you say Ijichi is the one digging for gossip,” you snort with short, choked huff. Satoru rolls his eyes, but keeps looking at the menu. “Don’t worry about it. I’m avoiding them.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“If I wanted your dry wit, I would’ve gone to the original.”

“I don’t copy off Shoko. I take bits of everyone’s personality and twist it to make it my own.”

You shake your head. “Whatever you say.”

Your name is called a few minutes later and the pair push off the concrete pillar, heading through the crowd and into the small restaurant. It’s not too dimly lit, a bunch of natural light from the street streaming in through the open windows, and the air is rich with the smells of the kitchen as they sit down at the bar.

It’s not long before they’ve ordered, and Satoru has gone through his first bowl and is well into pouring his second into what remains of his broth before he remembers to even check up on how you’re doing. You’d been right—he loves this place. The atmosphere isn’t overly loud, but the mumbling of nearby patrons is enough to make him feel like he isn’t quite alone. It’s sheltered away from the world, and although he’s used to girls staring, no one has gone up to him which is giving him time to his own thoughts and food. Everyone here seems to mind their business—everyone likes to stay in their own bubble.

Here, he isn’t the strongest, or quite so special. It honestly feels kind of nice.

You’re sipping on your broth, tilting the spoon towards your mouth and your lips are pulled into the warmest smile he’s seen since they were kids. The light’s hitting you just perfect again, more cool than warm, but it’s got you on the cheekbone, illuminated your lips. Satoru wonders if you know how to manipulate light, or if that’s just your natural blessing as you tilt your head towards him, eyes squinting from your own joy.

For a moment, another image flashes in his head. Him along the end of their group of four—you and Shoko, Suguru and Satoru. It’s almost poetry how much of a glimpse he can see in your smile. You would always be laughing, and Suguru’s cheeks would always be red, and Shoko would charm the guy over the counter to hand over a bottle of shochu. Satoru would tease his stupid best friend, and pay for their meal because “I’m friends with a bunch of goddamn freeloaders.”

But that moment ends as quickly as it came, and it’s so fucking heartbreaking that Satoru never thought their last meal together would be their last meal together. He would’ve cherished it more—done anything to make them stay in that ramen shop in Kagurazaka.

“Do you like it here?” you ask.

He blinks. You’re studying him behind that smile of yours. Watching. Always watching. “It reminds me of when we were kids,” he replies. When he realizes that didn’t answer the question, he adds, “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

You grin, delighted. “If I knew how stupid you’d look sucking up these noodles, I would’ve brought my camera like when we were students. I still have it, you know.”

“Next time, then.”

“Yeah, next time.”

Satoru pays. He insists despite your protests, and snatches the bill from you anyway, swiping his card as quickly as he can.

After, they walk slowly around the district, looking at the other restaurants and stores for desserts or souvenirs to bring back, and it makes him so nostalgic, his heart wilts a bit in his chest.

He is saying something about buying some soymilk for Megumi when you stop suddenly, deviating to the side of the road to cough. It grows so intense so quickly that your eyes widen as if you’re surprised, too, and you place a palm flat against your chest as he comes to your side. You wave him back, and he frowns, running a hand down your back as you finally manage to dislodge the petals in your throat and spit them into your palm.

Satoru sighs, staring at the cursed things. The energy emitted from the petals are raw, potent, and his nose wrinkles at the stench that comes from powerful curses as he softly asks, “Do you know what Hanahaki is?”

“Flower vomiting?” you whisper through your raw vocal cords. You shake your head, slamming your sternum with a tight fist and flinging the drenched petals to the ground with a wet slap. “Itadori… said something about it, once. Never really paid attention, I—”

Satoru squeezes the back of your neck gently. “Whatever this curse is, it could be something like that.“

“You don’t want to open that can of worms, Gojo, of what is causing this.” Straightening up, your eyes widen and your cheeks puff up as you choke down another bout. Wobbly, you spit out, “It’s under control. I swear.”

“Are you sure?” His fingers brush your chin to turn your face towards him so he can look at it more clearly, and the instant their eyes meet, you lurch over, slapping his hand away and succumbing to the wracking. Hands shooting out to grab your elbows, Satoru barely eases you to the ground as your legs give in.

You collapse to your knees, hard. A hand is slapped over your mouth but your whole body shakes with the seizing of your lungs. Eyes widening, your cheeks puff up as Satoru grabs your shoulders, falling to his knees beside you.

“Hey! Hey, breathe!” His fingers dig into your shoulders and your nostrils flare, trying to follow his instructions. Bloodshot eyes and blueing lips, your inhales are shaking and incomplete, gasps for air that do not take in any oxygen before you’re kneeling over, hand falling from your lips. Blood splattered over your palm, you let out a low noise of pain. Satoru’s hand glides down your spine, rubbing in soothing circles as red spit falls to the pavement in thick globs.

People all around stop to stare, eyes masked with concern, but he can’t care less at that moment despite the burning scrutiny. He shoves a hand into his pocket, speed-dialling one of the top numbers of his list.

“Ijichi, I need you to take us to the hospital, now!” Letting his phone drop with a clatter, he scoops you close but you slam your bloody hand against his chest, pushing him away. You throw yourself away, hands twisted tight in the fabric of your white shirt and Satoru looks down at the red handprint on his tee before blinking. “What are you doing? We need to get—“

“I’m—I’m fine!” Your voice, broken, is drenched with ice as you continue to wheeze, grasping at your chest as if you could reach and tear out the growths with your own hand. “Gojo, I’m fine!”

“No, you’re not!” Grabbing his phone, he hears a loud car horn, and looks up to see Ijichi leaning out of the driver’s seat, waving his arm frantically. Without another thought, he scoops you up and runs out into the street, ignoring the tires screeching, the cars horns blaring at him and the angry shouts as he jumps into the car and slam the door shut.

Ijichi sets off at a drive, no directions needed. Satoru is sure he’s breaking as many laws as he can as he pushes you back against the seat to buckle you in. Blood dribbles down your lips in bubbles as a thick, gurgling sound begins to grow in your throat and he wipes at your chin with his sleeve, clicking the buckle into place just as you pitch forward. He jerks back just in time as you retch, and, slowly, torturously, you gag out three petals, one after another. Your fingers claw at your own throat, panicking and desperate as you struggle to breathe.

The petals fall in wet pools between your feet, landing on the carpet, and he spares them not even a glance before forcing your head between your knees. You’re still hyperventilating and as Satoru sweeps a hand down your back and up to your neck, his fingers come into contact with something sticky.

Sweat. It drenches through your shirt so suddenly that Satoru reels at the wet marks spreading through your shirt, making the fabric translucent. Your heart is racing, tripping over itself. When you finally stop coughing, you breathe in harsh pants as he keeps your head between your knees.

Your fingers lace at the back of your head and he grabs them firmly, reassuring that he’s still beside you.

“She’s stable,” Shoko announces to the waiting Satoru and six students. The latter came when their teacher had told them of what happened, and Itadori still clings to Fushiguro’s arm by an iron hand, fingers clawlike into his friend’s bicep. Kugisaki chews on her thumbnail, a bit paler than usual and there are crescent indents along her forearm where she had dug her nails in. Maki’s hand rests on her shoulder. Inumaki’s on the phone with Panda, and he turns the screen around so he can see the Strongest Sorcerer who does not feel quite so strong.

Satoru’s assurances that you would be fine had done nothing but send them into a quiet that scared even him.

“Is she okay? When can she get out?” the kids demand suddenly.

“We’re waiting for the updates on her scans from the doctors, but she’ll need to stay here under observation.”

Satoru runs a hand through his hair, smiling in a way that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Guess that means she gets a few more days off while the rest of us are working our asses off,” he teases. Maki shoots him a glare and his eyes close in a way he hopes arranges his expression in one of joy as he shrugs helplessly. “Well, that means I have another girl I have to spoil.”

“Aren’t you too busy with the four already blowing up your phone?” Kugisaki mutters sourly. Satoru pretends not to hear. His phone has been silent without your texts, and it’s cold and heavy in his pocket.

“Can we see her?” Fushiguro asks. Shoko nods, but holds up a hand and the kids skid to a stop.

“She’s resting. I’m unsure if you know, but certain topics of conversation or trains of thought can lead to more attacks, so stick to talking about your curriculum. Topics you think are safe.” The woman shifts on her feet, a wisp of brown hair swaying in front of her eye. “It’s unavoidable, but use your judgement.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The students walk off down to the dead-end hallway, and Satoru turns to Shoko who has her arms crossed over her chest. She steps up, scanning him like he’s got contraband, and he raises his eyebrows innocently.

“What?”

“It’s getting worse. I hope you managed to get answers,” she says. At once, Satoru’s facade drops, and a sober sensation overtakes his face.

“No, I didn’t. She’s heard of the disease, at least. We talked about Suguru, but it wasn’t like it was under lock and key.” The brunette shakes her head at his words, gesturing for him to sit down beside her. Doing so, he leans back into the uncomfortable chair as she crosses a leg over the other. “She said she thinks about him a lot.”

“She still loves him,” Shoko says bluntly. “She gets that far-off look when she talks about him. You two should trade secrets some time.” A shake of her head, and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I healed what damage I could, but I can tell those growths inside are expanding. The attack only seems to have agitated and prompted them to take root.”

“How…” It’s hard to formulate the question. Luckily, Shoko knows him well enough.

“Without seeing the scans, I won’t know. Based on her last ones, I thought at least four months. Now?” Her lips press into a thin line. “She’ll be lucky if she gets two.” Shoko’s eyes flicker down Satoru’s front, and her lips press into a wry line. “And change you shirt. You look like a murder suspect.”

Glancing down, he looks at your dried bloody hand print, stark against white, and he gets up abruptly. Shoko doesn’t stop him.

He walks down to the dead-end hall. He can hear Itadori through your open door cracking jokes, Kugisaki relaying every detail of her shopping trips, and you’re wheezing your laughter despite Maki scolding you to save your strength. Satoru stops just outside your door, out of sight, and rests his head against the frame, content to just listen.

“Tuna mayo.”

“Is that right?” you ask Inumaki. “Lay it on me.”

You sound exhausted, beaten to the bone, but still, when Fushiguro says something too quiet for him to make out, you still have the strength to tease him for worrying.

The night is warm, and he sets the last plant back into its place on your window sill before cracking the window a bit at your request. He’s busied himself making this place as homely as possible as quickly as possible, and in the process, had walked in on you staring at your own scans on the lightscreen mounted on your wall.

“Thanks, Satoru,” you say over your shoulder. He joins you by your side to stare at the scans. Granted, Satoru didn’t cheat his way through medschool like others have, so he doesn’t understand much, but he can tell what is and what isn’t supposed to be there. The floral-like growths situated right where the main bronchi meet the trachea, for one.

The roots spreading across your chest like cracks in concrete, for another.

“The doctors want to monitor this,” you explain, pointing at the roots, “to see whether or not it’ll grow around my lungs or continue outward, around the ribs and spine. If it’s the former, I’ll slowly suffocate and die. If it’s the latter, I’ll slowly suffocate, become paralyzed, and die.” You smile grimly. “Not quite a win-win.”

“Exactly the opposite.” He inspects the growths and through the blue-white-black imaging, he spots the tiny stems emerging from the main growth, sprouting into your lungs. He guesses, with time, those will grow into flowers of equal size before sprouting more shoots.

He wonders…

As if sensing his hesitance, you scratch your collarbone and look at the scans with a new glint.

“The doctors say if I avoid another attack like today, I’ll probably have two months, three if I’m blessed, but because of how big the growths have gotten already and its volatile nature, it’ll be impossible, so we’re looking at a month. Maybe a month-and-a-half?” You smile at him, throat bobbing. “Guess it’s good to have a number,” you add shakily, a short puff coming at the end of each breath as you struggle to fight the cough. “Being a sorcerer, too much uncertainty, I think.”

“You should tell Nanami that. Maybe this time, it’ll convince him to stay away,” he retorts, turning away from the scans. They’re burning his eyes and he doesn’t want to look at the real thing for much longer. You turn with him, walking back towards bed and climbing in. “Are you sure you don’t want the operation? Shoko could do it so fast you wouldn’t feel a thing.”

“No, not yet. There are some complications that’ll definitely occur and I don’t want that to happen.”

“But it would save your life,” he argues. “What risks are frightening enough that you’d even consider not having it?” Your gaze flickers as you take another wheezing breath. The strength seems sapped from your limbs—you’re a scarecrow hanging off its pole as you swallow tightly. Satoru leans against your window sill and crosses his arms over his chest so you can’t see the frustrated fists he wants to make. “If this is about Suguru…”

Resolutely: “It isn’t.”

“You’re going to die if you keep going down this road. I don’t understand why you’re hesitating.” In the back of his mind, klaxons begin to scream.

“Satoru, some things are just beyond logical reason.” He jerks his gaze away, pushing his glasses up his nose pointedly. You sigh. “I know it’s hard, but this is my choice. I just want you to be here so you know it’s okay.”

Your hand stretches out. Blue eyes flash to your outstretched fingers and he takes it before he can stop himself. Your fingers curl over his palm, tugging him closer and he lets you, sneakers dragging over the tile until he’s sliding into the chair by your bed. It squeaks against the tile.

“Please don’t be angry with me.” That’s all. That’s all I ask.

A hard, heavy sigh, this time from his end. He tightens his hold on you as you sit there, smiling hopefully. His heart thunders in his chest. “I’m not angry.”

You perk up a bit, and his index finger unfurls to rub your wrist. It feels colder than normal. “Promise?”

He wishes he could lie half as well as you. Either way, he tries his hardest: “Promise.”

By the time it’s quarter past nine, you’re already getting ready to sleep. You have enough pillows to surround your entire body, and he fluffs them up, helps you arrange them until you’re sighing against the white sheets, burrowing in with a sedated smile on your face.

Satoru sits down again on his visitor’s chair and you watch him lazily through the dim orange light stemming from behind your bed.

“You don’t have to stay here and watch me, creep,” you mumble, turning your face away to stare at the ceiling. You cough dryly, but it subsides moments later. Your voice is nothing but a croak as you let out a tired groan, and Satoru smiles to himself, cheek to his fist.

“I feel robbed of our afternoon together. Making up for it now.”

You look at him again incredulously. “We’re not even doing anything.”

“I don’t know when you were told that every second of us being together had to be us doing something,” he huffs. “I like being in here. Isn’t that enough?”

“It’s too much. You’re annoying me.” Even so, your voice turns fond as you roll onto your side, away from him to settle in to sleep and Satoru’s warm gaze lands on your shoulder gently rising and falling as you slowly drift off.

He already knows you’re gone by the time he’s standing up and gathering his jacket. Walking around the bed, he glances at the bathroom to check the light’s off and catches a glimpse of his shirt. A coil wraps around his gut at the muddy red handprint pressed into the fabric and he turns away to look at you instead.

Your face is in perfect peace, half-buried into a pillow you’re hugging into your chest, and he only soaks in those features. His hand twitches, and his infinity wavers as he raises his hand as if to touch you. Your eyelids flutter and he freezes, fearing he might’ve woken you up, but you only mumble incoherently and turn into your pillow.

Satoru watches on silently just as a breeze sweeps into the room and he looks up where the window he had cracked open. The breeze takes hold of the plants, uplifts them until they sway like a tender dance.

His chest begins to hurt. The smell of the antiseptic is starting to sting, so he moves his hand to the light switch instead. Flicking it off, he turns to leave.

Every time Satoru walks down to the end of the hallway, a different memory will play in his head until he’s playing a movie over and over every single day. Of the first time he met you, although that one is blurry. Your sixteenth birthday when the four of them had piled into your dorm room to drink themselves stupid.

One-and-a-half weeks go by before he realizes that he only replays the moments where you feature. Like his brain is preparing him, reminding him. For what, he doesn’t know.

He can’t come every day—considering the low number of sorcerers has been taken down by one more, it means besides teaching, he still has to work for the Higher Ups as well as his own personal agenda—but when he does make it, he always makes sure that he soaks in every second. Even the horrible parts. Maybe, especially the horrible parts.

You have scans taken every other day to monitor your progress, so when he arrives at an empty room, he isn’t surprised. It’s when there’s movement in the bathroom that sends his nerves prickling until he catches a slab of golden hair and reading glasses flashing in the sunlight.

“Nanami,” he greets.

“Good afternoon.” His jacket’s off and his sleeves are rolled up. With a quick sweep of the room, Satoru notes that the windows are cracked open and the aforementioned jacket is folded over a chair sat in a square of sunlight.

“Do we need to be so formal?” he complains, bypassing the bathroom and searching for another chair. The one Nanami’s taken by the plants is still warm and Satoru isn’t keen on the idea of sweating so soon. During his search, he stops by the windowsill and his eyebrows rise curiously at the new plants and trash bin pressed up right underneath. “What’s happening here?”

“We were planting new seeds when she had to be taken for her scans. She insisted I finish potting the plants.” Noting the empty terracotta, Satoru bends over and prods at the moist dirt. “I have to go soon, though. I had hoped it wouldn’t take as long as it did and she would be back by now.”

“They started taking MRI scans when the branches continued to grow outward rather than inward,” Satoru informs. “It takes around forty-five minutes, on top of the CT scans they’re taking, too. That’s if she doesn’t start coughing in the middle of it.”

“I’m guessing she does.” Nanami adjusts the glasses on his nose, wiping at his hands free of the last of whatever dirt might’ve been clinging to his hands.

“Yup.”

“I see.” Satoru looks at the plants again. The blond man across the room throws the towel into the dirty clothes basket.“Has she… spoken to you of what to do with her effects?”

Gaze hardening, he doesn’t move at the question. Of course, he’s thought about it, but those bouts of weakness have never been longer than a few minutes. There’s no use in wasting time on a reality that won’t come until it does.

Hopefully, it never does.

“I’m so sick of everyone talking like she’s signed a death sentence,” Satoru murmurs, turning around to look at the blond man at the door to the washroom. “She still has time. Not a lot. It’s not convenient, but it should be enough.”

“She’s already considered the benefits of taking the surgery, and yet she actively decides to postpone it. You know she’s stalling,” comes the steady reply.

“And what about you?” Satoru asks. His words are biting, icy, but Nanami seems unfazed as he begins to loop the tie around his neck. “Would you do it?” Blue eyes meet a stoic face, and the coldness seeps into Satoru’s body. Nanami sighs.

A part of Satoru wonders why he even bothered asking. He already knows the answer—

“No.” Eyebrows shoot up. His mouth drops open and a strangled noise escapes his throat. Nanami merely continues on, quiet as death. “Perhaps it’s because I’m willing to accept my death, but, to be honest, I don’t know how to let any part of Haibara go. I’ve accepted it, but he’s still in my heart and my head.” Lips parting, Satoru takes a step forward as Nanami slants his body away, continuing to fold the fabric into a tie. He looks statuesque, unmovable, and something tightens in Satoru’s throat at the stone-like mask taking over his face. “I’m unwilling to do anything to taint that memory.”

Wordlessly, the blond walks over to Satoru to take his jacket from the chair, rolling down his sleeves and slapping his watch back onto his wrist. Standing less than two feet apart, the two men finally meet eyes.

“Gojo,” Nanami murmurs. “I can’t say I understand your burden, but I am by your side. I do not always agree with your choices, but I still respect them. As your kouhai and as your colleague.” His lips pull in a facsimile of a wry smile and there’s an understanding Satoru doesn’t understand haunting his handsome face. “However, she is your friend before mine. I think your opinion matters much more than mine. Don’t abuse that power.”

Satoru’s eyes nearly reflect in the lenses of Nanami’s glasses. He wishes his friend would take the damn pair off.

In truth, the reason he’s so irritated is because he knows. If he insists enough, begs enough, there will always be a chance that he can convince you. That you will give in, not because you are selfless, but maybe because you’re too selfish to let him stay mad at you.

An unstoppable force meets an immovable object, and sometimes, the force wins.

But he’d promised, hadn’t he? To not be angry with the choices you’ve made?

“Jeez, it’s somber in here. Who died?” you tease as Shoko pushes the wheelchair in after you. Both men look away from each other. You’re still walking steadily, but an IV is hooked into your chest now, and it’s so obvious you’ve lost unhealthy weight that looking at you is hard sometimes. Satoru does, anyway.

Noting Nanami, you straighten up. Surprised, but pleased: “You’re still here.”

“I was just leaving,” he says. You frown, but don’t protest. A jujutsu sorcerer’s work is never finished until one stops breathing. “I finished planting the seeds you asked me to, and watered them.”

“Thank you.” He dips his head to you, then to Shoko, before departing, and you watch him go for a moment before your eyes land on Satoru and you smile. The air around you shifts immediately to a vibrant yellow.

“You’re early, Satoru.” You head towards the bed as Shoko parks the wheelchair by the door. “It took way longer than I thought.”

“That’s because you threw up pistils today,” Shoko replies dryly. Satoru straightens up and looks at Shoko more carefully. Placid lookimg—usual for his mortician friend in the jujutsu world—but there’s a blanching in her knuckles that isn’t usual. “The CT wasn’t good. You know that.”

“Well, it’s still more time than I could’ve asked for, you know.” Shoko shakes her head, and meets his eyes before leaving the room, presumably to talk to your doctors. “Party pooper.”

“First day knowing Shoko?”

You laugh sarcastically, adjusting the hospital gown on your body before climbing into bed slowly, as if your joints ache. Satoru’s feet shift on the tile when he realizes his body moves to help and he freezes. You’re breathing audibly by the time you settle in and you meet his eyes, wondering if he’s noticed.

Of course he has, he wants to tell you. He notices everything about you.

Then, you sigh, and the yellow energy around you flickers into something darker, something grey, something that reminds him of summer thunderstorms.

“The roots have reached the edge of my rib cage and are encroaching on my stomach now,” you inform bluntly. “I probably won’t be able to keep food down in the next couple of days so they’re going to up the ante on this thing.” You gesture to the catheter by your clavicle. “So that’s not really fun. And, they want to start taking scans every single day because the growth is increasing exponentially. The doctors think something triggered the flowers to begin blooming in earnest. Like spring has come to my body, and I’m having the worst fucking time of my life.”

Despite your admission, your smile only falters in that it no longer reaches your eyes. Satoru shoves his hands in his pockets because he doesn’t know what else to do.

The word Hanahaki still burns, whispers coyly in his ear. It teases the tip of his tongue as he watches you look to your windowsill where your new plants are and get up, walking over to inspect your friend’s work.

He wonders if he can bring it up again. If he can insist that there’s a way to save you—

But Nanami’s words linger, too, and he bites his tongue until he tastes iron.

“Oh, look.” He blinks at your voice, turning to look. Your fingers sink into one of the pots and before he can ask, blue energy flares up around your hand and into the soil and a shoot breaks through the dirt, unfurling as it grows higher and higher into the air.

“What is it?” Petals are beginning to form, the shade of a warm, gentle red that fades in shade as it reaches the stem. Satoru comes up next to you as the first flower blooms and his eyebrows rise. “Tulips. Huh.”

“I used to love them,” you tell him, picking it off and extending it to him. Eyebrows furrowing in surprise, he takes it as you sink your fingers deeper into the soil, sending more cursed energy into the seeds. More stems to replace the one you had picked continue to grow and you pull your hand out, wiping at your fingers with a towel.

Satoru tilts the flower towards his nose, taking a whiff.

“Used to?” he repeats, and you nod.

“Trees and flowers have their own language.” Your eyes do not meet his as you watch the plant continue to grow. Your muscles go slack, and your fingers touch the petals, mind not quite aware of how you’re moving. “Red tulips mean eternal love, and fame.”

Blinking, he looks down at his own bloom.

Suguru. He hears you say his name, even in the silence, and remembers years ago, walking through Tokyo. A neighbourhood he doesn’t remember, his best friend looking at the florist’s shop and immediately perking up to head inside and buy a bouquet after something had caught his eye.

“For a girl,” he had admitted sheepishly.

“Only one?” Satoru asked, horrified. “You can’t settle down! We’re meant for so many more women than just one!”

A sharp nudge to the ribs. Raucous laughter. “Shut up!”

Quietly, Satoru’s fingers tighten around the stalk as you tilt your head to the sun, inspecting something he won’t understand. He doesn’t have a green thumb, and although you say you aren’t the smartest, he’s seen you grow the college’s gardens in a way that has amplified the beauty already lingering on the grounds. You had dismissed it as a little side project, but seeing you water your plants dutifully, spread feed and root out weeds, makes him wonder if you know how to put half-efforts into anything.

When you garden, you never take the easy route. You labour for the satisfaction, and pour sweat and tears into the soil.

When you love, you love with all of yourself and more.

It’s what makes whatever he wants impossible.

Because he is the same, and they will never change.

When Satoru goes home, he places the tulip in a vase and the cursed energy prickles at his fingertips.

You get worse and worse with every visit.

Each day brings him another raw wound, salt on blood. You slowly grow more and more ragged, even though you stay in the hospital, confined to your room.

There are days Satoru walks into your room to you hunched over the toilet, spitting blood and flowers into the bowl and vomiting all you ate the night or day or hour before and he already knows what he has to do. A cold, damp rag to your forehead, a crouching stance beside you as your grip on the toilet seat becomes rigid like steel.

Other days, you’re still asleep because the night before, you’d been hacking up half a lung and half a bouquet. Sometimes, you’re curled around a plastic receptacle already full of your half-attempts to dislodge the pressure building in your chest.

Or, you’re crying into your hands, breath coming in rapid bursts as you try to force your head between your knees to stop the world from spinning and Satoru holds you when you beg him to, and stands in the corner of the room when you push him away.

Afterwards, you always grab onto his sleeves, his arms, and sink against him, shivering. For hours after, he’ll curl around you on your hospital bed, no matter how much his body cramps, until you insist you’re fine.

“It’s a little like touching death,” you told him once, voice raw and fatigued. “When it’s a pretty bad day, and I think I’m going to die alone, it happens, so all I have to do is not think about it.”

There’s a flawed logic there, but Satoru was too busy pressing his nose into your hair and feeling the warmth of your body to reply any more than, “I’ll be there. I promise.”

Two weeks pass (fourteen sets of scans, a different pair hanging from the lightscreen every day tell him that) and Satoru watches as the branches spread through your body, past the reaches of your ribs, and the flowers have spread to your lungs so quickly he’s sure the time for you to decide is running out.

You’re near-passed out against him on the bathroom floor one evening, and although it’s not closet-sized, it doens’t make the arrangement any less awkward. He’s up against the bathtub, legs sprawled all around you as he holds you in his arms. On the edge of the tub, there is a bar of bodysoap and a bottle of lotion he recognizes as the same one Shoko used to buy when they still had time. Your sink counter is filled with your toothbrush and cup, handsoap and a microfibre towel hanging off the edge smeared with lipstick, foundation, and black streaks of who knows what.

Shoko must have spent the night while he was out hunting a curse in Sendai. Good. He doesn’t like the nights when you’re alone and he can’t be there.

His fingers brush over your shoulder blade, and he travels over something rigid cloaked by your skin. Your eyes are closed, and you’re nearly asleep as you curl deeper against him. Looking down at you, he presses curious fingers into your shoulder blade only for you to let out a soft groan.

“Did that hurt?”

“No. It just feels like you pressed down on a big sore muscle,” you mumble slowly. He trails his fingers over, feels the bumps of the roots curling around your bones before following it towards your spine. It disappears the closer it reaches the trail of knobs that go down your back, and he moves back to your shoulder again. “Doesn’t hurt, though.”

“Does anything?”

“Mostly my stomach,” you tell him. “I’m so hungry all the time, but I can’t eat.” He glances at the IV stand, the only other witness to the events in this bathroom. It leads down through your gown and past your clavicle. Monitored every day in case the growths dislodge it, it’s one of the only things keeping you alive. “And my throat. It feels like I’ve scratched it out until it’s bleeding.”

He tilts his head. His lips barely brush your sweaty scalp despite how cold you feel in his arms “No surgery?”

You shake your head, what remains of your strength slowly coming back. “They say the flowers and roots have taken up sixty-five percent of my chest cavity. It’s not only inhibiting my lungs, but my heart and stomach, too, so it’d be kind of hard to get rid of it all. Not impossible, but it’s really risky. That, on top of the already-present consequences—”

“So let’s say we start with the lungs,” he cuts off, trying to not sound too desperate but these past few weeks have worn him down to the bone. Although he thinks he’s managed to hide it from his students, Shoko has offered multiple times to prescribe him sleeping pills just so he can shut his mind down.

He said no every time.

Your legs draw up and he squeezes your shoulder carefully, looking down. “Are you ready to get up?”

You nod. “I think so.” He wipes at your lips with the rag he left on the counter and you roll your eyes as he makes sure no blood is left on your face before throwing it back up and carefully adjusting you against him.

“Do you want my help?”

“My answer does not matter to you,” you shoot back teasingly and he lets you pull away from him before reaching up with one hand to push yourself up. Your arm wobbles, your feet kicking back underneath you and slowly finding theirselves on the floor. Satoru withdraws, ducking underneath and back up so he can stand, hands floating around your body as you draw the IV stand towards yourself and grab on. When he’s sure your knees might give in, he grabs your elbow, but you shake your head. “I think I’m okay.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay,” you breathe, raising your head to look at him. Your lips curl in a soft smile, and you clasp his shoulder. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t even do anything this time,” he says.

“Not everyone stays for the pathetic girl on the floor of the bathroom floor,” you quip. Turning around, you begin to head back to bed and he trails behind you carefully.

“If the girl’s you, then I think exceptions can be made.”

“Hospital bonus.”

“It adds that you’re in the hospital, too,” he agrees. “My morals are just.”

“Isn’t that a relief?”

It is. It is a relief that you still have the strength to joke with him.

You climb back into bed. Satoru returns to the bathroom to make sure the bathroom is flushed and it’s clean before returning and perching on the edge of your bed. Pulling out his phone, he shuffles his shoes off and tucks his legs to his chest, leaning against the foot of your bed and scrolling through his messages.

Not much to miss, to be honest.

“There’s supposed to be a lunar eclipse on the morning of the 28th,” you say suddenly. Satoru looks up. You’re leaning back on the mountain of pillows, exhaling and inhaling measuredly in a way he now knows is your way of fighting off another bout. Squinting against the orange glow of the sunset, there’s a longing in your gaze. “I want to see it. Outside and everything.”

“You’re not supposed to leave the hospital.”

You don’t miss a beat. “Oh, we’re abiding by rules, now?”

“If it keeps you around, yes, we are.”

“When did my best friend turn into such a party pooper?” Looking at him, an impish glint lives in your eyes. He balks.

“Don’t you dare insinuate that I’m not fun.”

“Then… take me to see the eclipse.”

“No. There’s nothing to even see.”

“I want to see the moon disappear, Gojo,” you declare. “And if you won’t take me, I will definitely sneak out.”

It paints a pretty pathetic picture, and he can’t help but arch his eyebrows at your determination. The air purifier drones on. The nurse turned it on after dinner, he guesses, and he has the strange urge to kick it as you fix him with a fierce stare.

“You probably won’t be able to walk by then,” he says.

“That won’t stop me.” He knows it won’t. The corner of his lips pulls into a slight smile as you continue, “I just want to go outside one last time. Is that really too much to ask?” Your words are tinged with a fine dusting of humour, and he shakes his head.

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Big word for you, Satoru.”

“I still mean it.”

“And I learned that from you.”

He rolls his eyes and sighs. “Fine,” he caves. Your face lights up, and he sets down his phone, legs unfolding to brush the floor as he leans over to flick your forehead. Your eyes squeeze shut at the contact and you slap his arm away sluggishly before he soothes the smarting spot over with a smear of his thumb. “I’ll come by, and we’ll sneak out.”

You beam and he slips his feet back into his shoes and pockets his phone so he can focus his attention on you.

When visiting hours end, the nurses offer to set up the cot for him like they always do. You pretend not to look at him out of the corner of his eye, awaiting his answer behind your laptop screen, and he spares you a quick glance before saying yes.

“She likes you,” you tell him after one particular nurse with dyed purple hair who always wears a fishtail bids them goodnight. Satoru fluffs up his pillow ceremoniously, having shed his jacket and taken off his jeans to hide underneath the blankets. The fabric is cold against his bare chest, and he pulls his glasses off, sets them on the stand right behind him.

The black frame holding up his mattress rattles a bit as he punches his pillow one last time and lies down. He turns on his side and looks at you. You’re turned on your side, too, and your brow is furrowed as you fight the sleepiness.

“Is that so?” he asks carefully. “What do you think about it?”

“I think if you wanted someone with a hectic schedule, you could pick someone else,” you say vaguely.

He raises an eyebrow. “Does she have a bad attitude or something?”

“I dunno.” There’s a subtle fire igniting in your words. You look a bit more awake, and your eyes are shifting the air into a smouldering red. He squints up. Your face is shadowed, but you’re still silhouetted by the orange light behind your bed as your shoulders rise and fall greatly in staggering, weighty breaths. “She wouldn’t understand. I guess.”

He hums. “So I should find someone who understands me but can’t be there for me? Sounds like the set up to every tragic love story ever.”

You laugh, and it’s the saddest sound in the world.

Friday, July 27th arrives in clouds.

Satoru scouted a spot before where they can watch the eclipse. He settles on one of the highest buildings on campus with a balcony where they can sit against the railing and watch the moon disappear. You can’t eat, but he still buys your favourite food from all over Japan, travelling to different prefectures in hopes that they still have your favourite dessert or drink that you mentioned once—he even gets you a new polaroid camera. He doesn’t know exactly how well the eclipse will show up on it, but, memories, right?

Maki makes a dry remark about how much he’s running around lately, probably to make amends to a girl he’s scorned. Satoru deflects and says he’s actually trying to impress one this time.

It’s been a five days since his promise to bring you. You lost your ability to walk steadily two days ago and to speak effortlessly only yesterday. The roots have extended through your body, pushing the muscle of your back and shoulders, and it’s made even moving painful, so he intends to carry you everywhere he can, holding your IV bags if he needs to.

The doctors say eighty-five percent of your chest is now occupied with foreign growth. Satoru wishes they’d just tell it how it is—you’ll probably be dead by next week.

He arrives at the hospital and walks the path he’s walked so often over the past few weeks that he is sure he could do it with his eyes closed. The nurse’s station, and there’ll be the purple-haired one and the one with a double helix piercing on call at this time. Then, twenty-five steps to the end of the hall where the window often lets a lot of natural light in. Today, it’s grey and not much, but it’s enough to cast his shadow long and blurry.

He stops in front of your door to sanitize his hands when he hears voices within and hesitates.

Your door is closed, which means you don’t want people to interrupt, and he moves away from the rectangular window, back pressing against the tiny slab of wall between the frame and the corner of the hallway. Glasses slipping down his nose, he tries not to listen but he can’t help of himself.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” you say weakly. You sound awful. Satoru wonders if he’s missed one of your panic attacks and curses himself. “If I don’t sound sure, it’s because I’m dying… and sounding like a fragile piece of shit… comes with the territory.” Your words are coarse, and a harsh anger grates his ears as you cough violently, a terrible retching sound ending with a splat following right after.

“I wasn’t doubting you,” Nanami replies calmly. “But this could be done in so many other ways.”

“Look, Nanami. I’m not… brave enough to say any of it. Now, sit down. Your standing… it’s making me nervous… Thank you.” Satoru’s legs feel numb as he sinks down to the floor, tilting his head just enough to listen clearer through the sliver underneath the door. Resting his elbows on his knees, he runs a hand through shaggy white hair. It feels dry and lifeless.

He can’t remember the last time he took a shower that was longer than ten minutes and more than ice-cold bordering on just beginning to warm.

“Take care of him for me,” you croak and his fingers tighten against his scalp. Nanami doesn’t answer, and you let out a sound that can only be described as pure agony as another bout grasps you tightly. You’re wheezing by the end of it, gasping painfully for air, and the monitors start beeping rapidly, a dinging that echoes in his head as Nanami’s low voice soothes you, tells you gently to calm down. “I’m—I’m sorry.”

“Breathe with me,” Nanami orders, and everything falls silent. Satoru stares at his lap. His head is beginning to pulse with the monitors when the beeping finally starts to fade. “Good. No sense to waste your strength.”

Wobbly, spitting: “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” A pause. “It’s not your fault.”

You laugh, as if Nanami’s cracked a funny joke, and it’s gut-wrenching. “Remember how… we can curse each other? Ourselves? True curses.”

Faintly amused, immeasurably strained: “I thought it was still a hypothesis regarding those who don’t have the correct bloodline and the ability to curse through their own will.”

“No…Not a hypothesis. Real, Nanami. Real. No one knows how cursed energy affects us. Not really. Since, in my opinion, it’s entirely based on how we process things… it’s so difficult to say but when you know someone…” You break off to clear your throat. “The curse of adulthood… some of us got that too early… but we can survive that and even if it’s not a curse by… definition, we still feel it, right?”

Satoru clasps his hands together just so he doesn’t rip the door open at the hinges.

“Right.”

“And… knowledge… can be a curse. Even if we can’t see it.” A ragged breath. Then, another laugh too loud for the grey light outside, too bright, a spark before it fizzles into, again, pained choking. “Nanami, remember last year… the job out in Yama… Yamaguchi?”

“Yes.”

“And we came back… Okkotsu was beginning his first year at the college… what I—what I told you?”

“…Yes.” A beat passes. A chair shifts on the linoleum floor and Nanami clears his throat. “I see.”

“I don’t want him to be so alone. I know I was never the strongest or the smartest or the most talented but I liked to think he let me in because I was there. Not because I understood. Maybe… Maybe because I didn’t. Nanami, please… he always try to stay so far away from the people he thinks he can’t love. Tell him… tell him—“

You break off and Nanami assures you with a steadfastness Satoru has counted on so many times before: “I will.”

“…thank you.”

Eyes shutting tight, Satoru rests his brow against the heel of his hand. His head is aching, and a hard fist grabs his chest, squeezes his heart until it feels like it’ll burst. So this is how you’re really feeling. When you’re not smiling, this is what you are. Angry at the world, and heartbroken.

So terribly heartbroken.

And you couldn’t trust him with it? Because you thought he couldn’t handle it?

He can take it. It’ll be okay because he’s the strongest. He has to be.

I’m the strongest. I should be okay. I’m the strongest.

I’m the Strongest.

The headache gets worse so he gets up from that corner in the dead-end hallway, all the while three words replay in his head like a goddamn gramophone.

Nanami doesn’t come out of the room for a while. When he does, Satoru walks down the hall with takeout and a smile plastered on his face as if he had heard nothing at all.

At just past one-thirty AM, Satoru sits up from his cot and rubs at his eyes. After dinner, the both of them had forced themselves to go to sleep in order to have enough energy for their little late night excursion. He glances at you, a slumbering shape on the bed, and gets up, slowly sliding on the lights. They burn a dim orange, glowing on your face, and your eyebrows furrow as he touches your cheek.

“What?” you mumble, vexed, and he smiles.

“Are you ready?” he asks. A backpack is situated at the end of his bedframe and he reaches for it, unzipping it carefully as you crack your eyes open. “We’re going to go see the eclipse, remember?” Pulling out clothes he robbed from your room in the staff facility from when you used to work full time, he grabs your shoulder and shakes you gently. The gnarled roots under your skin feel strange against his fingers as you groan weakly. “Do you want five more minutes, Sleeping Beauty?”

You don’t answer, burying your face into your pillow and he shakes his head to himself. It’s going to be all right, he thinks. I planned for this setback.

Slipping into a dark long-sleeve, he parts the black-out curtains to let light come in. He checks his reflection in the bathroom mirror before running a hand through his hair and washing his hands with a cold stream of water. By the time he leaves the bathroom, you’re sitting up already, heel of your hand rubbing against your brow as you groan. In your other hand in your lap, there’s a splash of blood and a lone petal, and he rushes to your side instantly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t even hear—“

“It came out easy,” you assure as he grabs a tissue to pick it off your hand and throw it into the receptacle at the table just beyond the foot of your bed. Wiping at your mouth roughly, he hears your complaints and your hand shoves against his shoulder to tell him to quit it. “Ah, I can do it myself!”

“Shh! Do you want every nurse storming in here while we conduct our super secret getaway?” he whispers, and your eyes fix on his. Dark circles mark your face like bruises, but that light is still the same—glimmering, bright, like twin suns and just as warm. Making sure your hands are clean, he wipes the invisible streaks of blood just to be sure before grabbing your clothes and setting them at the end of the bed.

You glance around the place sluggishly, at the paintings you never got to finish, and the books you haven’t finished reading, before settling on him. “What are we going to do about the… about the machines? And my IV…”

“Oh, trust me. I may have bribed a nurse or two,” he confesses and you send him a scandalized look. He shrugs. “What? You told me a woman liked me and I couldn’t help but turn on my natural charm.”

“You’re awful,” you say without meaning it and he smiles as he moves your bed into a sitting position. You cough lightly, but sit up straighter as he carefully unhooks the huge bag and pump from your stand and gently slides it into the pocket in the backpack, resisting the urge to squish the pouch a bit. Strapping the pump in, he makes sure it’s secure as you peer around him to catch what he’s doing. “Is this… safe for me, you—you know, medically-speaking?”

“Nope.” He adjusts the tubing to avoid any kinks. “But, Purple gave me this backpack and she will come as soon as we come back to make sure you aren’t dying. And, if anything goes wrong, I promised her I’d come back as soon as possible.”

“Promised her?” you echo “I see. So that’s what Purple… was doing before my afternoon nap. I thought you guys traded suspicious looks.”

“Yeah. I’m pulling big strings. Now, c’mon, silly. Let’s get you dressed.”

You roll your eyes with a whistling breath. “Watch the tube… and c’mere, then, Gojo.”

He grabs the jacket first and does exactly as you order. Wrapping it around you, he helps you thread your arms through before zipping you up carefully as your shoulders begin to shake. Bending over, you reach blindly for the receptacle at the end of the bed and he hands it over to you.

A wad of saliva mixed with blood slips between your lips and you let out a low noise before forcing yourself to cough harshly again and again. Satoru watches. No matter how many times he sees you rip your throat up just to breathe with a bit less pressure in your chest, it doesn’t get any easier.

You manage to get up a whole magenta blossom. It blooms from your mouth like something out of a horror movie and lands in the receptacle before he’s wiping your mouth.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

They continue on.

Coat, next, zipped up, and a scarf, then he’s scooping up your legs to help you twist on the mattress until your feet are dangling off the edge. He weaves your legs through the sweat pants, careful not to let his gaze avert from his task even as the hospital gown trails up your legs. You shiver at the exposed skin and gooseflesh pimples your thighs as you lift up your hips to help with the effort. He pulls the hospital gown free from the waistband and lets it fall over the hem so you’re completely covered before falling back.

In a crouch, he pats your knees and makes the mistake of looking up only to find your eyes already on him, searching, nearly mystified. Satoru’s throat tightens. The faint light streaming from the window catches half of your face, as if half-divine. There’s a curiosity there, lingering, and the way you look at him makes him freeze in his spot.

Is this how Suguru saw you a thousand times before, a thousand lifetimes ago? Is this what he felt?

Did he see the way your pupils dilate, the flare of your nostrils as you exhaled so quietly that it felt like a feather against his lips despite the distance between them? Did he see galaxies in your irises, home in the softness of your stare? Is that why he kissed you the last time he saw you? To memorialize their love for himself, to remember what it looked like when you loved him?

Did he feel like he could fight dragons, crush demons, rip their world apart at the seams and rebuild it again with bloodied nails if it meant you would never cry again? Is that part of why he did it? So you would never be lonely again?

Because if so, Satoru understands.

Because if so, Satoru would do the same.

Because he always saw you as just pretty, because you had always been just his friend, and then his best friend’s girlfriend, and then his best friend, so there were always lines drawn in salt, scuffed and distorted over the years, but…

But in the light, tired and lost in his gaze, you’re nearly ethereal. The only reason he knows you’re not a goddess is because he’s still touching your knees, and your breath quivers, as if you’re just as disconnected from the world as he is in this moment.

Lips pressing together, he looks away, and the moment’s gone.

He glances at the clock.

How long has it been since he moved? It feels like hours.

Twenty-seven seconds.

Twenty-seven seconds of temptation, and then Satoru turned away.

He slants to grab a pair of thick woolly socks to give himself something to do. You’re still watching him, head tilted down just so, and he carefully takes hold of your ankle.

He focuses on the little things: the iciness of your skin, the way you pick at the fabric of your sweatpants absently as you watch him work, the way you shiver a bit when he touches you.

He rubs heat back into the arch of your foot as you reach into your jacket slowly to carefully remove the nodes monitoring your vitals. You seem stiff to the bone, and your fingers are rigid with anticipated pain as you peel off the stickers. In the back of his mind, he remembers the days that feel like yesterday when you weren’t hooked up to so many machines to assure both you and him that you’re still alive.

Removing the cap for the oximeter from your finger, you shake yourself out a bit, clearing your throat. He slides one sock on, and then the other.

“How’re you feeling?” he finally utters.

It takes you a moment to answer. “Bottom half feels tingly. Usual these days. My body feels like a big giant bruise,” you inform quietly. Your voice is nothing more than a rasp. “Very warm and toasty, though… Thank you.”

“Just gotta get the shoes on and then we’ll teleport there.”

“Okay.” He helps you slip your feet in, something straight out of Cinderella, and then he stands up to take your hands. Your fingers slip into his palms, and he holds you so tightly as you slide off the bed. The instant your feet hit the floor, your grip intensifies and your head snaps down to the floor. You find your footing after a moment, and he lets go to crack open your window. Moving your plants aside, he climbs out to glance around.

The air is crisp and cold, but not too bad for him. Even so, he’ll probably slip on a hoodie before they leave and he ducks back in to your room to do so, tugging it down his waist before grabbing the backpack.

“Arms through,” he instructs, slipping the backpack onto your shoulders. Guiding you closer, he helps you shuffle as close as possible towards him before turning around and bending over. “Alright, climb on. We’re going.”

Your arms touch his shoulders, his hands shoot out behind him, and you fall.

Fingers hooking on your thighs, he boosts you up and your arms wrap around him, your own fingers wrapped so tightly around his collar that it nearly chokes him. Haphazardly stepping through the windows, his fingers sink into the fabric of your sweats. Your breath is warm against the shell of his ear, and he can feel your heart pulsing against his back as he turns to look at you.

He smiles. “How’s it feel?”

“I’m still not sure if you’re going to let me die.” You press your face closer to his head and your arms tighten. “But the wind feels so good. So, so good.”

“That’d be too undignified,” he teases, and then he jumps. Time seems to slow as it always does when he’s about to teleport. He imagines the staff facility on the campus, quiet as a cemetery at this time of night, and his heart lurches forward. For a moment, his senses leave him all at once. He can’t taste or feel or see anything for a fraction of a second, then it comes to him in blinding speed. His hearing, as always, is first, then his eyes, smell and then touch and smell.

His foot lands on stone, as if he’s just finished a small skip, and he grins as he sweeps the courtyard. No one, as planned. The building’s to his immediate right, and he climbs the steps, using your knee to nudge the door open.

“That was fun,” you comment. “Convenient, too. Blink of an eye, and you’re somewhere else.”

“You can’t even begin to imagine how many lines I’ve skipped because of it,” he comments. The lights are all off, and he heads for the kitchen immediately to grab all the food he’s bought. Setting you down on the kitchen counter, he takes out another canvas bag and stuffs all of the food in.

Daifuku with of all kinds of fillings in the fridge, fresh dorayaki, canned coffee and aloe drinks, sweet soymilk and other wagashi they used to feast on when they were younger. Mostly because Satoru would buy enough to feed a kingdom so he always had something on hand for his overactive brain. You watch him with wide eyes as he moves around with such purpose one could think he was preparing to fight an army, but as soon as he finishes, he flashes you a smile.

“I think you’re going to like where we’re going a lot, silly.”

“Didn’t have to buy stuff,” you mutter, fingers playing with the tube leading into your backpack for a moment.

“You haven’t eaten in weeks. I thought maybe we could at least try. Maybe not now, but at the end of the night, before we go back. Just in case.”

“I can’t eat, though.”

“Don’t know until I stuff it down your throat,” he replies cheerily, and you smile at him so brightly it’s almost like you aren’t sick. Then, that smile turns into a cough, a fist in front of your lips, and your expression is frozen into one of exasperation before it flickers into strained. He sets down his bag, already knowing what comes next.

You make a hacking sound, deep in your throat, and he shifts you closer to the sink so you can lean over and throw up. Gagging, it comes in red and clear torrents, the cursed energy spilling out of your body nearly making it incinerating to even touch you as you clutch the edge of the sink basin.

You fall to your elbows, and Satoru eases you off the counter so he can hold you up instead of the cramping body contortion you sink into. Cupping the juncture of your shoulder and neck, his thumb sweeps soothingly over your root-invested spine, tossing the ends of the scarf over your shoulder and out of the way.

Settling a hand on your hip, he presses you against the countertop so you don’t fall, and hopes your legs can hold you up long enough for him to reach for the hand towel. You spit just as he manages to grab it, snapping back into position and peering over your shoulder to inspect how much you’ve coughed up. You shudder and a tortured moan wrenches out of your throat as you sink, forehead against the cool metal.

You’re scorching to touch, but he tightens his hold on you anyway, setting the towel aside for just a moment. Carefully, he pulls you back up and you let out an drained whine, but he shushes you quietly, turning you around and guiding your head over his shoulder so you don’t stare at the rot any longer.

Satoru knows you would, even if you pretend like you aren’t plagued with morbid, self-destructive curiosity.

Looking into the sink, he counts a few petals and three whole flowers, and you’re quivering against him as he wraps his arm around you.

“Alright, lean back for me,” he whispers into your ear, and you obey. His arm around you crooks so he supports your head, the other grabbing the towel again. Exhaustion seems to have sluiced through you, and your eyes are nearly unfocused as he dabs at your mouth carefully. His blue eyes focus on the gentle curve of your lips, and your cheeks puff up before you swallow tightly and let out a shaking breath.

“You’re really close,” you mumble in that exhale. He tilts your chin to the light to make sure he hasn’t missed a spot, and your eyelids flutter as the corners of his lips quirk up. His Six Eyes pick up a muted yellow emanating from you, and it’s so warm against his skin that he can’t help but relish in the feeling. “You smell nice.”

“Good. I took a shower before I came today. Well, yesterday,” he amends softly. “Alright, let’s go before you hack up your other lung.”

“Funny.” Nonetheless, he scoops you back up onto his back and he rinses down the sink as you rest your head against his. He feels you breathing steadily, much easier now than before. Red swirls down the drains, and he watches the magenta petals slowly reveal their true colours. There’s a flash of white in the center of each one, and he wonders silently what flower it is and what it means.

Maybe he’ll find out some day.

When the kitchen’s back to the state they entered, he grabs the bag of food and holds onto your legs tightly as your arms around his neck shift and pull him closer.

This time, when he teleports, it’s not as jarring. Walking around the balcony, he makes sure no one’s in the area before checking that the door to the roof is locked and heading back out into the night air, towards where they can see the moon clearest.

“Hey, open your eyes,” he whispers over his ear, and your head shifts.

“Hm? Oh!” He feels you wriggle, but he doesn’t let you go as he walks closer to the spot he’s set up. Near the railing, a blanket surrounded by pillows is laid out surrounded by a few space heaters. The moon is hanging perfectly in front of them, and the light illuminates the forests in silver as a gentle wind whistles through. Tranquil, the only sound is his footsteps on wood as you manage to pull your legs free with a harsh twist of your torso. Your hand slaps against the railing and he whirls around to hold you up but you grit your teeth. “I can do it.”

Breathing in deeply, you pull yourself past him using mostly your arms. Your feet drag as if they’re not really attached to a living body but you still move steady onward, and he walks ahead to turn on the heaters and set the food down as far away as he can so it doesn’t spoil too quickly.

“Satoru,” you breathe as if for the first time,” it’s so fucking beautiful up here.” Looking up, his heartstrings twinge. Your face is bathed almost entirely in silver, and it drapes down your body like silk, illuminating the cord of your throat he can see above the scarf, the strength of your hands. A smile brighter than even the most blinding sun rays comes across your face and he finds that the moon pales in comparison as your knees begin to give.

Reaching forward, he helps you sink down slowly, and then sit down, legs hanging off the edge and then you’re leaning to rest your elbows on the middle bar of the wooden railing. You can’t stop staring at the moon, and Satoru can’t stop staring at you as he opens the box of daifuku and pops one into his mouth.

“The eclipse should be starting in a few minutes,” he says, checking his watch. 2:10. Four minutes to go. You finally tear your eyes away from the moon to look at him.

“I forgot…” you muse. “I forgot how bright… the moon was.”

He settles in beside you and offers a canned coffee, but you shake your head. He cracks it open for himself.

“We’re about to watch the moon change,” he notes. “But I read that it’ll last six hours.”

“Really?” Excited, you look up at the moon again. The lunar rays outline your already-pronounced eye bags but it also makes you look more beatific. “That’s just proof… our time here on Earth is so inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. It really makes you—makes you think how much we really matter. Which doesn’t seem like a lot, compared to things like a… fucking lunar eclipse.”

The moon’s opinion doesn’t matter more than mine, he thinks. “Well, while we’re waiting for your next epiphany to hit you,” he says instead, “you never answered my question.”

You smile, intrigued. “What’s that?”

“What if we removed the flowers bit by bit, rather than all at once?” he asks. Your gaze snaps to him, but he only regards you honestly. “That gives you a fighting chance.” Your eyes widen imperceptibly, and he grabs another mochi ball and takes a bite.

“The roots and flowers are too entangled in my chest to be removed safely. It’s either they remove my lungs completely, or not at all, and finding a… match for one lung is hard enough, much less two perfect lungs…” You trail off and shrug. “Well, that’d take forever… and I wouldn’t get much… longer, anyway. I’m a sorcerer. I always knew… I was going to die, so why not die on my own t-terms?”

He frowns. “Why not try?”

“Give me your phone.”

He does so, and watches you type in a query you must’ve typed before with how quick your lethargic fingers fly over the screen before you’re shoving it back towards him and leaning forward on the railing, chin to your forearms. You don’t even look at him, as if you don’t want to watch him crumble.

He reads: The first year after the transplant is the most critical period wrought with surgical complications, chances of rejection, and infection… Although there are some reports of some people living for 20 years post-transplant, many people do not make it past 10 years and only half make it past 5…

His stomach curdles. “Five years is better than nothing.”

“Five years worrying when my lungs are going to… kick it,” you correct. “Besides, my ribs are mangled by the roots. And my heart. My stomach. My spine. I’m undernourished, exhausted, and everything in here”—you gesture slowly around your abdomen—“is doing overtime. My body’s too weak to handle any kind of surgery that wouldn’t heal me… immediately.”

Your eyes find his, and it’s as if lightning strikes through him like a spear—piercing cold and electrifying. You’re beginning to blue in the lips like you’re freezing to death, but he’s sweating under the blast of the heaters.

Pulling off his hoodie, he drapes it around your shoulders. You don’t react anymore than: “Sucks, but that’s how it is.”

A few more minutes pass by in silence. Their knees knock into one another, and Satoru can’t stop looking at you as you breathe in the home you left months ago, head lifted to the inky universe.

“You know I can tell when you’re—when you’re angry with me,” you utter, not looking at him. “No matter how much you smile at me, you’re still too passive aggressive to cover it up.”

The words spill out of his mouth as you lower your gaze to him. “I’m sorry.” No sense in lying.

“That’s okay.” You smile for a moment, like he hasn’t said something worth ruining a night over, but when you look up at the stars, it fades. Wistful, you cock your head at the moon that hasn’t gone away just yet and lower your chin to your arms again. “It’s not really something that was… fair of me to ask anyway.”

Just as the moon turns yellow, he remembers something. Bending back to root through your backpack, he excuses himself. You frown. “What are you—“

“I got a camera for this occasion,” he announces, withdrawing the camera and a plastic bag, leaning back to snap a quick picture of you. You squint at the flash, mouth opened in an incredulous smile and face half-turned away, before the photo rolls out. “Like the one you used to carry around.”

“Some memories to hold on to, huh.” You reach for the camera and your fingers wrap around it, aiming it right at him. A flash and two peace signs later, another image joins the one of you Satoru slides into the plastic zip bag. “Hold on. I want to take another one.”

“We should do one of both of us.”

“Ugh, fine… I don’t look good at all, though.“

“Too late.” He snatches the camera from you and sticks out his hand, dragging an arm around your shoulders and you lean into him, temple against his cheek as he snaps another photo, and then another of him making a stupid face. Another of you mid-laugh. You’re wheezing for air as he keeps grabbing the polaroids as fast as he can with the arm that’s around your shoulder, leading to a bunch of jostling that has you in stitches at his frantic panic whenever the new photo chugs out of the slit.

When he’s had his fill of making you laugh, Satoru leaves you alone to look at the moon. He can’t stop grinning stupidly with every photo and while you watch the moon slowly descent into the earth’s shadow, he shuffles through the photos he just took of them together, trying to brand them to memory.

The way he looks at you in these photos makes him believe in something. In something that could’ve been there if they had more time, and he could convince you to open your heart up to a new possibility.

Another hour passes. The moon hangs a strange transition between black and blood red and a paler peach orange. A glimmering yellow dot sparkles below it, and he wonders if that’s Mars.

The forests seem almost hauntingly quiet, and no one has spoken in the darkness. You regard the moon, so enraptured, and more photos have joined the zip bag, but they’re mostly of you. He’s managed to sneak them in by turning off the flash and upping the brightness settings so it’d still be visible, and he hopes you never realize that he’s got them.

Satoru has never been interested in astronomy, but the stars in your eyes are changing his mind.

He’s dug his hand into the bag of dorayaki already. He remembers it’s supposed to be for you, too, but his hands are too empty without the camera, his brain going a mile a minute and the air absolutely quiet with nothing.

Twenty minutes ago, you asked him to help you take off your coat so you can pull on his hoodie, and haven’t moved since zipping yourself back up. The air smells only of canned coffee and the stinging wind carrying the scent of cedar. Feet swinging, he drapes his arms over the railing and looks up at the red moon.

It is pretty. Magnificent, and ominous, almost. The night is so much darker without the moon. Sheesh, colder, too. I wonder if you’re feeling okay. Maybe I should check, but you don’t seem to be shaking. Worst comes to worst, I could up the level on the space heaters…

“I don’t think I ever got to hear his last words,” you muse quietly, voice cracking, rousing him from his monologue. His head swings to you. Your eyes are barely open as you rest your cheek against your forearm, and you don’t look at Satoru despite your head turned towards him. Instead, he can watch the pieces of you fall apart without your scrutiny. “I used to think… that I didn’t care.”

“Do you want me to tell you?” he asks slowly as you continue to stare blankly over his ear. Your chest stutters in its inhale and the exhale is just as shaky as you smile a bit to yourself. He takes that as answer, and as he speaks, he sees Suguru’s smile—bright against the darkness of the alleyway, and a reminder of a simpler time. Satoru’s heart quickens from the memory “‘At least curse me a little at the very end.’”

You’re quiet for a moment, as if soaking that in. Then, you draw yourself up and sigh. “That sounds like him.”

You say it fighting off a laugh, even though it wracks your body with such intense pain you can barely breathe. You begin to wheeze not even a second in, and still, your face is cracked into an agonizing smile as you blink, tears slipping down your cheeks. Your eyes squeeze shut and your body goes stiff as you cough, hands flying over your lips. Your shoulders shake so uncontrollably it’s like an earthquake in your body, but Satoru cannot find it in him to calm you down as you hunch over yourself.

It comes in its own course, until you’re nothing but a gasping body, crying into bloodied palms cupping purple flowers, and the low sobs that spill and stutter out of your throat makes Satoru wish he never told you.

“‘At least curse me a little at the very end,’” you repeat to yourself, voice raw and iron-like, and your eyes finally rise to meet his. Nothing but hollow purple pierces through him once more. “Yeah… Yeah, that sounds like him.”

An apology bubbles at his lips, but you continue before he can even begin. Your hands fall to to your laps, and you look at the decaying flowers, thumbs stroking the petals. “I could never make him truly happy… could I? Just like he said… nothing would’ve been good enough for him while we lived in this kind of world. No matter how many times I sat by him while he swallowed… swallowed those curses, held his hand, held him, I would have never been… enough to make him laugh from his heart.” Your tears cast dark shadows. “I held him, Satoru, with all my might… and I still felt him slip away between my fingers.”

That’s how Satoru learns you were there that day, December 24th, not a snowflake in sight. Just a few metres away, you stood for only a moment before you walked away from the man you loved so he could die without any regret, at the cost of your own guilt eating you alive.

No one speaks after that. Satoru cleans your hands slowly, carefully, giving attention to each finger, before swiping your lips, and then he wipes your tears away but you’re not crying anymore.

You just look up at the moon emptily and he scoots closer in hopes to keep your returning trembling at bay.

“Ten years is a very… long time to love someone.” You break the silence. He doesn’t know how long it’s been. Fifteen, thirty minutes? He looks at you, and your lips press into a thin smile. He lifts his arm so you can scoot up close next to him. Your eyes never leave his face, regarding him with new clarity. “I just… realized.”

“Ten years is a very long time for anything,” he replies quietly, their faces very close. Their noses brush, and a warmth spreads through his cheeks as he presses the tip of your nose against his. You don’t pull away. Instead, you almost lean closer. Your nose is cold against his hot face, and he rubs it slowly with his own, trying to send heat back into your skin.

“A very long time to… wait.” Your eyes flutter shut, and your breath is warm over his lips as you slowly tilt your head so their foreheads meet. His hand squeezes your waist. You smell like the hospital, but there’s still the fragrance of the fresh-cut grass and herbs clinging to your skin as he moves his head just to the side so his nose presses into your frozen cheek. Your arm moves as if dragging through honey until it’s wrapped around his neck, palm flat against his shoulder, just as their brows press against one another.

Something ignites inside his chest, incinerating the rot that seems to grow inside his own chest—it’s his dread, he realizes a moment later. An ugly knot of dread for what’s to come, the guilt, the cold grief that’s just out of reach.

It’ll unfurl soon, he knows, but for now, he welcomes the relief you bring him.

In this moment, you are his, and he is yours, and that is all that matters.

His eyes close. His cheeks are burning hotter than the heaters surrounding them, and he feels a smile pulling at his lips as your fingers curl against the back of his neck.

“When will people… stop waiting?” you ask him, hushed like a secret.

Eyes opening, he answers you in the same soft voice, “Probably when they die.”

Your eyes crack open once more and he catches a sliver between your heavy lids. You’re so close he sees every detail of your irises, the pores of your eye bags, the way memories flicker through your pupils like fish in a river.

Your exhausted smile grows more genuine—something inside you seems to rear its bright little head, but it’s sad, and he realizes, then, what you must’ve been thinking. Words fumble at his mouth, but he doesn’t let anything slip as you lift your face away to rest your head against his shoulder.

You’re dozing against him. Satoru is staring up at the moon in your stead. It’s nearly fully that famous shade of dark blood red, but not quite. He can’t hear anything except the buzz of the space heaters and your breathing. His arm is still wrapped tight around you, holding you flush against him. He’s wished he’d done it so many times before that now, he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself.

You’re dying. Even as you rest against him, he feels it. The weakness in your body, the way you’ve turned ghost-like. The strength of your Cursed Energy has become more prominent now that you don’t have the energy to channel it properly, and it’s centred so strongly in your chest that he can feel it poking curiously at him, leaving little marks, a souvenir for when you’re gone.

His fingers dig into your side. You let out a noise, head shifting, and he rips his gaze away away from the sky as your hand falls away from where it had rested around his neck into his lap.

“Satoru?” you whisper brokenly, and he nods, smiling. He pulls you closer, but their bodies are so pressed against each other that it only serves to make you huff a bit.

“Hey. You’re still with us, don’t worry,”

“Not worried,” you mumble, lifting your head with difficulty. “Just glad you’re here.” You tilt your face to the moon. “It’s still… red, huh…” You shake, your hand at the hem of his shirt twisting tightly. He reaches to squeeze your arm and hopes it’ll be enough now. “Pretty.” Throat dry, he does not answer. His white hair falls into his eyes as you look up at him, and he decays at the vulnerability in your gaze. “Aren’t you glad… that we saw the eclipse?”

Jaw clenching, he nods and tries his best to smile. Your hand lets go of his shirt and you shuffle up close enough that your other arm sneaks around his waist. Touching his chin with trembling fingers, your eyes glitter in the darkness of his shadow.

“I’m going to miss this. The moon, stars, how… fucking short… ’n’ beautiful life is,” you finally whisper, throat tight. “Makes shit worth living for. Maybe… won’t miss it… the most… but, top three.”

“Top three?” he echoes. “Top three sounds pretty good to me.”

“And, y’know what, Satoru?” you continue in the same low, husky tone, as if you’re about to change his world one more time.

He drops to the lowest, quietest voice he can manage and moves his head closer. Their noses nearly bump into each other again, and you smile as he quirks an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

“You’re… going to miss me… more.”

Your hand on his waist travels up his shoulder and he feels the last of your strength in your muscles as you pull him towards you. Letting you, his arms wrap around your waist as your other arm shoots around his neck, clinging on so hard that he’s sure his spine might break.

Flattening his palms against your uneven back, he closes his eyes and slides a hand to cradle your head close.

“And promise… me something,” you breathe into his ear. Your lips brush the shell of his ear, and a shiver shoots down his spine.

“Anything.”

“When I kick it,” you whisper, “take my body, and bury me… yourself.”

Throat swelling shut, Satoru’s glad you can’t see the way the blood drains from his face as he nods and holds you tighter. “I will.”

“One more photo for the road?” he asks. You lift your head from his chest, and he looks as you reach to sweep his lips with cold, trembling fingers. He smiles, his hand on your thigh squeezing meaningfully even though you can barely feel it now. Your arms are bundled between your chest and his, and he hauls your legs on his thighs more securely up his lap, arm tightening around your torso.

“Satoru,” you murmur, tilting your head to him. His eyes never move from yours as he picks up the camera, and your hand falls from his lips. “I’m glad… that it was you.”

He snaps the shot and the only sound that fills the silence is the camera chugging out the polaroid. Your eyes are dark, murky and unfocused, and he feels your stammering inhale in his very lungs as he presses his forehead against yours.

“I’m happy it was you, too,” he whispers. You search his gaze for only a moment, and then turn your head to the moon once more.

Lowering the camera to the floor, he sneaks his other arm around you and rests his chin atop of your head, eyes sliding shut.

Nanami, Yaga, and Ijichi approach, dress shoes tapping against linoleum floors. Satoru and Shoko say nothing to them as they join in watching through the glass doors.

Satoru doesn’t like the room they’ve moved you to. It’s too full of machines, too open to passersby who could just look in if the curtains aren’t drawn, and even then…

It smells too clinical here. Too full of artificial light. The ICU is a mechanical sort of silence than the quiet peace of the dead-end hallway. There is no warmth, no books, no paintings. Your plants have been removed, and Nanami has taken all of them into his apartment except the red tulips which rest on the dinner table in Satoru’s kitchen.

You stopped being able to breathe on your own only a day after the eclipse. That was two days ago, and the ventilator is doing nothing more than prolonging your agony. Soon, the growths will block your lungs entirely, suffocating you from the inside out.

The doctors have stopped taking scans.

“It’s only a matter of time, now,” Shoko had said. “Her directive says we let her go as soon as she can’t come back.” Quieter: “Her pulse ox has been dropping. It won’t be long.”

Ijichi’s face is stony. Satoru doesn’t know why he focuses on him out of everyone. Leaning against the nurse’s station, he stares blankly at the Assistant Director’s. Maybe because he thought he’d be a wreck. Out of all of them, Ijichi’s the most emotional, but his lips are set firm from where he stands between Nanami and their principal.

Maybe Satoru’s just looking for permission to fall apart, but that’d be stupid.

I’m the strongest. I’ll be fine.

“I’m going to go in,” he announces. No one protests. Nanami sits down and crosses one leg over the other, fingers steepled and eyes indecipherable. Shoko sits beside him. There’s the faint scent of smoke clinging to her lab coat.

Ijichi dips his head, but doesn’t sit and Yaga excuses himself to talk to the nurse about your condition.

Satoru sanitizes his hands, approaches the door, and pulls it open before stepping in and sliding it shut behind him.

Click. Hiss.

The sound of the ventilator is the only thing that occupies the room. That and the monitors. It’s very dark, despite it being the middle of the day. Mostly because you can’t open your eyes wide enough to withstand the sun anymore, so Satoru had asked the nurses to bring the same blackout curtains from your room here. The lights are dimmed until it’s only an orange glow right behind your bed.

Click. Hiss.

Sitting down, he doesn’t take hold of your hand just in case you’re sleeping. The intubation tube rests on a pile of towels on your chest, and it takes a long time before your eyes open and your head tilts just enough to look. Your hand twists on top of the covers until your palm is tilted open.

He slips fingers in, takes hold. The feel of your skin making everything worse. You’re colder than you should be—it’s sweltering in this room, enough that Satoru is already beginning to sweat even through his short-sleeve—and your fingers just barely twitch against the back of his hand, tracing strange shapes.

You blink, tapping his knuckle, and he frowns.

“What’s up?” Withdrawing, he feels your nail scrape against his flesh and he looks down. Curiously, he takes your hand and places it on top of his so your fingers can touch the lines of his palm. “Are you spelling something out?” he asks, amused, glancing up again.

Another blink, slower this time.

He leans forward on his elbow to touch your cheek before resting his cheek against his fist.

“Alright, give it your best shot.”

Your eyelids flutter, lips trembling in a weak smile. Your index finger begins to trace shapes, kanji, into his palm. Your chest rises and fall slowly, pumped full of air by a machine hooked to your lungs, forcing breath into you as your writing grows sloppy by the passing second but you still persist.

ANGRY?

“Angry?” he repeats, and you blink slowly again, fingers insistent on grabbing his palm. Folding his fingers over yours, he arches his eyebrows. “If I was angry at a terminally ill patient, that’d make me the asshole here.” Your eyes squeeze shut, eyebrows rearranging in what he recognizes as your laugh in silence. More seriously, his hold on you tightens and he lifts his head to brush his fingers over your brow. You tilt your head more to him, gaze murky warm. “How’re you feeling?”

It takes a while, but he feels your hand shuffle back to trace your answer on his hand.

BETTER

“Better. Yeah?”

Another lethargic blink. Yes.

“It’s because of me, right? I knew it. I knew it. We should tell Shoko—I’m the newest medical innovation in town,” he proclaims, and his smile begs to slip off his face but he only forces it back on, shoves it into place. Your eyebrows move again, like you’re struggling to hold back your laugh. Your eyes slip shut and do not open again.

Your face goes lax a moment later, and your fingers loosen a bit, but he doesn’t let go. He just wants to touch your face and trace the lines into his memory.

Satoru stretches his thumb along the swell of your bottom lip while carefully avoiding the tube. He runs his knuckles down your cheek. His fingers brush your pulse point along your neck, and he feels the slow, weak beat.

Click. Hiss.

He thinks you’re asleep for a while, until your finger drags over the flesh of his palm and he looks down, hand lifting from your face.

“Hey, I’m still here,” he whispers, and your face turns towards him slightly, the tube in your mouth shuffling. He reaches forward, cupping your face and holding you still. “Hey. Don’t move. Your lungs are weaker than the rest of you and I’m not about to watch you die.” Something grabs onto the front of his shirt near his stomach and he looks down to see your fingers hooking on the cotton of his tee, twisting it weakly. “Oh, sorry.”

He draws back and slips his palm back into yours. Your index finger taps against the heel of his hand before your nail drags deliberately. One stroke. Then another, and another. Gojo wishes your eyes were open, because then he would be able to determine what the rest of the sentence could spell out before you’re done, but he’s patient.

HERE

“Here?” You tap on his hand. Yes. “What’s here?”

YOU AND ME

“You and me,” he repeats thoughtfully. “Yeah, I get that. At least… now you can see Suguru again, right?” Your hand goes still and he looks at your face, reaching to touch your cheek again. You’re placid—doll-like, eyes shut, living dead. “I’m a bit jealous of that, but you should rest easy. It’s been a hard few months, hasn’t it?”

Another weak twitch of your finger on his hand.

“No matter what happens, don’t think I’m angry at you, or the choices you’ve made,” he continues. “As long as you let me stay here, I won’t waste a single second of it, okay?” Tap. He squeezes your hand so tightly your eyebrows twitch, even as you slip away from him. “For all your saying that you’re weaker than me, I never thought that. Not really.” Satoru raises your hand to his lips and he closes his eyes. “Being the strongest is pretty lonely. Used to be so fucking cocky about it, huh. Thought no one could touch me or the people I cared about because everyone would be too scared.”

Your fingers curl against his palm and he lowers his head to press your knuckles against his brow.

“I was wrong. I’d give anything to have you both back, but I can’t, and I hate it. You’re supposed to be with me at the top. I don’t want to be alone again.” His eyes are burning from the strain of keeping them open, but he refuses to miss a second of you being alive when the time is trickling like sand in an hourglass. He feels it like a heavy stare on his back, wondering if this next breath will be the last one before your brain finally decides to shut down. Your organs have been shutting down for nearly weeks now. He knows it’s out of pure selfishness that they’re dragging precious moments into agonizing hours.

He knows you’re exhausted.

Resting his chin on your fingers, he swallows. “I don’t know how to let you go. I wished I’d come sooner. I was careless. I know that. We could’ve had more time…”

Your fingers squeeze his as tight as you can before letting go. Somehow, he hears your voice in his ear. Something about being grateful for the time they did have.

“You were right, silly.” He chuckles to himself, bitter, anguished, and lowers your hand back to the bed, not letting go yet. “Ten years is a long time to wait. I let you down, but I’ll make sure you go easy. I promise.”

Satoru lays his head down on his forearm and he swears he catches your lips pull into the faintest smile. He stays there for hours, watching your face, stretching up to touch your unmoving face. The only sound is his steady breaths, the beep of your monitors and the click-hiss of your ventilator.

It’s 1:04 PM when he falls asleep to the sleepy circles you trace into his wrist

It’s 6:22 PM when only one of them wakes up.

At 11:00 AM the next morning, during one of the hourly tests, they declare you brain-dead. With the announcement of your directive being honoured by your chosen proxy, Satoru himself, classes are cancelled and they are scheduled to take you off life support at six.

Ijichi brings them lunch and dinner. Satoru doesn’t eat. Only sits by your side, leaned back into the chair and looking at you while he still can until the clock ticks and ticks and ticks towards doomsday. The kids come to say final goodbyes while he watches on. Inumaki, as always, brings Panda through his phone, and Satoru wishes there could’ve been some way to sneak Panda into a high-class hospital just so their last moments together aren’t cheapened by a screen.

Shoko enters five minutes before it’s time, hand finding his shoulder and he looks up just long enough to catch her blank stare resting on your face.

She doesn’t say anything, only moves to the other side of the bed and sits down in the other chair.

The doctor pumps you full of sedation drugs, so you won’t feel any of the pain, unhooks the machines, and extubates you, explaining all the while what he’s doing just to fill the silence. As he pulls the tube from your throat, something in Satoru turns icy when a purple petal is plastered to the side of the plastic, but the doctor does not acknowledge it any more than murmuring that he will give them privacy.

Your rattling breaths echo in his ears as he watches the numbers slowly drop, but even your inhales fade to nothing more than soft, slight wheezes. The tape has left a strange mark around your mouth, and you’re unmoving otherwise. Shoko gently reaches and touches the eye bags that are, for once, worse than hers before shaking her head and pulling back. Everyone else waits outside.

Hours pass by in torturous years.

Satoru wears the same stony expression the whole while, finally surrendering into his desire to hold your hand.

His heart hardens. He goes completely still. Shoko talks but he can’t really hear anything except the slow beeps of your monitor once you pass certain thresholds.

There are nurses waiting outside. They’ve grown used to the company, he thinks. He thinks one or two are crying. Soon enough, they’ll come in to turn off the machines tracking your vitals so the sounds don’t drive them crazy, banging in home that you’re dead, dead, dead.

After a while, Satoru realizes you aren’t quite breathing, although your chest moves. Sometimes, there’s a gasping sound, like someone surprised the breath out of you and you’re inhaling sharply to replace it, and he imagines your fingers twitching against his hand one last time.

It’s very slow. Much slower than he imagined it to be. Maybe you’re still fighting. Maybe you don’t want to go.

Satoru can’t imagine why. Where you’re going, there’s no pain, or exhaustion, or blood. Where you’re going, Suguru waits.

He leans against his hand, elbow on the slight incline of your bed. Letting go of your hand, he touches your face, feels the soft puff of your breath, the curve of your jaw. You’ve lost so much weight from the sickness you barely look like yourself, but you’re still you. The cursed energy is still yours. His Six Eyes sees it. His soul feels it.

It tangles with his own where he touches you, and a wave of exhaustion washes over him.

He wants to sleep, let time pass, and wake up to you dead.

It seems a much better alternative to watching you slip away, but he’s always been selfish when it came to personal affairs.

You die two hours later.

Shoko closes her eyes and leans back into her chair as the nurse comes in to turn off the droning monitor. Her face is dry and she takes long, measured breaths as if trying to temper something swirling inside her. Satoru’s hard heart cracks as he squeezes your hand to see if you’ll wake up. It doesn’t quite sink in, even though he can hear someone crying outside, and when your limp hand doesn’t react at all, he shakes his head and gets up, pulling his sunglasses off the collar of his shirt and sliding them back onto his face.

He shoves his hands into his pockets and rakes his face over your body, your face.

He’s seen a dozen dead bodies before, maybe more. You look just like he did on December 24th. At peace, younger. Like you’re glad the suffering is over, and Satoru turns his face away sharply and leaves the room. He doesn’t know what to say and he’s not sure if his voice is still here.

Everything feels dry and dull and grey.

“Sensei,” Itadori whispers wetly, reaching out a hand, making him stop. The students are all sitting in a small area, but they stand upon seeing him leave the room, and he gives them a plastic smile that makes all of them flinch. Maki is scowling furiously at the ground as Inumaki takes hold of her bicep but she flings the hand off and stalks away, hiding her red face.

“It’s going to be okay,” he tells them as Kugisaki runs after Maki. He watches the two go before turning his attention back on the students. “The important thing is that she didn’t suffer. Arrangements will be made, but there won’t be any rush, alright?” The words feel lacking, but he still manages to smile. “It’s been a long day. Go home. Rest, shower, eat. Let’s remember that she doesn’t want us to be here, slumping around looking like idiots. She wants you to all to take care of yourselves.” He arches his eyebrows insistently at his students, but they don’t seem to hear him.

They’re only looking through the glass doors at your coolling corpse, at Shoko who stands, and speaks to the doctor when he comes back in.

Fushiguro is the only one really looking at him, and the teenager has a silent question in his stare.

Satoru shakes his head, and Megumi nods.

“Classes are cancelled for the rest of the week,” Yaga adds. “Ijichi will drive you all back to the college in thirty minutes. Make sure you tell the girls.” He directs this to Inumaki, who nods.

“Salmon.”

Later, Megumi finds him smoking a cigarette leaning against Shoko’s car. Satoru’s never liked the taste of the stuff so he doesn’t really know why he’s smoking other than the fact he doesn’t know what to do.

Up is down, left is right, and you’re dead.

Nothing seems right, but Megumi gives him a good excuse to stop. Flinging the cig to the ground, he stomps out the ember and re-arranges his expression into that shielded smile of his, but it feels a bit weaker. Sharp, janky, wrong.

“Why haven’t you gone home yet? Ijichi should’ve taken you all back by now,” Satoru says wearily as Fushiguro stops before him, hands shoved in his pockets.

“I stayed behind to look for you,” informs Megumi. He looks a bit fractured, but the boy’s never been one to wear his heart on his sleeve. Satoru makes a mental note to dig into his psyche at a later date, and stretches an arm out to wrangle the boy into a hug against his side.

For all of his complaints and mumbles and scowls, Megumi’s body still relaxes a bit against his, and even though he doesn’t hug him back, when he tells him, “You should go home and get some sleep, too. These past few months haven’t been easy on you, either,” Satoru feels a part of his old self raise its bloody head.

Glancing down at a head of spiky hair, he knocks his knuckles into his student’s skull. “Have you been keeping an eye on me?”

Megumi crosses his arms, glares over Satoru’s elbow, but even his voice is quieter. “You need to take care of yourself.”

Satoru smiles again. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “But you’re not worried about me, are you, Fushiguro?”

Megumi ducks his head and doesn’t answer any more than, “Someone has to pick up the slack, now.”

“Thanks, Ijichi,” Satoru says with a huff, digging the shovel into the ground and stepping on the metal edge. “Not every day you help me carry a dead body and dig a grave, huh.”

“No, sir,” Ijichi replies. He sounds a bit hoarse and tired as he wipes at his brow.

It’s been two days since you’ve died. The college grounds feels a lot less lively. He took a walk in the gardens yesterday, and saw Yaga planting new flowers. He had strode past and ignored the tears on his sensei’s face, and absently wonders now why he hasn’t cried yet as he grabs the shovel and yanks it out of the dirt, tossing it to Ijichi.

It feels kind of stupid, but despite how eviscerated everything inside him feels, he just can’t.

Either way, he’ll deal with it when it becomes a problem.

Satoru wipes at his brow, too, with a heavy sigh, and heads to where a cloth-covered shape is resting on the ground. Your corpse is light in his arms as he bridal carries you to the hole he’s just dug into the grass. It looks suspicious as hell, but it’d probably be even worse if he’d been walking around with a dead body over his shoulder, stitched back together after an autopsy by your best friend.

Good thing they’re only in the forests outside the college campus. There won’t be any civilians for miles.

“You can go,” he says over his shoulder, setting you down by the hole they’ve dug. He takes in a deep breath to calm himself and Ijichi’s footsteps hesitate before beginning and fading away moments later. Falling to his knees, Satoru begins to carefully unfold the cloth just enough that he can see your face and chest.

He squints behind his blindfold at the ripples of energy still seeping from the stitches along your chest. Sinking his hands into the lush, cold grass, he twists the blades with rigid fingers at the stench of rot coming from the curse before he draws back.

Hands on his lap, he stares at your face. You look frozen in time, eyes closed, skin clean, and there’s that unnatural stillness about you that only comes with the dead. It’s strange. He probably couldn’t have imagined someone so vivacious could be so motionless if he hadn’t seen it first with Suguru.

He had asked not to hear the results of your autopsy. Not now, maybe not ever. It’d be fresh lemon juice in a weeping wound. All he knows is that the curse clings to your corpse, and Shoko could only remove the growths that were no longer being fed for examination.

“Weird that this is where we’ve found ourselves,” he begins humourlessly. “With how we were living, Suguru always said I’d die first. Doing something stupid, being too cocky.” He slides a hand into his pocket and withdraws something he’d snipped this morning from the last plant you had grown with your Technique. A red tulip with a short stem that’s a bit crushed, and beginning to decay, but… everything can’t be perfect.

“I never thought I’d outlive you.”

Reaching forward, he places the tulip gently on your chest, takes your cold arms that are just beginning to loosen up again from rigor mortis, and folds your hands over the stem.

“Eternal love, and fame,” he repeats to himself. The energy nearly swallows up the tulip, but as it radiates from your chest, flickers in the slight breeze, Satoru sees flashes of red and green, much brighter than everything else around him, and knows that it won’t be consumed. Sitting down, he hugs his legs to his chest and stares at your dead body blankly, chin on his knees.

He had had a plan. He was going to just… put the flower there, exorcise the curse inside you, and bury you so you could finally rest. He wouldn’t hesitate because this is something you entrusted him to do.

But this is the first time in months he hasn’t had a cloud hanging over his head, and his body feels so much ligher without the burden of your disease hanging off his shoulders, that he can’t help but relish in it. Speak to you without worrying about saying the wrong thing, of people overhearing. He’s finally… free.

It feels fucking awful.

“You were right, by the way.” His voice is dull, resonating deep in his chest. There is no August sun breaking through the trees above, only from behind him, and the golden beams touch your chin, down your throat and chest. It sets the red of the tulip on fire. “I miss you. And I wish I could’ve said so many things, but we ran out of time.” A faint smile. “No matter what you think, Suguru loved you. It’s why he came to see you one last time. I knew him better than I knew myself, and I know he was happiest knowing you were at his side.” Closing his eyes, the ache in his heart swells as he utters out, “So was I.”

Burying his his face in his forearms, a cup inside him seems to tip over and everything feels too hot for him to breathe in. Ripping his blindfold off and tossing it away from him blindly, his eyes snap open wide as he tries to breathe. His ribs constrict his lungs, and he presses his eyes into his arms, hands shaking as he sinks his nails into his biceps.

Harsh pants puff against his face as he tries to reign in his shuddering, but he can’t. The knot in his heart twists until he thinks he might die, and distantly, he hears soft footsteps so faint he’s not sure if he imagines it. Gritting his teeth, he stifles the bruising feeling welling up in his throat.

Gentle hands brush down his shoulders soothingly, sending a wave of nausea through his body, and he jerks away.

“Damn it, Ijichi, leave me alone!” Wrenching his head up, his eyes widen at the figure crouched in front of him.

Arms falling lax to the grass and his knees widening, his jaw drops as a thumb teases his parted lips. You step between his legs and crouch down, limber and strong. You look healthy again, bright eyes and full cheeks, young like spring, and when you smile, it fills him utterly with light. In your hands is his blindfold, and you ruffle his hair, tilting your head curiously.

“I’m not Ijichi, but… do you really want me to go so soon?” you ask as he rakes his gaze up and down your body. There is still a purple shell encasing your legs, but as you shift your weight on your feet, it falls like fragile eggshells to the ground and sinks into the dirt, disappearing for good. Peering around you, his eyes widen when he sees shards of a purple shell in shatters all over your corpse.

He’d only seen this once before, eight months ago, with a certain student of his and the cursed spirit of the girl he loved and who loved him.

Face burning, his gaze snaps back to you as you poke his cheek and continue to grin. Leaning back on his hands, he tries to stop the intense shattering of his walls by clenching his jaw, but the shudders overtake his body, his chest, his throat until he’s letting out an ugly sound and blinking hard as if that’ll hide it away from you. Something devastatingly warm immediately shoots down his cheeks. Covering his mouth with the crook of his elbow, he turns his face away but your warm hands cradle him carefully, thumbs brushing underneath his eyes.

“Yuuta, you’re right. Rika isn’t cursing you.”

“No,” he whispers, arm falling. His fingers sink into his shoulder as if that would be enough to wake him from this nightmare. “No. I can’t—Did I—Did I kill you?” You squint studiously, not letting go of his face as he lifts the hand from his shoulder and reaches to touch you. It shakes, and he snaps it into a fist to stop it, looking at his fingers that have done so much harm—shed so much blood. “Did I do this to you?”

“You cursed Rika.”

You chuckle fondly, like he’s said something silly, and set a hand on his fist, pushing it down firmly. “You can’t control how other people react to your words, Satoru.” Your voice changes, and your eyebrows draw together in something bittersweet. “And you can’t change something you didn’t know. The chances of you cursing me and me cursing myself are irrelevant. It doesn’t change anything about where we are, now.”

Satoru watches you, lips parted, as you tie the blindfold around his neck. You feel so real, so close, and as you slide your hands down his shoulders, to his chest, he jerks his head down to stare at your shoes in the grass.

So he did.

“I see,” he murmurs.

That’s it, then.

“Satoru, please look at me,” you whisper, fingers stretching to his chin. With the gentlest of pressures, you prompt him up and he finds your face, your smile, where all colours begin and end. For a moment, the world seems to inhale all of its life back into its core—the leaves whistle, the sun is warm and golden, and he lifts his hand to touch you again, but you pull back before he can.

“I can only thank you for being my friend. For staying with me until the very end.” You laugh quietly to yourself and lift your hand from his face. “I would make a joke about a curse, but I know it still hurts, so I’ll save it for when I see you on the other side, okay? When it heals a bit more.”

“It’s never going to hurt less,” he croaks. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know how much you mean to me.”

Your smile softens. Satoru tries to eternalize that expression forever. “I’m honoured, but, I hope it does heal. I don’t want you to learn how to carry so much pain around. I don’t want you to be numb.” You touch his cheek again, as if you’re trying to soak in as much of him as you can, too.

“Do you have any last words?” he manages to ask raspily, and you chuckle, tilting your head and running your hand through his hair again. His eyes flutter shut at the scratch, the sensation of your nails against his scalp, and then there’s your hand at his jaw, holding him all together. He wants to hold you so badly he thinks his muscles might cramp into stone at the desire.

“What does it matter?” you ask curiously. “You already know how I feel. That will never change. And if you ever want to know what I think, or what I’d do, you can just ask Shoko and think about it yourself. You know me well enough to not need me nagging about it.”

“But, it won’t be enough.”

“It never will be,” you agree. “But isn’t it wonderful that we even got to know each other at all?” You lean forward, and his eyes flutter shut as you hold him to your chest. He can’t hear your heartbeat anymore, but your warmth is almost the same. The echo of your voice rumbles in his head as you speak, and maybe that is enough. “If you want my last words, you already have them.”

You draw him back, and give him one last smile. The air shifts golden yellow to his Six Eyes, for the last time.

“Until we meet again, my Satoru.”

You fade without giving him a chance to answer, taking all the colour with you.

Staring at the empty air where you had been just a moment before with wide, burning blues, he whispers your name brokenly before burying his hands in the dirt, squeezing his eyes shut, and letting boiling tears scald his face red.

“If you want my last words, you already have them.”

Spinning the key ring on his finger, Satoru looks dully at the door knob he had just unlocked. There’s no one in the hall, and he debates whether or not he should turn around, but Shoko had insisted. There’d been something left for him in your old apartment, and according to her, it would be spoiled soon if he didn’t go.

“Oh, what the hell,” he mutters, catching the key in his palm and shoving it into his long coat. Tugging it tighter around himself, he twists the knob and pushes it open. He can’t remember the last time he was in here. Maybe five or six months ago, when they both had a day off that didn’t need to be spent at the college.

There aren’t any plants anymore. He supposes Nanami, Ijichi, maybe even Yaga have taken them. He swears he’s seen a few in the gardens lately, but who is he to say? Toeing off his shoes, he makes his way down the hall.

Everything is just as you left it, with clean counters and empty tables. The curtains are spread, letting in so much September sunlight. It hits random display pedestals of different sizes, all the surfaces big enough to fit a pot on. Your watering can sits by the sink. There are photos hanging on the walls, propped up on the desk, on your shelves, polaroids taped to the walls.

Reminders that someone did live here. That there is a whole life unknown to strangers but evidence enough that whoever used to be here, they had people who would miss them.

Walking up to the counter, he drags his fingers along the surface, feeling the dust collect up to a square of pale light. A clean circle is all that’s left as a clue that there used to be something there, and his heart twists.

Who knew he could miss fucking plants of all things?

Sweeping his gaze around, he brushes off the dust on his jacket and hooks a thumb on his blindfold, sweeping the area with an eccentric eye. The TV is off, your bookshelves are in their usual untidy state, but even the reaching vines of the bean plant is gone from the highest shelf.

“They really scooped this place dry,” he muses dryly to no one. He can still hear the music you’d play for late nights, the smell of dumpling soup. He walks down the hall and still remembers how many steps it takes to reach the bathroom that guests would use.

He had hunched over that bath on December 25th, and let water soak through his hair as strong fingers worked the sweat from his scalp and skin.

Four more steps to the guest best room on the right, and another three to the end of the hall where a door leads to your room. It’s already open, and he steps in easily, tugging his blindfold all the way down off his face. Hair falling over his eyes, he sweeps it aside and surveys the room. The walls are still that pretty shade of cream, and your bed is made carefully, dark olive blankets resting atop your white sheets. He smiles to himself, despite the twang in his chest.

Walking deeper, he approaches the cabinet by your bathroom, and picks up the photo you have by your jewelry stand.

A smile curls his mouth. He remembers this one. First year, their first September. All four of them had gone together to Sapporo for the autumn festival.

He sets the photo back down and looks into the bathroom. Your toiletries are all lined up, waiting for their next use, and he swallows as he raises his gaze up to the mirror. His blue eyes look a big too big on his face from the past month alone, and there are red-purple half moons printed onto his face that have only just started to fade. He swears it only looks worse because of how much pale light is streaming in from the windows, and he tugs at his collar uncomfortably, clearing his throat.

Turning around, he looks at the offenders for making him look so awful, and finds a medium-sized pot sitting on the window seat. It’s the only thing sitting on the flat, wooden surface, in partial shade and almost unfurling before his very eyes.

Satoru frowns, walking around your bed to inspect the plant.

The flowers are a warm magenta colour, and his eyes widen at the flash of white he can see leading to the center of each bloom. Brushing a thumb over the petals, his jaw sets as he tilts his head to get a better look at the plant. So this is what was growing inside of you. Huh.

There’s another slip of white near the dirt, and his eyebrows furrow, fingers seeking the thing. It crinkles when he touches it, and his frown deepens as he manages to grasp it, pulling it free underneath the leaves and stems of the plants. Sitting down beside the pot, he dusts off the dirt clinging to the paper, and reads his name along the front in your print before flipping the envelope around. There’s something sticking out of it, a sloping shape that’s hard but not too big.

Curiosity peaked, he tears the envelope open carefully and peers inside. A binder clip is inside, holding something together, and he flips it upside down, letting everything fall. The letter slides out first, followed by whatever the binder clip is holding together and he squeezes his thighs together so it doesn’t fall to the floor.

Setting the letter aside, he picks the bundle up.

Polaroids.

They’re polaroids of different sizes that have him smiling despite the heavy sorrow twisting his entire chest.

Various pictures of Satoru, Suguru, Shoko, and you together, and he finds most of them are of him and you. Pictures of him hiding behind plants of various sizes, a picture of him drinking soju, because Suguru liked it the most and insisted he try, while leaning against Shoko who was knocking back a shot of tequila. There is a shot of Suguru, wet with mud and smiling like sunshine, while a drenched Satoru was in the background, flipping the camera off in the middle of a storm.

More and more pictures, enough to spill out of his lap, and he picks up each one, desperate to remember when or where you took them.

And, sometimes, he can’t. Sometimes, they are just moments that he’s lost because he never thought they’d be important, and now moments he’d give anything to remember.

There are pictures of a fern he had named their first year, little annotations on the bottom of some others. Dates, but with no context otherwise. Names scribbled in black ink.

You’re in a lot of them, your smile timeless, your joy infectious even through film.

Arms slung around Suguru, face smushed against his, artfully blurry perhaps on accident, and annotated with scrawl that read: I call this masterpiece “Dumb Sweethearts” by Gojo Satoru :)

A picture of him and Shoko and Suguru, of them in one of Tokyo’s night markets, you behind the camera, the lights flashing and warm and pink, making them all look like they’ve transported to some other kind of cyberpunk world.

You and Shoko lounging in the gardens, having a tiny picnic at your insistence, and in Suguru’s handwriting in black: JUST GIRLS BEING PALS

Satoru stares at Suguru’s writing the longest, not even at his words, just the strokes of his pen. This is a new part of him Satoru thought had been destroyed, and he starves for it. It’s like his one and only lives and breathes in the ink, in those snapshots of him caught in eternal youth. When they’d been happy and unaware and not innocent, but cocky enough to think they could rule the world.

It’s hungry, the way he goes through each photo, searching for another glimpse of you, of him, of them together, until Satoru is all out of moments to feed on, and still, he feels empty, flicking through the last few photos.

You in a pool, arms wrapped around Shoko and beaming like the sun.

A shot of Satoru and Suguru climbing trees shot from below, your eyes and skeptically raised eyebrows in frame, captioned big dumb monkeys

And the last one…

He holds it to the sunlight and his gaze softens.

A selfie of you kissing Suguru on the cheek. It’s mostly dark, but they were definitely in the bathroom, and the flash made Suguru’s outstretched arm look pale as a ghost, but even so, there’s no mistaking the happiness captured there. He was sticking out his tongue, winking, and red as a beet so he was either drunk or you had said something or both. Your arms were wrapped around his neck, nose squished against his cheek, eyes squeezed tight as he took the shot.

Turning it over, Satoru’s heart plummets into his chest. In Suguru’s clean, blocky writing:

THE GIRL IM GOING TO MARRY ONE DAY <3

And crossed out is your reply followed by a little note:

dummy doesnt have the nerve to propose SHHH!!!! ONE DAY C:

One day.

It sounds so much emptier now.

He lowers the photo back to his lap, and glances around him, at all these scattered moments captured forever. Gathering them up again, he relives them all over again, looking at each photo for longer to see if he’s missed anything, but mostly his stare lingers on your face, and on Suguru’s, and his own, too, because he can’t remember what it felt like back then, but he is sure it feels so much better than now.

The polaroids come together a neat stack and he is careful not to scratch any of them when he clips them together. The top photo is of you with your arms wrangled around Suguru and Satoru, your face split in a maniacal laugh, their mouths open in shock, eyes bulging in how you must’ve scared them witless.

Shoko’s messy writing at the bottom, for it must’ve been her who had taken the photo: BREAKING NEWS: Japan’s Strongest Conquered by a Woman.

A smile cracks his weary face and he runs a thumb over their faces before sliding the photos back into the envelope for safe-keeping.

Then, he grabs the letter. His name is written again on the first flap, and he reads it three times over before unfolding the paper, not quite ready but also not sure if he ever will be.

Immediately, a faint, herbal-like scent slashed with antiseptic flows from the page and his stomach curdles as your script pours down the page.

Swallowing, Satoru shifts and leans against the wall, hiking a foot up onto the seat and holding your inked characters to the light. There’s a date inscribed at the top.

Thursday.

The first Thursday after you had been released from the hospital. Your last Thursday before you were back in for good.

“Shit.”

He folds the letter again and tilts his head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling.

Does he want to read this? Does he really want to fucking read this?

Taking a deep breath, he clears his throat and lowers his gaze to stare determinedly ahead of him. The purple flowers greet him warmly and he shakes the shiver out of his body before tightening his grip on your letter and unfolding it again, forcing his eyes on the page.

My Satoru,

I sent all the pictures I had of Shoko to her, and she has some of Suguru, too. Now that I’m gone, there’s no use if I keep them. Maybe you two could share some time, laugh it up over these old memories. I know she says she can’t stand you, but to be honest, who else is there that will remember us now? Who else is there to remember Suguru for more than his bloody hands and me as more than that girl too sick to do anything but die?

Some legacy we said we’d leave, huh.

I don’t think I told you this, but with this disease catching up to me, it’s hard not to form hypotheses on why it’s happening or how. I have quite a few theories, and, unfortunately, none of them are pleasant or unriddled with angst. By now, you’ve probably figured out it’s a curse, and if you’re smart enough to ignore how much I’ll probably deny it, that it’s some love bullshit. If you didn’t know, now you do.

I know it’s weird. Suguru is dead. It shouldn’t be happening, right?

That’s what I thought, too

You once said love manifests the most twisted curses. I never thought of it that way before, but I’m starting to think you’re right. I don’t want to curse you by dying, but I can’t help but wonder if we can control who we curse. If I hadn’t heard you say that, would I still be here? Healthy? Okay?

I don’t know. I can’t predict alternate timelines, because I got to live one life, and that’s more than most people get. But, because I know you, you want me to entertain you. I’m sighing as I write this.

Look, I know the pain would still be there. I know I still wouldn’t be able to forgive myself for what I did, even if it was what had to be done. I know I would still miss him. I know that I would still long for the day I didn’t feel guilty for loving someone else.

If you didn’t curse me, I cursed myself. It drives me crazy that this is how the die was cast, even now, even after months where I could’ve accepted this, but at least this physical manifestation almost makes me… calm. Like seeing what this life has done to me makes me brave enough to fight it. If anything at all, the curse brought me a greater understanding of how powerful our world is in comparison to people who… are normal. The people we have to protect.

I’m sorry. Reading this back, it sounds like I’m the one cursing you now; telling you all this knowledge that can only bring you more anguish. I promise, this isn’t what it is. I just want you to understand. You couldn’t have saved me, Satoru. I couldn’t have given you the absolution you wanted, and if that’s how it is, then I just hope that one day you can look back on this and it won’t hurt anymore.

It’s always been so complicated between us, after what happened to Suguru, and after what he did, even ten years ago. What we couldn’t stop and what we had to do that day. There was always a line that I thought I couldn’t cross, or a line you didn’t want to cross, and it was shaped a lot like him. I don’t know if it was just in my head, but there was something holding us back, and I was fine dancing around it because I saw how you felt about him and I understood. Your eyes always changed when you looked at him. When you spoke of him. Even after.

Always after.

Don’t think I’m angry. I’m not blind. I know how much you two meant to each other, and I could never be angry that Suguru is so cherished. Missed. It makes everything so much harder, so much more painful.

Look, in the end, I loved him, and you did, too. And if we both still do, that’s okay. He deserved love.

I guess it just feels like a stab in the back that it wasn’t enough.

But life isn’t a fairytale. None of it really matters. To be honest, I wouldn’t trade any of it for a second, and I hope you wouldn’t either.

Maybe life isn’t supposed to be lived happily, but lived contently. And I did. I am satisfied with what I’ve done, even if I wanted to do so much more.

I’m so grateful to have known you, to have had you by my side. I hope you can say the same.

Don’t regret my death. Remember how much fun we had when we were stupid kids, and smile. Because I don’t want you to think your best years are behind you. I want you to be happy, even if I can’t be there to see it. I want you to be excited for your future, even if I can’t be in it.

I’ll always be watching over you, so smile for me every once in a while. Even if it seems like you’ll never feel anything again. One day, I promise you will, and it won’t feel so bad.

Yours forever and ever and ever,

(Name)

Throat crushed, he reads one line over and over the most. He’s memorized your letter heart, but he still carries it around with him, anyway.

“I know that I would still long for the day I didn’t feel guilty for loving someone else.”

Sometimes, he just wants to imagine your hand whispering over the page, the pen tapping against your chin, your face as you wrote, the sigh that you said you heaved. Because he’ll never hear you laugh again, see your smile. Your voice will never tease his ear, your fingers will never touch his face. There is no more laugh-wrinkles set in a face always perfectly hit by sunlight, and this is all he has left. His memory, and what you’ve left behind.

It makes him laugh how almost lovestruck stupid he’s being, but… he doubts anyone blames him. As long as he’s still doing his job, as long as he’s still the Strongest, what does it matter if he carries a dead woman’s letter in his pocket everywhere?

“Warm weather, even in the evenings. That’s a bit unusual,” Nanami observes, startling Satoru and he looks up at the blond who stops by him in the gardens. The man is wearing his grey suit, as always, and his watch glimmers in the fading gold light. “How are you?”

Satoru’s fingers tighten around the letter in his hands. As usual, the urge to crumple it up, throw it into the garbage to never see it again, has reared its head after his latest re-read, but he’ll stave it off. He always manages to.

“Fine,” he replies, glancing at the startling blood red and burnt orange leaves casually. Colours seem a bit brighter, and Satoru still squints a bit against them, despite the soft light of the sunset. He doesn’t know when his Six Eyes got so sensitive to that kind of stuff, but it almost feels good to be distracted by something so trivial as sensitive eyesight. “It is a bit warm for October.”

Nanami hums. “How are your plants doing?”

“Mine are doing good,” he says, smiling. “The tulips have gone dormant, so nothing to worry about there. The one with purple flowers, though. It’s a tough one. It took me a while to figure out what it liked, but it didn’t go dormant or anything as long as I gave it enough water and paid attention to it.”

“That’s good.” Nanami adjusts his green lenses and sighs like he’s bracing himself for something difficult. “Gojo,” he begins, but Satoru merely folds your letter up and slides it into his breast pocket, holding up a hand.

“Whatever you’re going to say, Nanami, I don’t need to hear it.”

“Are you sure?” he asks skeptically, gaze following as Satoru stands, patting his jacket. Adjusting the lapel, he turns to his friend and when he grins, it feels like it reaches his eyes behind his sunglasses for the first time in two months.

“I’ve done this before, Nanami. I’ll be fine.” He waves it away. Nanami frowns. “I’m gonna get some dinner, though. Care to join? There’s a real good ramen place in Ikebukuro that you have to try.” The blond man observes him for a moment, before shaking his head, saying he had dinner already. “Suit yourself. Next time, I’m treating you, though.”

Lips puckered in a whistle, Satoru turns around and begins to walk away.

A breeze sweeps through the gardens, rustling the leaves in a discordant harmony, and sneaking into his jacket, sending a slight shiver up his spine as Nanami’s voice follows after him.

“The flower she left you is the sakurasou.” Satoru stops, hands in his pockets, but he doesn’t turn around as Nanami continues, “I wasn’t certain if if you knew.”

“Nope, I didn’t. Thanks for the info.” Lifting a hand, he barely looks over his shoulder before saluting with two fingers and smiling cheekily. It’s not as forced as it used to be. In fact, it comes quite easy as he reaches into his pocket for his phone. He knows what he has to find out now. “See ya later, Nanami.”

“Good evening,” he replies, and in a blink of an eye, Satoru is gone.

On the windowsill of his empty apartment, the sakurasou soaks in the last remnants of the day before wilting against two photos.

One of four students, arms entangled, and faces framed in eternal youth.

And another immortalizing what could’ve been longer than a few shaky months if someone had been just a bit braver.

a/n: satoru’s google search result: the meaning of sakurasou - desire and long-lasting love.

and yes, there was an actual lunar eclipse on july 27th, 2018 (28th in japan time). it was very pretty. i researched a bit about both the lunar eclipse and the medical stuff, but excuse any inaccuracies! tis but a work of fiction <3 also, fun fact: the polaroid camera is supposed to be the instax mini 90 but ive never used it so excuse those inaccuracies as well SKNDALSDKN

ngl i did wanna write an alternative ending, but i can’t see this ending any other way. this is it. this is the canon, and we got a bit of happy feelies at the end as a treat. thank you for reading!

1K notes · View notes

rekrappeter · 4 years

Text

find yourself somewhere, somehow

pairing: fred weasley x fem!reader, slight cedric diggory x fem!reader

summary: you and fred are madly in love with one another, but have never expressed your feelings to each other. every one else knows though. what if that one secret ends up ruining the friendship you both have been trying to save?

warnings: mutual pining, inaccurate Harry Potter timeline, swearing, typos

notes: some of this was requested, some not. this is my 3rd time trying to post it, please give it some love, I actually quite like it <3

“I think I’m going to ask Angelina to the Yule Ball,” your lips macked together at your best friend’s words, letting them fall on deaf ears as you narrowed your eyes at the words on the page in front of you. You could feel that the twins’ gazes were on you, and you tried to suppress any form of annoyance or jealousy passing across your face. A heartbeat passed before Fred Weasley spoke up again, “Did you hear what I said?”

You looked up at the red-haired boy sitting in front of you, your attention being pulled away from your study notes that you were carefully highlighting. “You were talking to me?” you asked, feigning confusion.

Fred gave you a puzzled look, his brows creasing together, “Who else would I be talking to?” he said, his voice lowering as Snape strutted by the table you were sat at. You all turned your attention to your parchment quickly, letting him pass before Fred tapped the top of your book to get you to continue the conversation.

“George,” you deadpanned, your eyes flickering to his twin.

“I heard about this all night long,” George said, distaste evident in his voice and he rolled his eyes swiftly. You stiffened a giggle, watching Fred knock his shoulder with his, his own amusement evident in his smirk.

“So, what do you think?” Fred beamed, a twinkle in his eye.

“I-” you paused, glancing down the table at Angelina who was laughing quietly at something her friend said. There was no doubt she was beautiful, no doubt that she was good enough for your best friend and you would be ecstatic for Fred if she did accept his offer. You would be, really, if it wasn’t for the massive crush that you harbored for him since you were twelve years old. You remembered the moment it happened; he was trying to teach you how to play quidditch outside of The Burrow during the winter holidays and something went horribly wrong when you were two meters off the floor - you lost your nerve and tumbled off the broom, but Fred was there underneath it to soften your blow. You remembered staring into his eyes deeply, your mouth parting in shock at the sudden wave of feelings that welcomed you when you were so close to him. He ended up dislocating his elbow that day, but he never blamed you for it.

You felt someone nudge your hand, bringing your gaze from Angelina back to Fred. You plastered on a fake cheerful grin, nodding your head excitedly, “Go for it, you will be great together.”

Fred was waiting for your blessing, and within minutes of you edging him on, he had secured a date to the ball happening in two weeks’ time. For the remainder of the study hall, you had to listen to Fred gush about Angelina and you had to do everything in your power not to groan and lose your cool. You avoided eye contact with George, knowing that he’d give you an unimpressed look. He knew how you felt about his twin, despite you never truly admitting it to him. You’d brush off his question and change the subject, but it wasn’t hard to see the admiration you had for him.

“Do you have a date yet?” George questioned, looking down at you. You were walking through the castle on the way to the great hall, the twins on either side of you. He hadn’t heard you talk about going with anyone or thinking of asking anyone. In truth, you had hoped that both you and Fred would be dateless the day of the ball and ultimately end up going together - but that plan was ruined.

You pursed your lips, keeping your stare forward as you shook your head. “No, I don’t.”

Fred draped his arm around your shoulder, you stumbled slightly at the heavyweight. “Imagine we have dates, and you don’t, who would have thought?” You knew that he was only teasing and sometimes he never uses his brain before he speaks, but that didn’t lessen the irritation that exploded inside of you.

“Shut up,” you snapped, your retort falling in between his rambles of how surprised he was that you didn’t have a date. You pushed yourself away from him and stormed off in the direction of the common room, not feeling hungry anymore. Fred gawked at your figure rushing off, glancing at George to ask what was wrong with you.

“You’re an idiot, that’s what’s wrong with her,” George sighed, shaking his head at his twin. He walked into the Great Hall, Fred trailing behind slowly. “Where are you going?” George turned to face him, placing a hand on his chest.

“To-”

“Don’t be stupid, you upset her so go fix it,” Fred sighed, knowing that he was right. He twisted on his heels and walked the familiar way to the Gryffindor dorms. Exasperating the password, he jumped through the entrance and spotted you sitting down on one of the love-seats. The common room was empty as expected, the light from the fire gleaming across your face. When you looked up at him, he saw the tears streaming down your face just before you wiped them away quickly. He hated the fact that he made you cry, but sometimes he just couldn’t control how he rambled on. He never thought about how his words affected you because often you would join in on his jokes but he didn’t know that this would be a sensitive subject for you.

“What do you want?” you mumbled into the sleeve of your jumper, bringing your legs up to cuddle into your front. Fred sat down beside you, wrapping his arms around you. He ignored the pain in his chest when you pushed him away from you, shuffling down the couch slightly.

“y/n,” Fred whined, “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

“The fact that I don’t have a date to a once in a lifetime event? Yeah, it’s not a big deal, Fred.”

“You still have plenty of time to find one,” he said, “It’s not for another two weeks.”

“I don’t want to be someone’s last resort,” you cried, the emotions getting the better of you, “I wanted someone to be excited to go with me.” You looked up at your best friend, your vision slightly blurry from the tears forming and he looked like a lost puppy staring back at you. Fred was never one to be good with comforting you when you got upset, it was usually George who was the twin you’d go to for problems. Fred was great as a distraction, he’d bring you out and do something fun with you. This was new territory for him.

Fred wrapped his arms around you again, and this time you let him. He sighed in relief letting his head fall on top of yours. “I’ll take you, I’ll forget about Angelina.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes with an effort, “That’s not what I want, Fred.”

“You don’t want to go with me?” He said, a teasing taunt in his tone.

Placing your hands on his chest and pushing yourself up to look at him, you ignored the way his eyes followed your hand and trailed up to your face. His lips parted slightly, and he felt the sudden urge to close the gap between your lips but he refrained himself from doing so. Fred wasn’t the most observant person out there, but he knew that kissing you wouldn’t help the situation. “You know I would love to go with you but you asked someone else first,” you tried to play it off as teasing, but the sorrow was evident. Fred sighed, nodding his head, and the long strands dangled over his eyes. Giggling, you brushed them away with your fingers, letting your touch linger. “You need to cut all this.”

“You don’t like it?” Fred pouted, his bottom lip jutting out.

Your eyes scanned his face, the soft look in his own orbs making you wonder if you ever felt the same way about you that you did him. Considering that you’ve been friends for years without anything happening, you came to the conclusion that it was just a one-sided thing. You were the pathetic one head over heels in love with your best friend. “Your hair looks good anyway.”

“Whoever asks you to the ball will be one lucky bitch,” Fred gleamed, jumping up from the couch and pulling you up with him, “I’m starving!”

The next few days passed with little memory of the conversation between you and Fred. Everything went back to normal; the trio that consisted of yourself, Fred and George returned back to being impractical jokers and the comments about not having a date to the Yule Ball became nearly nonexistent. With the Ball drawing in quickly, you tried your best to hide the panic that was looming inside you. It wasn’t a big deal to show up alone, if that’s what it would have to result in but it would be nice to be able to dance with someone while your best friends are dancing with their dates. You started to write up a list of potential candidates but from a discussion in Charms with a Ravenclaw, everyone that you thought you could ask already had a date.

It was like everyone knew that you didn’t have a date to the biggest event to ever happen at Hogwarts. It was the sympathy looks from first-year witches, and snarky chuckles from sixth-year Slytherins that had their dates since the ball was announced. With a simple roll of your eyes, you smile regardless of what they think of you. If it resulted in you having to dance alone or in a group, you didn’t care. The Yule Ball was merely two days away and with a dress picked out, you couldn’t even think about the effort of having to change the colour to match some random guy’s bowtie.

You had excused yourself from the Gryffindor common room where your friends were gathered around to go to the Owlery to send the letters that were piling up in your bedside drawer. “Do you want me to go with you?” Fred hollered as you were dunking out the entrance.

“No, I’ll only be quick.” You called back, and started the short journey. A feverish chill had settled across the castle, people were on edge with the unknown of what the Triwizard Tournament could bring, and yet the bubbling murmur of excitement for the ball still settled over the fear and apprehension. You jumped up the steps, leaping two at a time but what you didn’t expect was the top step to be covered in ice. The moment your foot landed on the step, you knew you were done for. A squeal passed your lips and you were on route of tumbling backwards down the stairs, just as a hand grasped your wrists and pulled you up. Your breathing was heavy, ragged, as your life flashed before your eyes.

“Woah there,” A deep voice interrupted the memory of when you were five years old. You opened your eyes and met the stare of Cedric Diggory, his grey eyes wide. His pink lips curled into a smile of relief, and he helped you steady yourself. “That would have been devastating.”

You shook your head in shock, your eyes falling down the long stairs that you were almost laying at the bottom off, surely acquiring some broken bones on the way. “Th-thank you, Cedric,” you smiled at your saviour, before glancing down at how his fingers were still wrapped around your wrist.

“Oh, sorry,” he mumbled, pulling back and taking a step away from you. “H-how are you? I haven’t seen you since-”

“The World Cup,” you finished, nodding your head at the memory, “I never thought Hogwarts was that big until this year, it’s filled with students now,” you mentioned, taking into consideration the extra students that were welcomed to Hogwarts at the start of the year, “I’ve seen you of course, you’re the big celebrity this year.”

A light blush danced across his cheeks and you weren’t sure if it was the wind or your words having the effect on him. “I wouldn’t call myself a celebrity,” he chuckled, running his fingers through his brown hair.

“You were really great in the first task, I did go looking for you but you were in hospital because…” you trailed off sentence, watching Cedric grimace at the memory of getting burnt by the dragon during the very first task. You slowly started to walk around Cedric to the entrance of the owlery, “I have letters to post, so I better get going… but best of luck for -”

“Do you have a date for the Ball?” Cedric blurted out, the cool composure that you were so used to seeing him dawn on gone. He let out a shaky breath, the cold air creating a cloud in front of him.

You chuckled slightly, “Haven’t you heard? I’m the only sixth year that is completely undateable.”

“Well, not the only sixth year,” Cedric blushed again, he gulped, making his Adam's apple bobble slightly.

“I thought you were going with Cho,” your brows creased in confusion. You remembered the conversation with Hermione and Ginny from nights ago when you were quickly brainstorming the last single men in sixth year that could potentially ask you out but Cedric was linked with Cho Chang, much to your dismay.

“I was…” Cedric sighed, “But she called it off last night, s-she wasn’t comfortable going with me as a champion and have all eyes on her.”

“Oh, I’m sorry about that.”

“Would you be my date?”

“Me?” you gawked, looking around for the twins to pawn this off as some sort of joke but your red-haired friends were nowhere in sight.

Cedric nodded, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “I would have asked you sooner, but I kind of thought you’d be going with Fred and when I heard that he asked Angelina, I was a bit confused.”

“Myself and Fred are just friends,” you smiled, “B-but I’d love to go with you, Cedric. It’d be a shame for both of us to go alone when we can go together.”

You returned to the Gryffindor common room with a large smile on your face. Your friends were still lingering around the fire, trying to get the warmth into them after having Quidditch practice after their classes. Fred stretched over the couch, looking over it with hooded eyes, he must have been sleeping. “What took you so long?”

You swatted his legs off the empty cushion beside him, and took a seat before his legs draped over your lap and you sighed in content. “Bumped into someone, guess who has a date to the ball?” you teased, a smirk tugging at the side of your lips. That gained the attention of Harry and Hermione who were studying, Hermione’s ears perking in excitement.

“Who?”

“You’ll see,” you teased, giggling at the yells of protest. You glanced over at Fred, who was unnervingly quiet. “You okay?” you mumbled, placing your hands on his legs and pulling at his leg hairs playfully.

Fred didn’t answer straight away, his eyes scanning your face before he nodded, “Who is it?”

“You’ll see,” you repeated, chewing on your bottom lip.

“You’re not even going to tell me, your best friend?”

“Nope,” you popped, a yawn passing your lips. You ignored Fred’s dramatic pout, moving his legs off your lap to lay down on the couch beside him. It was normal for you to do this, but something about doing it now made you tense. You couldn’t pinpoint it but when his hand rested on your hip to make sure you didn’t fall off the edge, you felt dizzy and lightheaded. You closed your eyes tightly, but when you breathed in, all you could smell was Fred’s aftershave. It wasn’t strong but it was enough to make you woo.

Fred watched you softly, how your features became relaxed the moment he placed his hand on your hip and he wondered if he was being foolish not making you his. He constantly ignored his brothers pestering, even Percy had confronted him one christmas. “Are you excited now?” He breathed out, watching your eyes flutter open.

“I was always excited, but now I know I won’t be left alone when you’re off dancing with your date,” you replied. It came out more snappy than you expected and judging from the taken back look in Fred’s eyes, you knew he took it in the way you didn’t want it to be taken.

“Look, I did offer to take you-” Fred pressed but you shook your head, dropping your forehead onto his chest.

“Can we not get into this? It doesn’t matter anymore, we’re friends, Fred. You shouldn’t feel obliged to take me to dances, we’re not kids anymore.” Fred’s face dropped into the crease of your hair, breathing in the scent of your shampoo and he nodded shortly. You both lingered in each other’s body, ignoring the gaze from your friends. George looked at Ron, giving him a pointed look and Ron shrugged his shoulders in return. It was obvious you were both so in love with each other, and neither of them knew why you were delaying the inevitable.

Fred’s eyes scanned the crowd that were gathered in the Great Hall, that was overly decorated in white fairy lights and drapes that turned the bland gold room into a beautiful, magical event. Despite the gorgeous angel standing next to him, a wide smile on Angelina’s face, he couldn’t stop himself from looking at you but you were nowhere in sight. The worry started to settle over him, his overalls becoming slightly sweaty. “Is that y/n?” Angelina’s voice tore through his thoughts, his eyes following to where she was pointing.

His mouth fell open at the sight of you, a wide smile on your face as your arms linked with Cedric Diggory’s, who was leading you to the dancefloor. His eyes scanned your body, his breathing hitched at how beautiful you looked. He knew Ginny said you were stunning in your dress but he didn’t believe how gorgeous you were until he saw you himself.

“Wow, she’s beautiful,” Angelina whispered, eyes flickering between Fred’s face and your figure.

“Yeah, she is,” Fred breathed out, his grip tightening on her waist.

“Why didn’t you ask her?” Fred’s attention fell from his best friend to his date, confusion sweeping across his face and Angelina rolled her eyes. “Fred, everyone knows that you’re in love with her.”

“Wh-what?” he sputtered out, but he didn’t argue any further. He knew by the pointed look that his date gave him that he wouldn’t be able to charm his way out of this situation. His shoulders deflated and his eyes flickered to your smiling face, his stomach churning at the sight of Cedric’s hand resting on your lower back as he spun you around elegantly.

Angelina stepped towards the dancefloor, following the lead of everyone else, and started to lead Fred in the moves before he took over. His red hair was brushed around his face, and his pout grew with each second passing. “It’s not too late to tell her how you feel.”

“That’s the thing, Ang, it is.”

“Fred, don’t be so naive. She’s in love with you too, it’s so bloody obvious,” Angelina chuckled, shaking her head in disbelief. Fred spun her around to the beat of the music, lifting her off the floor like he’s practiced it so many times. Fred was trying to come up with some sort of joke to maneuver the conversation topic from you but his mind was blank - actually, the only thing that filled his mind was you. The way you laughed so loud, the way your eyes twinkled underneath the torches, how you’d devour a cheese burger in half a second, how you were always so keen to participate in their jokes but always the first to flee the scene in fear of getting caught. “I don’t know if I should be offended or-”

“I’m sorry,” Fred cut her off, feeling slightly guilty for using her as a decoy. “Let’s enjoy tonight.” He announced, taking one more look at you for the night, just missing the longing gaze that you were sending his way. There was no one else you’d rather be dancing with than him, despite the Hufflepuff prefect making you feel extra special tonight, his attention solely on you. It just wasn’t the attention you yearned for.

The days following the Yule Ball were a mixture of madness and chaos. They blended into one as you were whisked away to the Burrow for Christmas break with your second family, only minutes after seeing your own family for the first time since the start of the new school year. You always knew how hectic this time of year got but you never minded it much, you always enjoyed being surrounded by the Weasleys and the smell of Molly’s homemade double chocolate chip cookies made it all worthwhile. Except this year was slightly different.

It was always Fred that picked you up from your front porch, but this year it was George. You always shared a room with the twins while you stayed in The Burrow, but this year you were lodging with Hermione and Ginny. Fred was always the first person to run down the stairs and take the seat next to you in the morning for breakfast, but this year the seat was always the last one vacant. It wasn’t only you that noticed this either, Ginny and Harry had been whispering about it all day long, Ron and George pondered what could be going on between the two of you, and it was Hermione that confronted you about the odd behaviour. But you only had one answer, ‘I haven’t a bloody clue what is going on’.

After the vaguest of conversations with Hermione, you trotted up to the twins’ room knowing that George was outside helping Arthur with the chickens he wanted to invest in. Fred was nowhere to be seen, the best bet would be his bedroom. You knocked quietly on the door, peeking your head through the open gap and seeing Fred laying on his stomach in the single bed. The image was laughable, his long legs dangling from the edge of the bed and the quilt a thousand different colours kicked to the floor. His arms were tucked underneath his pillow and his face was pointed away from you.

“Freddie?” you whispered, trying to get his attention. Fred’s eyes squeezed tightly at your voice and he tried desperately to calm his breathing. Maybe if you thought he was asleep, you’d leave him alone. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to speak to you, it was more so the fear of blabbering out how he truly felt about you and the prospect of ruining years of friendship. He heard his bedroom door click shut after seconds of silence, and he was just about to twist towards it when he heard your sock clad feet shuffle through the room. “Freddie?” you asked again, but he didn’t budge.

You sighed and chewed on your bottom lip nervously, you didn’t want to wake him up. He wasn’t the friendliest person after being bothered while sleeping, but your heart ached for feeling his warmth again. You unconsciously found yourself laying on the smallest bit of bed that was available to you, your arm wrapping around his torso to hold yourself up. His back was to your chest, and he shuffled slightly to let you get comfortable but you didn’t pay much mind to it. You nudge your face into his t-shirt, letting his scent take over all your senses and you place a soft kiss on the material. “I miss you,” you whispered into the silence.

Fred was staring blankly at the wall, his heart hammering against his chest as your fingers grasped his t-shirt with all their might. He reached for your hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing it softly. Your breath hitched in your throat but you didn’t say anything. You just lay there next to him in peace and quiet, your uneven breaths mixing with his.

“y/n, this letter is for you,” Ron called from across the table, holding an off-white envelope. You looked up from the bacon and scrambled eggs on your plate in shock, you never got letters sent for you to The Burrow. Your parents would usually call to check up on you and all of your close friends were gathered around the table.

“Who’s it from?” Fred wondered as he occupied his usual seat next to you. The previous night where you fell asleep next to him brought everything back to somewhat normal. He was finally acknowledging you in the mornings and spending his time with you. You shrugged, tearing the letter open and your eyes widened at the signature written so beautifully at the bottom. “Cedric Diggory,” Fred scoffed, a roll of his eyes gaining the attention of his brothers around him.

“Cedric Diggory wrote to you?” Ginny gleamed, her eyes widening in delight as a contrast to Fred's displeased look.

“What did he say?” Hermione asked. You were about to stand up from the table, and excuse yourself but from the peering eyes of your friends, you knew you wouldn’t get far without their curiosity minds following you.

“Just read it aloud,” Harry cheered, and he frowned quickly when Hermione shot him a look to be quiet. But Ron soon joined in and it was like a dominios effect, you sighed and gave in, clearing your voice to read the letter for the first time.

“Dear y/n,” you started, interrupted already by Fred’s sigh of annoyance, “I had tried to contact you at your family home but they have directed all my calls to Weasleys’ household. I have tried several times to get in touch with you but seem to be having trouble - I have left messages. I hope this doesn’t come across as desperate or obnoxious but I would thoroughly enjoy it if you were to accompany me to Hogsmede this weekend. I look forward to hearing from you..” you paused, before whispering the last part, “yours, Cedric Diggory.”

There was a deafening silence as you finished the last syllable, the words blurring in front of you on the parchment as you tried to make sense of the letter. Of course you had a great time at the ball with Cedric, but you never had any intention of getting romantically involved with him. Not when your heart was obviously set on someone else. Your mind was brought back to the kitchen of the Weasleys’ when the girls in front of you gasped out loud, squealing as they grasped for the letter to reread it. The boys lost interest the moment you started to speak, except for Fred, who fell back in the chair and began finishing his breakfast.

“What is your secret?” Ginny gawked. “Cedric Diggory wants to go on a date with you!”

“I-It’s not a date,” you mumbled, sitting back down. The tension between you and Fred was back, the hour of normality that you were blessed with vanished. “It’s not a date,” you repeated, but your words were aimed at Fred, who creased his eyebrows in confusion.

“It sounds like a date to me and a bloody good one at that,” he flashed you a smile, but you could see beneath it. Something was different between the two of you, like the aura has shifted and you’ve become one. It didn’t make sense but the way Fred was feeling, you could feel it too. How his heart was hammering and his stomach was infested with annoying butterflies. It’s how you felt when you looked at him.

“We have plans for the weekend,” you reminded him.

“Cancel them, it’s okay.”

“No, Fred, it’s a tradition. I can’t just cancel them.”

Fred sighed, tidying up his plate and standing up from the table. You followed his lead and left the group to analyse the letter, you went to call him but he swiftly turned around. Your chest hit his, his taller figure hovering over you. “I’ll make it easier for you, I’ll cancel them. There, you’re free this weekend.”

“What are you even talking about?” you sighed, frustration getting the better of you. “I never said I wanted to go out with him.”

“Why wouldn’t you not? He’s Cedric freakin’ Diggory!” There was no room for arguing, no matter what you threw at him, he’d have a comeback so you just sighed and gave in. Waving the white flag of surrender for the day and it wasn’t even ten in the morning.

There was a lake not two miles from The Burrow, it was hidden beyond trees taller than churches and you’d have never found it if it weren’t for the adventurous boys that you grew up with. You were supposed to be nestled in the corner of a tavern with the Hufflepuff Quidditch Captain, sharing a warm butterbeer and having that first date jitters but instead you found yourself looking over the frozen lake. It was always frozen at this time of the year. You had a large black coat on, fake fur decorating the hood as you breathed out and created your own night time clouds of air. You had your skates by your feet, too cold to change into them.

Every year on the last night before returning back to Hogwarts, it was a tradition with you and Fred to ice-skate across the lake. It was the one time that you were guaranteed to feel free and relieve any stress that has been building up on your shoulders. But it didn’t feel the same alone and you couldn’t bring yourself to put your skates on. You fell back against the grass that was decorated in white snow from the downpour earlier that day, letting out a strangled scream that you’ve been holding in.

“Bloody hell, what was that?” A grin erupted on your face and you sat up, looking over your shoulder to see Fred standing there in a brown tattered coat, his skates dangling from his fingers. He had a yellow bobble hat on his head, his hair tucked beneath it.

“You showed,” you smiled, kicking your shoes off and pulling your skates on with great difficulty. Fred followed your lead, sitting down next to you.

“Of course I did.”

You sighed, strapping the laces, “I wasn’t sure if you would, you’re acting really strange lately.”

Fred gave you a sympathetic glance, a small smile tugging on his lips as he watched you stand up and stretch your gloved hand out to help him up. He took it, using his strength to lift himself up so you didn’t have to use a muscle. You slowly made your way to the iced surface, letting Fred test it out and he skated away in circles. “Freddie,” you called back, pouting slightly.

A raspy laugh left his lips as he shook his head in disbelief and came back to you, letting you grasp onto his arm as you took your first steps onto the ice. “You do know you can skate, right?” Fred asked.

“I just need your help for the first five minutes, you know that,” you chuckled. You both skated around the nature-created rink, silence settling between you. The moon overlooked the two of you skating around, hand in hand - the perfect pair in a state of ignorance. Fred let go of your hand, skating in front of you and you couldn’t help but laugh as he showed off his skills. His lanky legs are quite talented at twisting around one another. Fred looked up at you, your smile beaming at him and that’s when he lost his balance, tripping over his own feet and tumbling to the ice. Your eyes widened but you were going to quick to stop and you fell over his limbs, your chin banging off the ice.

“Fuck, are you okay, y/n?” Fred scrambled over to you, his hand cupping your chin and seeing the blood seeping from the cut. His worry was cut short when you erupted into a fit of unstoppable giggles, ignoring the pain that soared through your face. The image of Fred’s face falling flat on his ass will forever be sketched into your mind now. “Shut up,” Fred huffed, his hand dropping from your face.

You crawled over to him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as you tried everything in your power to stop from giggling but you couldn’t. It got to the point that your laughter became so contagious that Fred’s chest began rumbling with his own laughter. You sat in the middle of the ice rink, asses soaked and cuts on your face as you laughed for what felt like hours.

“I missed this,” you announced in a heavy sigh, your stomach hurting from laughing so much.

“I’m sorry for acting like an idiot the last few weeks,” Fred said.

“What was the story with that?” you asked, reaching to fix the hat that was crooked on his head. His hands wrapped around your wrist, his gloves fingers maneuvering to hold your hands close. Your eyes connected with his, your breath hitching at the sight of his brown orbs telling you everything before he spoke a word. “Fred..”

Fred sighed, dropping your hands and scrambling to stand up. You followed his movements, skating to where your shoes and belongings were left. His broad shoulders were slouched as he got off his skates and you weren’t sure if he was going to walk away again. “Fred, please don’t shut me out again.”

“I-I-” Fred mumbled, his eyes screwing shut before fluttering open again, “Why didn’t you go out with Cedric tonight?”

The question took you off guard, confusion evident in your expression. “I told you already, we had plans! We do this every year!”

“You cancelled plans with a future boyfriend for me?” Fred asked, trying to clarify the situation.

“What are you talking about, Fred? We’re best friends, I’d always choose you over-”

“Is that all we’ll ever be?” The words made you dizzy, the question heavy with every emotion you’ve ever felt for Fred. You looked up at him, your socks getting soaked as you stood there in shock, your shoes forgotten about. “That… That question came out more forced than I wanted it to, but I just need to know, will we ever be more?”

“That’s not for me to decide…” you whispered, seeing his expression falter, “You’ve never- you’ve never told me how you felt about me.”

“I thought I made it obvious.”

You scoffed, shaking your head, “By taking someone else to the Ball? Or by encouraging me to go on a date? Or when we were thirteen and you told George that you only seen me as a sister-”

“Okay, they weren’t my finest moments, I’ll admit that..” Fred wanted to slap himself for being so stupid and naive, “But do you feel the same way that I feel about you?”

“If you think that I’m the most amazing person in the world, that you can’t live without me, and that you’re sick of spending every moment with me and not being able to kiss me… then yes, I feel the same..” you breathed out the words, your chest beating rapidly. When Fred processed the words, a large grin filled with relief washed over his face. He took a step closer to you, and you took it on yourself to close the gap between your bodies. He dipped his head and connected his lips to yours, his hands placing themselves respectfully on your waist as you wrapped around his shoulders. The kiss wouldn’t have been deemed the most magical - your teeth hitting off one another and your tongues sloppy mixing together, but when he pulled away and laughed, your heart deemed it to be the most magical moment in your life.

#harry potter fanfic #fred weasley #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley x reader #weasley twins #hp #harry potter fandom #cedric diggory #cedric diggory x reader #harry potter writing #fanfic

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a-lockman5 · 3 years

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Things were different now Pt. 3 - Happy to Help {Devi and Paxton}

A/n: as usual, I don’t own these characters, but I love them. This continues to follow the timeline I initially wrote so it does not coincide with season 2 at all. Paxton is a 17 year old with feelings, not a 10 year old before puberty… I hate proofreading so if it’s awful, apologies. Umm… so sorry it’s a year late.. and honestly, I kinda hate parts of it, but here we are nonetheless. Hope you like it!

Warnings: fluff, angst, phobias, I think that’s it.

Part one, Part two

Don’t forget to check out my Masterlist!

“Hey, baby,” Ben greeted her in a sing-song voice.

“Morning, Ben,” Devi replied as Ben laid a kiss to her cheek, and took the seat next to her.

“Why didn’t you come by for breakfast this morning?” he asked.

Devi felt her eyes grow wide momentarily. She had been going to Ben’s for breakfast before school all last week, telling her mom they were studying. It wasn’t a formal date though, and she hadn’t thought to plan an excuse. “Uh…” she scrambled, feeling the room close in as people filled the desks behind and on her other side. “I’m not feeling well,” she lied. “I overslept.”

She averted her gaze from Ben to dig a pencil out of her backpack from where it sat on the floor to her right. When she tried to unzip her pencil holder though, it got stuck and she flung it, one-handed, onto the floor. As she reached down to grab it, the person sitting next to her reached down to help too, and when she looked up, Paxton was grinning back at her.

“Morning, Vishwakumar. Long time, no see.”

Devi tried to swallow past a large lump in her throat. “Morning, Paxton,” she returned hesitantly, noting his hair was still damp and that it added curl to his hair that usually he used product to tame.

Devi had her first swim lesson with Paxton that morning before school. It’s not that she was hiding it from Ben, her boyfriend. It was just that she didn’t feel ready to tell him about it… so yeah, she was hiding it from him. Not because of Paxton though! She was hiding it because of her.

Not even Devi’s mom knew how afraid she was of being in the water since her paralysis was triggered. Prior to that, she loved swimming. It was the only sport she was at all inclined to and she even considered trying out for team sophomore year until she went crazy and lost her legs.

She tried to move past it. Well, kind of. Her physical therapist thought aquatic therapy may help strengthen and facilitate the functional return of her legs. Instead, it resulted in her screaming and hyperventilating in Dan’s arms as he struggled to get her back to the lift out of the pool. Devi begged Dan not to tell her mom about her newfound fear and promised she would discuss it with Dr. Ryan. Her physical therapist agreed, and Devi never mentioned it to anyone again. Until Paxton.

“You want to swim?” He repeated back, puzzled as they sat on the couch in the garage. “I’ve seen you swim.”

“When?”

“Your freshman year…” he trailed off as realization dawned on him.

Devi didn’t know Paxton had any idea who she was until she propositioned him at the beginning of school this year. He remembered her from the year before? He remembered her before she lost her legs?

“Yeah… I haven’t been able to since…”

“So when you fell in the pool at Gross’s party…?” Paxton filled the silence for her.

“I’m really glad you pulled me out otherwise it would have gotten way more embarrassing,” she admitted.

She saw his jaw clench before his next question, “Why didn’t your friends help you?”

“Um…” she took a deep breath to muster the courage up to tell him, “they don’t know… nobody knows.”

And then he gave her that same deep, calculated look. The look he gave her when they were in his car so many weeks ago. The look he gave her before they kissed. Before he kissed her.

He agreed instantly after that. And things went mildly well that morning. She wasn’t able to get in the water, so instead, she sat next to the edge of the pool and watched Paxton swim for awhile and then they talked.

She was surprised by how patient Paxton had been with her especially since she dragged him out of bed earlier than necessary. He told her it was a process though, and he agreed to help her through it. Her heart felt full when he said that. She probably would have read too far into it in the past, but things were different now.

Devi knew she would have to tell Ben eventually that she was spending so much time with Paxton, but she just didn’t want him to overreact. He knew how much she had pined for Paxton before they started dating, and even though she and Paxton were friends only now, it wouldn’t change the threat he posed in her boyfriend’s mind.

you and PHY seem awfully chummy - Fab

Devi looked over her shoulder at her friends after reading Fabiola’s text message. Both Fab and Eleanor were giving her pretty pointed looks, and Devi just responded with a grimace and raised eyebrows. This whole friends thing sounded so easy with Paxton when they were sitting on his couch in the middle of the night. No one else was around, no one could pass judgment. Things were going to be a little harder in practice.

Fortunately, class was pretty uneventful. Mr. Shapiro started a new unit, they went over the lesson, and they were dismissed. Devi gathered her things quickly and hurried out of the room without waiting for her friends, her boyfriend, or Paxton. Of course, Paxton was her friend, so she didn’t know why she listed him in his own category.

“Hey,” the object of her musings appeared beside her locker.

Devi jumped at the sound of his voice, but managed to somewhat recover. “Hey, what’s good, playa?”

Paxton smirked at her with warm eyes. “Just wanted to check on you now that it’s been a couple hours.”

“Oh! Honestly, I feel good. Watching you actually helps me calm down,” she said before realizing how it sounded. “I mean, not that I just watch you, but I mean, watching you swim… it’s nice to see how you glide through the water… it’s like a white noise machine.”

“Right,” Paxton replied slowly after a beat. “Well you should come by today after school. I have an idea.”

She nodded as he walked away down the hall. Before Devi’s imagination could get the better of her though, her friends replaced Paxton in her line of vision.

“What is going on?” Fabiola asked bluntly.

“Yeah, are you and Paxton hooking up behind Ben’s back?”

“What? Of course not!” Devi was outraged. How could they think she would do that? “Paxton is my friend.”

“Since when?”

“Yeah, last thing we knew, you went there for dinner for his sister and it got hella weird,” Eleanor added. “What gives?”

Devi had not shared the one on one conversations she and Paxton had with her friends. Sure, the initial apology after dinner would probably be okay. Having a drink with Paxton in the garage at 2 o’clock in the morning after catching him in his underwear with an erection? No, there was no good way to relay that encounter.

“Um..” Devi hesitated. She couldn’t tell them the truth now after hiding her fear for so long, and then telling Paxton before telling them. They’d think she was a bad friend. “I’m tutoring him,” she lied. “Yeah, he’s got to get his grades up to meet the minimum for Stanford swimming to offer him a scholarship so I’m helping him.”

“Does Ben know?” Eleanor asked as Devi’s phone pinged in her pocket.

She pulled her phone out and read the message from Paxton, don’t forget to bring your suit ;), and she felt her cheeks heat up. “No,” she told Eleanor absentmindedly. “No, he doesn’t know.”

“Well, are you going to tell him?” Fabiola prodded.

Devi shook herself out of her daze and really heard her friends’ questions. “No, not right now. You guys know he would freak out if he knew Paxton and I were spending time together no matter how platonic. I’ll tell him eventually but everything is still so new, I don’t want to wreck it.”

Her friends’ judgment was evident, but Devi couldn’t let that bother her. Paxton was helping her confront one of her deepest fears, and she didn’t need to feel guilty about that. Instead, she chose to focus on making the most of her time with Paxton and enjoying their friendship while hopefully ridding her of her phobia.

Devi knocked briefly before letting herself into the Hall-Yoshida garage. It was empty and so she dropped her bag and plopped down onto the couch. It was almost funny, Devi thought. Things were so different now. A few months ago, she was terrified entering this space. She’d freaked, cut her leg open and bolted. Even the last time she’d been here, she’d tried to quietly reflect and calm her nerves after having one of her sexual fantasies manifest in the form of actually seeing Paxton Hall-Yoshida in his underwear with a boner. Now, she just comes right in and —

“Make yourself at home,” Paxton’s voice broke her from her thoughts.

She intended to make a sarcastic retort, but was caught off guard by him being in swim trunks already, and not the tight spandex trunks he wore for the swim team. No, these were normal, red and black trunks. They were entirely less revealing, outside of showing off his muscled chest, but they weren’t a uniform. Something about Paxton being voluntarily half naked and not bleeding from the hand had Devi looking at him dumbly from across the room.

“Devi, you good?” He asked cautiously, coming to sit next to her.

Her gaze trailed down from his collarbone to his pecs, to his abs, to his… her eyes grew wide as she realized she was openly ogling him. She snapped her eyes back to his to find him grinning at her.

“Everything okay?” He asked again. She nodded dumbly in response. “Good. Why don’t you go change? I have an idea that may work to start.”

“Okay, I’ll go change in the bathroom and meet you back here?”

“Nah, just come out to the back yard.”

Completely disrobed in the bathroom, Devi had another decision to make. Two suits. She brought two bathing suits with her both that morning and in the afternoon. She hadn’t even bothered to change before class that morning because just entering the aquatic center was enough to bring her near hyperventilation. She couldn’t do that again, and to be fair, if Paxton had a pool, it was news to Devi. And she asked him to help her swim. If that’s what she really wanted, then she needed to trust Paxton and let him help her. That meant she had to choose: black, Speedo one-piece or bubble gum pink bikini?

“Why’d you even bring both, Devi?” She asked her reflection.

She wasn’t sure she was ready to answer that question. She knew things were different now. She was dating Ben, and Paxton was her friend. That was her choice… it was just a much easier choice to make when she and Paxton weren’t speaking to each other. If she was honest, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Paxton since their middle of the night encounter last week. He was right when he said they had come a long way. She had come a long way, becoming more comfortable around him, and seeing him on an equal level versus the Adonis pedestal she placed him on in the past. Then he became real.

Paxton became more than the unattainable sex god that riddled her darkest fantasies. He became someone she could talk with, laugh with, open up to. He became her friend. Her friend that was still a sex god that riddled her darkest fantasies… these were the thoughts that had her leaning toward the far more revealing bikini for their lesson that afternoon.

She had a boyfriend though, a boyfriend she very much liked. Sure, she and Ben were unkind to each other in the past. He had routinely referred to her by a boy’s name, called her unfuckable, and yeah, he started the rumor that she faked her paralysis freshman year. She played her own role in their antagonistic relationship though, and all that was behind them anyway. Ever since his party, Ben had been much nicer to her. Of course, that was including when he tried to kiss her while still dating Shira… but obviously, that was because he had feelings for her that when he was sober, he wasn’t ready to confront yet. He had been there for her like no one else had. He deserved a good girlfriend. That was Devi’s last thought on the subject before donning the black athletic one piece.

The first thing Devi saw when she stepped onto the patio made her heart catch in her throat. A hot tub. It was too big. It was too much. Too much. She couldn’t get in a hot tub. It was already way too hot, Devi thought, feeling the air get thicker around her. Her throat felt constricted and she wondered how anyone was as able to breathe in these conditions. It felt impossible.

“Devi! Are you okay?” She heard Paxton ask faintly.

Her head began shaking back and forth frantically, but she didn’t feel like she was the one controlling it. Instead, it was moving of its own accord, and her voice didn’t sound like her own when she said, “I can’t get in the hot tub.”

Two strong hands grasped her waist and physically turned her so her back was to the offending item. It was then she saw Paxton. His eyes searched hers desperately before a hand came to cradle her face. She immediately felt herself relax into his touch just enough that she could take a breath.

“Hey, you’re okay. I got you,” he cooed. “I know you’re not ready for that, and that’s okay. Just take a deep breath.”

She still felt like she was gulping for air, but her body melted into his as he pulled her in for a hug. They just stood like that until she could regain control of her breathing. When she did, Paxton gently released her and Devi was honestly surprised by how disappointed she was to not be in his arms any longer.

“You good?” He asked cautiously. She nodded sheepishly. “Cool. Let’s get away from this so you can see what I have set up for you.”

She nodded again and let him take her hand to lead her deeper into the backyard. When she saw it, she couldn’t believe the relief that flooded her.

“A slip n slide?” She huffed out.

“A slip n slide!” He dropped her hand to raise his arms victoriously. “I looked up some stuff about phobias and I think it’ll help. It’s called exposure treatment. We’ll start slow and work your way up.”

“You researched phobias?”

“Well, yeah,” he nodded. “And I’ll be here for you the whole time.”

Devi felt herself smile. Paxton really took the time to try to figure out how to help her. No throwing her in the deep end of the pool, but actually holding her hand through this. Being by her side while they figured it out together. She couldn’t believe how lucky she felt to have him in her life at that moment.

It wasn’t a very fancy slip n side, most likely he’d had it in the shed since he and Becca were kids. It was still in good shape though and he’d placed it over a decline at the end that allowed for pooling of water. He had the hose running and ready, but when they stepped up to the start, it became infinitely more intimidating.

As though he could sense her apprehension, Paxton said, “how about I go first, and then you can try?”

She tried to swallow past the lump in her throat in order to respond. When she wasn’t successful, she nodded. Paxton gave her a weak grin, and reached out to squeeze her shoulder. It was probably a measure of reassurance, and it worked for a moment, but the minute his touch was gone, her nerves settled in again.

“Okay, so you want to get a running start so you go faster through the slide,” he told her, taking four to five steps back. “You ready?”

“Ready,” she choked out after a beat of silence.

Paxton took off, and dove smoothly onto the track. Devi felt her anxiety melt away as he slid down the track on his stomach. It was almost like watching his perfect strokes through the water, and something about watching him made her forget her fear. Then he crashed into the small wading pool at the end of the slide, and just like that Devi’s breath was stuck in her throat again, and it felt like a bucket of ice water was dumped over her head.

When Paxton stood up, he immediately sought her gaze for eye contact. Just as quickly, he seemed to notice how her panic rose again.

“Devi,” he called down to her. “You can do this, okay? Don’t think about the water, just focus on me.” She could feel how wide her eyes were and her mouth was starting to dry out as it hung open, but Paxton’s encouragement started to wear her down when he said, “Come to me, Devi. I got you.”

She took a steadying breath and barely nodded before stepping a few paces back like Paxton had. Paxton continued to cheer her on and beckon her to his open arms as she fought her body to cooperate with her. Finally, after another deep breath, Devi let out a guttural scream, her war cry, and ran toward the slide. She slid onto her stomach much like Paxton had and did not have the good sense to close her mouth until it was filled with hose water. It got her choked up again and it was difficult to catch her breath, but just as quickly as she started, she was plunged into the wading pool. Before she had a chance to panic-swallow more water, Paxton’s strong arms hauled her to a standing position and she collided with his chest in a tight hug.

“You did it!” He whispered triumphantly. “You did great, I’m so proud of you.”

“I did it,” she breathed, arms clutched tightly around his shoulders as though he would disappear if she let go. “I did it,” she repeated, a tear slipping down her cheek.

Devi and Paxton worked with the slip n slide for three more weeks, and it was amazing how quickly she was improving. Each time, Paxton was there to catch her at the end of the slide, and she grew more confident with each trip.

“So do you have plans this weekend?” Paxton asked, passing her a towel.

“Probably just studying for the history test,” she replied, drying her hair gently.

“With Gross?”

They hadn’t talked about Ben at all during their sessions. She had also skirted the issue of spending so much time with Paxton by telling her boyfriend that she’d been assigned a new student to tutor. She didn’t tell him it was Paxton. Things had been calm the last few weeks despite how crazy the first months of the semester had been. If she was honest, she hadn’t spent much time with or thought much about Ben that week at all. Things were going so well with Paxton and their sessions that she spent most of her time looking forward to the next time she’d be in his backyard in her bathing suit.

“Uh.. I don’t know. Probably him, Fab, and Eleanor, I guess,” she told him. “Or by myself. I don’t really have anything planned.”

“Would you…” he trailed off quietly before finding his voice again. “Would you maybe want to study here… with me?”

Devi felt herself smile. “Sure, I mean, my friends think I’m tutoring you anyway so that would make sense.”

“What?”

She breathed through another smile at how his brow furrowed, but rolled her eyes at herself before answering him. “I had to have a reason for why we’re talking so much more at school… so I told them I was tutoring you.”

Paxton’s head dropped as he huffed out a laugh. “You’re really good at lying, huh?”

“No! I just… get nervous about how people will react to stuff so sometimes it’s just easier to say something else.”

He nodded. “Well, you better tutor me then. ‘Cause if I fail this test, your whole story falls apart,” he said taking a step closer to her.

“Maybe you just don’t listen to me,” she grinned.

He took another step forward, this time into her personal space. “Impossible,” he countered, “have you met you?”

Devi’s smile grew before she realized how close Paxton really was to her. It wasn’t his actual proximity. They’d been closer physically than ever in these recent weeks, but something felt different that time. She could feel the heat radiating off of him and there was electricity in the air. He seemed to feel it too, and shook himself free before taking the towel back from her. That only allowed him to take in the full view of her from top to bottom, forcing Devi to close her eyes so she didn’t feel the full force of his gaze.

She heard Paxton swallow, then clear his throat, and then he took a step back. Devi chose then to meet his gaze, and found the same calculating look she’d now seen a total of three times. He had a depth she hadn’t previously credited him with. Now that she’d seen it, it was hard to ignore.

“Uh.. yeah, I think we could study together.”

Paxton grinned crookedly at her. “Cool,” he licked his lips before changing the subject. “Why don’t you go ahead and change, and then I’ll take you home.”

“That’s okay, I can I walk.” Devi said quickly. “I mean, I’d like to walk. Helps me clear my head.”

“Oh.. okay.”

Devi didn’t feel like she took another breath until she was shut in the bathroom of the Hall-Yoshida residence. Was Paxton really flirting with her? Did he really check her out like she thought he had? She’d been so wrong about so many of their encounters in the past, but… he did kiss her. Paxton Hall Yoshida was her first kiss and it was only a couple months ago. Maybe he really liked her. Maybe they —

A text message on her phone cut off her internal rambling. When she read it, her breath caught in her throat again:

Why are you at Paxton’s?

Fuck. Ben.

How could she forget about Ben? Here she was going down the Paxton rabbit hole again when she had Ben, her actual boyfriend. Things were different now though. She wasn’t sure exactly when they changed, but she knew they had.

She quickly typed out a response and then changed into her dry clothes.

***

“So Paxton is the student you’re tutoring?

“Uh.. yeah, kinda,” Devi told Ben. “Paxton is my friend, but I am helping him study.” It wasn’t technically a lie anymore now that they’d made plans for Saturday.

“Anything else you want to tell me?”

“What are you accusing me of, Ben?”

“Obviously, I’m the only one committed to this relationship. You’re still just drooling over some dick that wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole.”

Devi scoffed, as the wind left her sails. She knew Ben would be hurt, and she expected him to be jealous that she was spending time with Paxton. She didn’t expect him to say Paxton wouldn’t want anything to do with her. She didn’t expect him to imply that she wasn’t good enough for Paxton. Like Ben was doing her some great, big favor by dating her. Once a UN, always a UN, she guessed.

“You know, I came here ready to explain myself, ready to apologize. Maybe you’re right though. Maybe you’re the only one committed to this relationship. God knows, I don’t want to be in a relationship where it’s okay to talk to me like that.”

Ben’s eyes widened, and Devi watched the color drain from his face. “No, Devi, I didn’t mean” —

“You didn’t mean to, not accuse me of cheating on you, but instead, accuse me of so desperately wanting to cheat on you that I would be the lap dog to a different guy?”

Devi really thought Ben deserved an explanation. That was why she went to his house. She realized though, she didn’t owe him anything. Ben had been the constant ignition to Devi’s insecurities. She thought that would stop when they became boyfriend and girlfriend, but no. Instead, he wanted to keep them together by making her feel unwanted by anyone else. She knew better though.

“Devi” —

“You are seriously the textbook ‘nice guy,’ aren’t you?” She air quoted. “Well, I don’t need any of that. I think we’re done here.”

Ben is canceled.

Devi felt oddly satisfied when she sent the text to Fabiola and Eleanor. She thought she would feel guilty after their encounter, but honestly, she felt liberated. Ben had been there for her when no one else was, and he showed that he cared about her. Still, when confronted with the idea that she may want to spend time with someone else, he immediately turned on her. Red flag. Big red flag.

Her friends immediately made plans to have a sleepover at Eleanor’s the following night. They wanted all the details. When Devi happily supplied them, they encouraged her as enthusiastically as she expected.

“Yes, girl,” Eleanor cried, giving her snaps when she told them she wouldn’t let Ben talk to her that way.

“You’re a strong, independent woman, and you don’t need some small little white boy trying to keep you down,” Fabiola bolstered.

“Thanks, guys. That brings me to my next problem though.” And for the first time, she told her friends about when she and Paxton kissed, how her mom had yelled at them the next day and called Paxton stupid, and how he’d left her a voicemail because he’d come to see her while she was in Malibu with her family. They were shocked to say the least.

“So what’s your problem?”

“Wondering exactly how long the pole is that Paxton would touch you with?” Eleanor asked suggestively.

Nope, that is definitely not the issue, Devi thought as she recalled seeing Paxton in his underwear. No, she knew exactly how big a tent that pole could support. The question was, was she misinterpreting their relationship?

“No… I mean, do you think he could like me?”

“Well, he definitely liked you enough to kiss you, but you also chose Ben over him,” Fabiola recapped. “That’s a tough blow.”

“But he wants to spend time with Devi anyway,” Eleanor argued. “I mean, you guys have study sessions almost every afternoon.”

“Right,” Devi trailed off as she considered her encounters with Paxton since she and Ben started dating. How he’d been respectful of her relationship, never once putting Ben down or asking why she had decided to go out with him. She thought about what a good friend he’d been of late with their sessions. She thought about how close she felt to him, and how she wasn’t exaggerating their closeness like she had at the beginning of the school year. She didn’t need to dress up or fabricate the things he said or did to her anymore. Everything was really happening.

“Do you want us to come tomorrow and assess the situation?”

Devi considered Eleanor’s offer, but finally shook her head. “No, I think this is one I have to sort out myself.”

***

“Alright, who coined the term ‘Cold War’ in the British press in October 1954?” Devi asked, looking up at her companion.

“I don’t know… Russia?”

Her eyes narrowed. “No, George Orwell. You’re right, my reputation as a nerd and the best tutor in school is on the line.”

“Shut up, this stuff’s hard. We’re not all Devi Vishwakumar,” he bumped her with his elbow.

“You’re smart too though. How did you know all that stuff about Hinduism or phobias?”

“That’s different. That’s interesting stuff.”

Devi felt her cheeks heat up, and chose to stare at her textbook. Would Paxton find those things interesting if they weren’t directly related to her? Was it his way of saying that she was interesting or important to him? She chanced a glance toward him to see him was also very deliberately staring at his book. She briefly wondered why before he looked up sharply and slapped his knee.

“I guess we have a lot to get through then if we’re going to save your rep. Better get to it.”

“Yeah… for sure,” she said slowly before continuing to quiz him.

A couple hours, some poptarts and pizza rolls later, they had significantly improved Paxton’s knowledge of the subject matter. They both were thrilled with his progress.

“Okay, let’s come full circle,” Devi said. “Who coined the term ‘Cold War?’”

“George Orwell… in the British press… in 1954,” he finished sitting back in his chair confidently.

“Yes! Good job, dude. You picked up on this stuff, no problem!” She smiled.

“Well, you’re a good teacher,” he smiled back, leaning forward.

“You’re a good student,” she told him, biting her bottom lip and leaning forward towards him.

Paxton glanced at her lips briefly before licking his own. She thought, this was it. He was going to kiss her. Instead, Paxton blinked, his eyes staying closed a little longer than normal, and sighed before scooting his chair away from the table.

“Uh.. my parents won’t be home from work for a few hours, and Becca is at a friend’s house if you want to hangout some more,” he suggested, rubbing the back of his neck. “We could drag the slip n slide out?”

Devi smiled. “Umm… I think I’m ready for the next challenge.”

“Yeah?” Paxton asked disbelievingly. “You sure?”

“Yeah, I want to try.”

“Alright,” he smiled with a nod. “I’ll get changed and we’ll head out there.”

Once Devi was closed in the bathroom again, she pulled her suit out of her bag. Pink bikini, don’t fail me now.

After a quick change, and plucking any stray hairs, Devi opened the bathroom door to see Paxton waiting on the other side. Her confidence faltered as he took in her appearance. His brow nearly disappeared into his hairline, and she noticed him swallow before exhaling slowly.

“Is this okay?” She asked.

“Yeah. Yeah, totally okay,” he responded, finally meeting her eye. “I, uh, wanted to walk you out so we could avoid as strong a reaction as last time… We’re in this together, right?”

She nodded, appreciating his support. Together.

It seemed like such a good idea before. Before she was standing in front of a large container filled with water. Water that she would have to submerge herself in.

Already drowning in her own fear, Devi didn’t hear Paxton talking to her until she felt him take her hand.

“Hey, Devi,” he called, waving his other hand in her face. “Can you hear me?”

She blinked longer than usual to clear her head before finding his gaze again. “Yeah, sorry. I was just spiraling.”

“Listen, you don’t have to do this right now. There’s no pressure, okay?”

“I know,” she nodded, licking her lips apprehensively. “I want to do this. You won’t leave me, right?”

He smiled. “We’re in this together, Vishwakumar.”

With that, she carefully made her way up the steps, and stepped into the hot water. Paxton held her hand the whole way. The best part of using the hot tub? The heat further distracted her from her fear that she didn’t even realize Paxton was touching her for a moment. It wasn’t until she was sitting down and should have been relaxing that her anxiety began to spike again.

“Hey, breathe, okay? I’m right here,” Paxton’s hand slipped from hers to wrap around her shoulders.

Without thinking, without meaning to, Devi dropped her head into the crook of Paxton’s neck. Her arms clung to his waist desperately, willing her breathing to level out. She felt Paxton’s other arm come around to encircle her, and it had the very calming effect she assumed he intended. As her breathing returned to a normal pace, Devi found she felt almost sleepy. She felt warm, not because of the water, but inside. It was like her body was humming, like everything was fuzzy. She let out a deep sigh of relief, and felt Paxton shift slightly against her.

“Are you okay?” He whispered. She wondered if he could feel how peaceful things were in that moment. No, he probably just wanted to make sure she hadn’t passed out.

“Yeah,” she breathed. “This helps.”

“Yeah? Like watching me helps?”

“I can’t explain it, and I know it doesn’t make any sense especially because I’m such a disaster when we talk,” she rambled before taking a steadying breath, “but watching you, touching you, calms me down.”

Paxton took a shaky breath, and Devi pulled back slightly to look at him. His eyes were closed, cheeks flushed. She loved seeing him like this. Vulnerable, as though she affected him as much as he affected her. This time, she thought, I’ll kiss him.

Before Devi could lean forward, Paxton abruptly put space between them. One hand remained on her shoulder, but his head was hanging his eyes were closed.

“Devi,” he started before letting out a long sigh, “I am trying so hard. I mean, I love spending time with you and I want to be here for you. I want to be a good friend to you, but you’re killing me.”

“What?”

“You have a boyfriend,” he replied emphatically. “I don’t really know why, but you do. And all this,” he gestured between them, “feels a lot like cheating, and I’m not down for it.”

“Oh, no, no, no, no,” the words came tumbling out, “no, no, no. No, that’s on me. Paxton” —

“Devi, I like you,” he cut her off. “Not in the ‘I want to reinstate our sex agreement’ way, but like, I really like you. I hate studying! But you make it fun. I love the way you spit out that first five thoughts that pop into your head at any given moment. I love that you trust me to tell me your deepest fear that no one else knows, and I love that we’ve been able to work through it together. I don’t know if I can do this anymore though.”

“Sorry I didn’t interrupt, you really seemed like you were on a roll, but,” she paused to take another deep breath, “I don’t… have a boyfriend anymore.”

“What?”

“Things are different now. I broke up with Ben two days ago, and… I really like you too. I never wanted just sex from you. I just never thought we’d be here right now.”

“You don’t have a boyfriend?”

She shook her head, shyly looking down at the water. Her bottom lip found it’s way between her teeth, barely suppressing her smile. She felt his hand slip from her shoulder and snake it’s way around her waist. She looked up as he pulled her body into his so close that their breath mingled.

“Should we make another toast?” She asked nervously.

His forehead pressed against hers as he laughed. When he regained his composure, he looked in her eyes warmly. “Later.”

And for the second time, Paxton Hall-Yoshida’s lips were on hers, and it. was. electric. Somehow, it was even better than the first time. She felt everything else melt away, and it was just the two of them floating through space. Nothing else mattered for that moment. She wasn’t sure when she ended up in his lap, but she wound her arms around his neck all the same before her hands found his curly hair. Under other circumstances, she may have worried that her own hair had become so frizzy that he wouldn’t find her attractive. She realized though, she didn’t have to worry about that. No, as Paxton gripped her hips tighter, she knew very well that he was attracted to her.

This was everything she ever wanted, except it was better. Paxton’s hand came up to cradle her face as his tongue massaged hers in a way that made her spine tingle. Devi was so engrossed in having the greatest moment of her life, she didn’t hear the back door open.

“Wooooo!” Becca hollered as they jumped apart. “Finally!”

“Becca, get out of here!” Paxton yelled, splashing his sister. She laughed, making a comment about being safe as she went back inside.

“So… your sister’s home,” Devi said. They sat awkwardly for a moment before both breaking into a fit of laughter.

“Yeah, mood ruined, I guess.”

“Well, I know one thing: this is the happiest I’ve felt in any body of water in a year.”

He huffed out a laugh, eyes finding his lap before meeting her gaze again. “Happy to help.”

<< Part 2

#never have i ever #devi vishwakumar #paxton hall yoshida #daxton #nhie #paxton x devi #devi x paxton #never have i ever netflix #writing

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sasa-gay-yo · 3 years

Text

Levi At Your Wedding

Request / Summary: I loved the promise ring one so much and I was wondering if you could write one about Levi's wedding with reader?

Timeline: Timeskip

Warnings: some swearin’ and mentions of NSFW

Art Credits: AoT

It was nothing big because you two didn’t want it to be. Still, he was apprehensive. No, it took you months to convince him to let people even come to the wedding. The word wedding took even longer to enter his vocabulary. He probably was the last one to say it, even thought it was his wedding. At night, as you’d lay together, you’d talk about the flowers Hange wanted to put in your bouquet, or how Historia offered to buy clothes for you since you and Levi’s had acquired relatively primitive lifestyle in peacetimes, and he would almost fall asleep to it. You found it somewhat insulting, and had to ask him every day, ‘Do you really want to get married to me?’

Levi was never big on marriage and really knew nothing about it. No one around him was married, they were dead or under the age of twenty. He told you once, before these perfect years of peace and industrialization, that he didn’t see the concept of marriage necessary. People had all slowly learned that you were in a relationship with Captain Levi and that was that. He say nothing more concrete than the people knowing and respecting that. What was a paper going to do to change that?

One night, however, he convinced himself. He realized the necessity. The night before Historia granted them their honorable titles. He had been able to sit and process what happened at Shiganshina with you at his side. You held his hand and rubbed his back for hours and he let the tears fall for all his dead comrades, especially Erwin. You reassured him, and made him feel like he didn’t have to join his comrades out of guilt. He had nine others to care for and a country to build. He was needed. You needed him the most. He made love to you then. You were something he never wanted to lose, and he made sure you knew that.

It was then, buried inside of you, that he realized why people got married. He said it then and there too. It wasn’t a big proposal, and he didn’t have a ring and again didn’t know the concept of proposals, but he didn’t need one. After you two were done, laying in each other’s arms like always, he held on for dear life and asked you. You said yes. It was a done deal, and he was happy. So, when you asked him, ’Do you really want to get married to me?’ his answer was always yes. He bought a cabin for you two near the Scout HQ, painstakingly let you ask him everything about the décor, and you two even consolidated his years old bank account that he barely touched to help pay for this wedding. Wasn’t that enough for you to know he wanted this? These things were pretty irreversible.

Then came the actual wedding day. It wasn’t your handwriting on the calendar that hung in your kitchen anymore. It wasn’t something that you kept reminding him was coming near. He didn’t anticipate that part, but it seemed that everyone else had. They were waiting for years and years to finally give Levi and (Y/F/N) the perfect wedding, that it almost seemed like you didn’t have to plan anything (but he still had to pay for it which he will never understand). You were similar to Levi in that aspect. You didn’t want anything extravagant ever, and you would rather fix up something and work with it half broken then buy a new one. When Historia had taken you shopping for your wedding clothes, you’d never seen such expensive materials from Mitras at your disposal. You were once a farmhand.

However, seeing you walk down the makeshift aisle to him, Hange at your side, he decided that all this bickering, of people invading his house to talk about colors and food settings, all of it was worth it. You were smiling and happy. You were beautiful and perfect to him, wearing that and glowing. God, when he first started dating you, he never knew it would be like this. He never knew he could feel love this deep for someone. His eyes were just wide, remembering everything you two had been through to get to this point. Someone had called this the Period of Peace and staring into your eyes as you walked towards him, Levi felt those words. You were his peace. You comforted him. You made him feel strong. He was Humanity’s Strongest because you thought he was. He had to be the strongest for you. He felt like he was only put on this Earth to meet you at this point. Nothing else mattered as he looked in your eyes the whole time.

Perhaps even a few tears fell from your eyes as you saw him standing there in his military best. When you first started dating Levi, you could have never imagined you would be here now. As a nation and as a couple. You two had been through so many deaths and so many last kisses as he left for expeditions in the soft bright of the morning when you were half awake. A kiss that always said ‘see you soon.’ Now, when you kissed him, it was never a goodbye. It was a ‘have fun building a train at work’ or a ‘have fun meeting with the boat of Marleyans.’

You laughed at how red his face got when he was prompted to kiss you in front of all these people. Seeing this, you just gave him a small peck on the cheek, and you heard Jean and Connie outwardly protest. That’s when Levi grabbed you, needing to prove to the brats that he could kiss you, and left you breathless as he pulled back. Mr. and Mr./s. Ackerman. Connie and Sasha had given you a hand carved name plaque to put above your front door as your wedding gift. In black letters it said that: Mr. and Mr./s. Ackerman.

Levi didn’t expect there to be a dinner afterwards. He didn’t expect to be dragged along by an ecstatic you, ready to talk to any and everyone who came. Sasha and Historia hugged you. Jean commented on how he’d still take you from Levi if he didn’t treat you well. Armin gave a blushing congrats as you hugged him. It was all too fun for you. It was all perfect, especially with Levi at your side, only looking at you. In all honestly, he was looking at you, one, because he would be annoyed if he looked at anyone else, and this was apparently supposed to be his day, and two, because he wanted nothing more to just ride home with you and tear those expensive clothes Historia bought off of you. White was your color, and you had promised him mind-blowing after-wedding sex if he agreed to even have one of these things. He wouldn’t be lying if he said that was one of the only motivations he had for even showing up today. That and that fact that he couldn’t actually get married to you without showing up. Like he said, he wanted to get married to you.

When you finally got peace and quiet, you two sat at your own smaller table eating dinner and looking out at the dance floor that Hange herself had set up. There were people there playing instruments and someone had brought a newly built radio, so they all seemed to be enjoying themselves. One of your biggest motivations for throwing a wedding like this was not for you, but for them. The Scouts had become your kids, and they needed happiness. Even so, you looked wearily to Eren who’s empty eyes just stared at his friends having fun. You’d have to talk to him sometime about that and sometime soon.

“Did I tell you; you look amazing, dear?” You turned to look at Levi who was now looking away from you, trying to hide his blush after he said that. To this day, he couldn’t give you a comment like that without getting flustered.

“No, you haven’t husband, but you could say it again.” He rolled his eyes at you, knowing he wasn’t going to say it again. Every comment Levi gave you was fleeting unless it was in bed with you. In public, Levi had an image to upkeep and it was crumbling before his eyes, starting with the way he kissed you in front of everyone. He swore if one of those brats brought those new-fangled cameras and took a picture, he would beat them to a pulp before taking it from them… for research.

“How does it feel now that you’re married to me?” You asked him and he scoffed, looking out to the dance floor and taking a bite of his steak.

“Not very different. This ring on my finger is going to throw off my ODM skills.” It was your turn to roll your eyes at him and you grabbed his left hand, making sure that your rings were touching. He blushed again, looking down at your hands to avert his gaze anywhere but your eyes. He’d get lost in them now. Truthfully, he did feel different. He was feeling a bit overwhelmed by it too. He’d never felt this fluttering, this deepness of love. It was so much more than before, and to think it was all because he got to call you Mr/s. Ackerman. It had been echoing in his head over and over again, ever since the officiant had said it. You were his in everyway possible now. As a possessive man, it did things to him that he couldn’t explain.

“Did you at least like the wedding? That was my biggest worry.” He composed himself enough to look you in the eyes now.

“I liked it up to the part where I had to kiss you in front of all the brats. No one mentioned that to me.” You laughed and in hindsight, it was a good thing he didn’t know till then. He would have called off the wedding just for that reason.

“Still, you’re the one who pulled me in to kiss you.” The blush came again. Why was he blushing so much today? It was just a normal day? Ugh, this was so embarrassing for him. Of course it was all your doing. He would blame you for his image being ruined… but he wouldn’t mind kissing you again. He was still thinking about your promise in the back of his mind. How much longer would this reception go?

“If I let the brats see it at least once, they’ll stop pestering about not loving you enough.” Your heart warmed at that and looked back to the dancefloor. Connie and Sasha had gotten into some sort of competition with each other, and they were bumping into some of your friends, hollering at the top of their lungs. Your friends were definitely in for a surprise, having met the kids you always talk about for the first time. They weren’t kids, no, but they acted like it. They weren’t used to grown adults having his much fun, apparently, but you let them, even if Levi wanted to yell at them to pipe down. You always told Levi to stop yelling at them for having fun. The kids could finally be kids again.

“Do they tell you that you’re not loving me enough?” He just scoffed again, and brought you hand up to his chin, leaning on it to feel your warmth elsewhere. Yes, they told him that plenty of times. After you introduced yourself to them, when you had hid them from the Royal Government in your family’s cabin, they were always so curious about you and Levi. How did you meet? Does he actually have feelings? Does he really know how to love? Does he ever smile? It was endearing to you, and you got in trouble for telling them too much, even Levi’s sleeping habits. However, this devotion you had seemed to tell them that he wasn’t as devoted since he never talked about you.

That was definitely opposite of the case.

Levi was the one who loved you the fiercest. From the first kiss you had after saving you from Annie in Trost to two nights ago, after Hange had burst into you two naked, pulling you from him because of some stupid superstitions about weddings and not seeing you. It was uncomfortable to sleep in your own bed, without his arms wrapped around you. Without his words of love and affection after you two had cleaned yourselves off. Levi was an attentive lover. Levi was a lover, period, but they didn’t know that. They would never know that. Levi only showed that love to you. His special person. The love of his life, and you felt like it, too.

“When is this over? I was given a promise.” You pulled your hand from his grasp, scoffing at his boldness. His voice had trailed off at the end, hoping you knew exactly what he was talking about.

“Is that all you see me as? A sex object? That’s why you married me, isn’t it?” You crossed your arms, turning away from him. He just rolled his eyes at you, but that lovesick smirk didn’t leave his face. This was one of the reasons he loved you.

“You’re right. It is. Now, when do I reap my new benefits as husband? I’m sick of watching these brats dance and eat the food we have to pay for.” You looked over at your shoulder, smiling at him. You didn’t want to tell him that he probably had another two hours since you hadn’t started drinking yet. It was a goal of yours to get him on the dance floor at least once tonight.

“Patience is a virtue, not a curse. Also, I don’t remember promising you anything, Mr. Ackerman.” He rested his head in one hand, still smirking at you. This time an eyebrow quirked up, and it reminded you of the younger boy you met years ago, fresh out of the Underground. The one who has changed so much since you met him into this mature, strong, selfless man, yet he was still mischievous around you.

“Is that why you’re wearing that lacey number under those clothes, Mr/s. Ackerman? Didn’t promise me anything, huh? Did you let Historia pay for that too, or can I rip it off of you without any guilt tonight?”

#levi ackerman scenario #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x reader #levi attack on titan #snk levi #aot levi #attack on titan #attack on titan x reader #aot x reader #levi ackerman smut #aot smut #Captain Levi #attack on titan levi #shingeki no kyojin #shingeki no kyoujin levi

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girlmeetsliv3 · 3 years

Text

Sandman II

Hyung Line X Reader

Genre: Mystery, Psychological Thriller, Horror

Rated: M

Word Count: 4.2K

Release Date: February 26, 2021 @ 5 p.m. (GMT-5)

“Three years ago, the town was rocked by the disappearance of YN YLN. A bright young girl who had dreams of attending university and becoming a nurse. YN was a kind, shy, studious girl who kept to herself and never caused any troubles associated with teens her age. So imagine her loved ones surprised when she disappears one night from bed - never to be seen again. The strangest part was that all her belongings had been taken, all the photos with her disappeared, and all her social medias deleted. But perhaps most peculiar was the wet sand found at the foot of her bed.”

Warning: Brief mention of death and suicide.

The first words out of Kim Seokjin's mouth when they reached the car, after having been escorted through the back entrance to avoid the press, were "I'm sorry." YN hadn't even known how to react before Seokjin launched into a full-blown ramble, "I'm so sorry about that YN. I just - I have been so worried. We've all been, and we thought you - but now you're here. They didn't even tell us even though we're listed and to just think about how alone you've been. How confused you must feel -"

YN placed her hands on top of his which rested on the shift gear, “It’s okay Jin. I understand.” She smiled at him tenderly before her sister’s words flashed through her mind, ‘Isn’t Seokjin the best?! He’s the only man you can truly rely on.’ Instantly YN took her hands off him, folding them on her lap. Now was not the time to dwell on those things. If Seokjin noticed the sudden shift in the air he didn’t comment on it, simply stating: “You’ve always been so understanding.” Before focusing on the road and turning the engine on, driving away. As they exited the parking lot, YN saw all the vans from the news outlets parked outside. Some she recognized, others she didn’t, but what she did notice was a large sign being held up by one of the reporters. It read: Sandman victim finally returns.

It was as much a shock to me as it was to everyone when Seokjin and I started dating. He wasn’t my type. I can’t say for sure what it was that drew us together - maybe loneliness - or maybe I just liked the way people stared in shock at the fact that someone like him was with someone like me. That didn’t matter though, Seokjin and the others were always there. They were whatever I needed them to be. They would do anything to make me happy, but I wasn’t the only one they treated as special.

When the car approached the front gate of Nagwon villas YN frowned, “Weren’t we going to the hospital?” The thought of being poked and prodded like a rag doll wasn’t a pleasing one, but she knew disappearing for three years and not remembering anything didn’t bode well. The only thing that could give a hint at what she’d endured, and why she’d forgotten, was her body. Seokjin shrugged, “I know you aren’t a big fan of doctors, so I asked Namjoon for a favor.” Namjoon? She wasn't sure she was ready to see Namjoon or any of them for that matter. She hadn't even thought about seeing Jin until he showed up. ‘He’s like something out of a fairy tale, isn’t he? A knight in shining armor.’ YN shook her head, don't think about her or you'll start crying like a child again. Everyone in her family had always called her a crybaby, teased her for not being able to hold her emotions in. Right now, though, she felt less like a newborn and more like an overflowed dam. About to break at any second.

“Are the others going to be there?” Is he going to be there?

“No, Hoseok is out of town. He should be coming back tomorrow though; I wasn’t sure if you wanted him to know you were back but it's all over the news.”

That wasn't who she was talking about and they both knew it. Still, if Seokjin was being ignorant then it was for a reason; so she went along with it. "Shouldn't it be Namjoon's dad?"

Seokjin glanced at her from the corner of his eye, “Namjoons a doctor now, babe. It’ll be him you’re seeing.” Perhaps still sensing her hesitance he continued, “Don’t worry his family has a private practice in their house for situations like this.”

“You’re all still friends?” She asked, looking outside the window at the passing houses. They passed several houses she recognized, having been inside a couple of them. Nagwon kids always threw the best parties; likely due to their houses being huge and the large amounts they could spend on booze. Her sister would always drag YN to one when she was stuck babysitting, at first she’d just sit around on her phone. Things became easier when they started hanging out with the guys though: there was always Hoseok to crack jokes, Namjoon to talk random things about, and Seokjin to offer whatever it was she needed. Yoongi was always there too, but they wouldn’t talk much just sit in silence.

“Of course, why wouldn’t we be? The best of friends.” There was no sarcasm or humor in his voice, he meant it. Maybe he truly didn’t care? Or three years was a long time to hold onto a grudge especially when the two at-fault for their problems disappeared from their lives. That’s probably why. With YN and her sister out of the way, things had gone back to normal for the men. Nonetheless, it felt like nothing between Seokjin and YN had changed, but that couldn't be true. It's been three years. That statement was difficult for her to wrap her head around, but it didn’t make it any less true. It had been three years and yet Seokjin acted like they hadn’t spent a single day apart. Her mind filled with questions and doubts, so much so she couldn’t help but ask.

“Did we hang out the night I disappeared?”

Seokjin took his hands off the wheel, she hadn’t even noticed the car had stopped, the look he gave her was a mixture of incredulity and hurt. “No, we didn’t. You told me you didn’t want to see me again.” His voice was tense, ears getting red the way they did whenever he was upset. “Don’t you remember?”

I did tell him that. She hadn't meant it of course, but YN tended to lash out when she felt cornered. Thinking back now, she remembered her cruel words how she had blamed Seokjin for something that was both their fault. The pain on his face and the desperation in his tone as he begged for her to forgive him, only for YN to kick him out and shut the door.

"I forgot. I'm sorry, Jin." She pressed her fingers into her palm, hoping the pain would take things off her mind.

“Hey.” Jin’s fingers gently gripped the bottom of her chin, “It’s okay. I forgive you, let’s just not talk about it again okay?” He pressed a quick kiss to the side of her head.

YN breathed deeply before unlocking the door and getting out. The Kim's large beige mansion stared down at her - it was the first time she’d been there, and the nerves were eating her up. Namjoon will probably have a lot of questions too. She had barely managed to get through one of Officer Taehyung’s questions before having a panic attack, YN had no idea how she would brave against Namjoon. With nerves clouding her senses she failed to notice the black motorcycle parked on the curve, slightly obscured by the shrubs. Had she YN would have avoided walking into a trap.

"Heard you got your ass whooped by Min." Jungkook laughed, as he sat on the edge of Taehyung's desk. "Did he take you over his knee and make you count to ten?" At that, a couple of others nearby chuckled. Taehyung rolled his eyes, "If he hears you, he'll take you over his knee." Jungkook shoved him softly, though 'softly' in this case meant Taehyung almost fell off his chair. Deciding to ignore him this time, he focused once again on the small font on his computer. Several minutes passed before Jungkook spoke again, "Is this about YN? If you're looking through the case files you won't find anything useful. Trust me, everyone in this room has gone through it multiple times."

There was a reason there was press lined up outside, nothing sold quite like a morbid story. ‘Girl disappears from her bed in the middle of the night with no trace behind’ had a nice hook to it. Taehyung had already been in the academy when it happened, but he was still shocked - especially once he found out it had happened in his hometown. Nothing ever happened in this town, they called it paradise for a reason. Yet someone had broken into the YLN family home and stolen a girl straight from her bed, nothing left behind but a bit of wet sand.

“It doesn’t hurt to look again, plus now we might get somewhere that she’s back. Find out who did it.” Taehyung scrolled down and started looking at all the pictures, he’d have to swing by the evidence locker later to see what they still had left physically.

“I’m just surprised the sister didn’t do it, given everything -”

Taehyung spun around quickly in his chair, “Don’t say that. Minsuh loved that kid, she’d never do anything to hurt her.”

“Yeah well that’s not what I heard,” Jungkook said matter-of-factly. “I know it isn’t good to speak ill of the dead, but Minsuh wasn’t as dignified as her name suggested.”

Taehyung turned away from the young cop, “Look you’re wasting my time and I have to focus on this case. YN’s going to come back tomorrow and we need to build a timeline, can’t do that without all the facts so just go away.”

Jungkook sighed, “Sorry man. I know the two of you were close,” Jungkook had seen how uncomfortable Taehyung had gotten when YN brought up him dating her sister. “But you know I’m not the only one that thinks so. Regardless, everyone knows it's not true now so there’s that.”

It doesn’t matter, Taehyung wanted to say, she died with everyone in this town thinking she was a murderer. Nothing will ever change that. Instead, he remained quiet, eyes focused on the computer screen. Gaze focused intensely on the pictures of YN’s bedroom as if they would wield together a logical story that would explain where she’d been this whole time.

Everyone in school had a crush on Namjoon. Smart Namjoon. Sweet Namjoon. Dimpled cheeks Namjoon. Girls and guys would swoon over him, talking about how they would love to feel his chest or sit on his thighs. They were all fools. Ah, yes, Kim Namjoon may look harmless but it's always the quiet ones you have to look out for.

It truly was a private practice, equipped with all sorts of equipment one might find in a typical emergency room. YN wondered why they would ever need something like that. Maybe high clientele? Though the closest things to celebrities that lived in this town were both Seokjin and Namjoon's families, then Jung's, and the Min's. Namjoon wasn't there when they first arrived but appeared quickly enough, the gentle smile on his face reminded YN of simpler times. "How are you?" It dawned on her then that was the first time she'd been asked the question. She'd been plagued by 'where were you?' 'how are you alive?' and 'I'm sorrys' since she'd woken up. No one ever thought to ask how she was.

“I’ve been better.” YN answered softly, afraid that if she spoke anymore, she would break down again. The men in the room seemed to read between the lines without her elaborating further. Seokjin squeezed her hand, “Well, I’ll give you two some privacy. I’ll be right outside if anything happens, okay?” Before YN could respond Jin once again kissed her forehead before walking away. Leaving her alone in the stark white room with Namjoon, who leaned against a medical bed. His left hand patting the space beside him, “Let’s talk YN.” She grimaced slightly. “You’re in a safe space YN. You know me I would never do anything to hurt you and Seokjin is right outside if you need him. We’re your family.”

Family. They had been a sort of family, the five of them: always hanging out, sharing stories, meals, and memories. It didn't matter that she was much younger or that the only reason she was tolerated was that Minsuh was dating Seokjin. They had always been kind, always been loving, always been there. Even when her actual family wasn't. They’re all I’ve got… at least until dad comes. Once she sat down the doctor offered a genuine smile, it reminded her of all the times the two would stay up late studying at the library. A warmth that eased away from the chill she'd had all day lead to the first genuine smile on her face, “Thanks Namjoon.”

“I told you to call me Joon remember?” His broad shoulder playfully brushed YN’s, before he began conducting his examinations.

“You know being clandestine isn’t your strong suit.” Kim Seokjin leaned against the black LeoVince Racer waiting for his friend to exit from the back of Namjoon's private practice. Min Yoongi looked like he hadn't slept for days and had the corners of his lips turned upward in a way that was half-way between a snarl and a smirk. "I'd beg to differ." Yoongi responded, approaching the man as he adjusted white medical papers into his jacket's hidden pockets.

Seokjin eyed them carefully, “If you’re caught with those you could face serious trouble.”

Yoongi laughed, “Who’s going to catch me? The sheriff?”

Seokjin rolled his eyes, empty threats and warnings weren’t going to change anything. “What do the papers say?” He tried to grab them, but Yoongi blocked his hand easily. Maneuvering Seokjin off his bike so he could get on it.

"Ask the doc or her. She doesn't keep secrets from you." Yoongi's eyes were cold and his voice lacked the playfulness present before. Seokjin knew better than to press his buttons any further, "Go before she sees you." Not that it mattered much, YN would be face to face with all of them soon - a reunion was inevitable. Nonetheless, Yoongi was a sore spot for her; the more Seokjin could delay their meeting the more things could go according to plan.

“So you’re officially a doctor?” YN asked as Namjoon finished up drawing the last of her blood. They'd done all types of x-rays, physical, and psychological examinations to check her well-being. No words had been shared between the two, but the silence was beginning to bother her.

“Well, yes and no. Still must finish my residency, but I have most of the hours done.” Namjoon replied nonchalantly.

Whenever the subject had come up before Namjoon had dreaded having to take over the family business, feeling it was a role he was being pushed into. Guess things have changed. “I thought you didn’t want to be a doctor.”

He shrugged in response, “I guess I finally understood why my dad loved it so much. Medicine, biology, psychology, chemistry are all things that are useful.”

“You became a doctor became because it was useful? That doesn’t make much sense.” YN chuckled as Namjoon placed a bandage on the inside of her arm. He chose not to reply immediately, instead, holding up a lollipop that was inside his pocket. She took it with little thought. “Little makes sense in life. Human beings are just inherent paradoxes.” Minsuh always said that. It was one of the things the two sisters never agreed on. Minsuh always argued that people could still technically be considered ‘good’ no matter what they did. YN disagreed. Can’t do bad things and still be a good person. Namjoon clapped his hands together, signaling they were done and proceeded to help YN off the bed.

“Thanks, Joon.” She shot him a smile which she hoped looked more sincere than it felt. Though tensions didn’t run as high with Namjoon as they did with the others, it didn’t mean it was smooth sailing. Namjoon, like always, understood exactly what she meant and didn’t push. “Of course, YN. Anything for you.” With the promise her results would be ready in a couple of days, he sent her back on her way.

When she exited Seokjin was waiting outside with a furrow on his brow. Now what? YN didn’t know where else to go from here, what else to do, it felt like she’d hit a roadblock. I could go back home. Was that place even home anymore? Without her family, furniture, memories – could she return, or would it be too painful? Was she even allowed to return? It had looked abandoned when she’d been inside, so certainly YN wasn’t trespassing.

“It’s okay YN. You can stay at mine until we figure something out. I wouldn’t want you out of my sight anyway, it’s dangerous.”

It didn’t sit right with her to rely on Seokjin so much – or be under the same roof as him – but she would be lying if she said it didn’t ease her anxiety. “You’ve already done so much. I couldn’t ask that of you.” Her hands were shaking as she said the words, but even if she wanted to say yes immediately. YN couldn’t be selfish.

“No, I haven’t. Trust me.”

Before YN could ask what he meant Seokjin took hold of her wrist gently pulling her to the car.

Jung Hoseok. Lovely Hoseok. Funny Hoseok. Sweet Hoseok. The boy whose smile lights up the sky and everyone just gravitates towards him. No one could ever dislike him. Mr. Popular always putting others before himself. Dear sweet Hobi is an angel sent from heaven, but he isn’t as innocent as he seems. People tend to forget Lucifer was god’s favorite before he fell from the sky.

“Honestly was it really necessary to put on this whole show?” Hoseok wiggled his wrists causing the handcuffs to jingle against the table. Taehyung’s face remained stoic as he proceeded to read from the file. “A bit strange isn’t that YLN YN returns when you just so happen to out of town, Mr. Jung.” His eyebrow arched highly, Hoseok would’ve laughed if not for the situation he was in. “No it isn’t. I take a family trip around this time every single year detective. I told this to the sheriff three years ago and I’ll repeat this now.” He leaned forward the mirth gone from his mouth, “I had nothing to do with what happened to YN. I wouldn’t hurt her or anyone else for that matter.” Hoseok sighed, leaning back on the uncomfortable chair. “Look officer, I know its procedure and the prime suspect is always the boyfriend, but it wasn’t me.”

Even if Taehyung doubted that with every fiber of his being, he had nothing else to go off on. Jung Hoseok’s alibis were airtight, had always been, not to mention it would be extremely out of character for him to harm a bug – much less orchestrate something to this degree. It had been reckless to ask for him to be picked up from the city, but today had been a long day and there were just too many coincidences for the investigator to ignore. “Very well Mr. Jung. You’re free to go but I suggest you don’t leave town on another family vacation any time soon.” He reached towards his belt, taking out the keys and uncuffing Hoseok. Taehyung was on a tight schedule anyway; it would only be a matter of time before the sheriff returned from his lunch break. Seeing his son’s best friend in handcuffs would only cause Taehyung to be even more reprimanded.

With the cuffs off him, Hoseok stood up, stretching his lithe limbs. "You used to call me Hyung remember? Back when you were desperate for Minsuh and you to be a thing." Taehyung recalled having felt the need to please her friends to get her to look twice at him. Where’s this coming from? Hoseok looked down at him with cold eyes, "You know we never blamed you for how you reacted to things ending Tae. Heartbreak can make a man go crazy after all." The tension in the room was palpable when suddenly a smile broke out on Hoseok's face. "Sorry, it was silly of me to bring that up. We were all kids after all." With that he walked away from the desk and opened the door, turning around just enough to wink at Taehyung before the door closed completely.

Hoseok felt his phone vibrate inside his pants and rolled his eyes, without even looking he knew who it was. Taking the phone out, he swiped right and immediately spoke. “Yah, you won’t believe what just fucking happened. Where are you anyway?”

“Sorry it isn’t much.” Seokjin apologized as he handed YN the pile of clothes. “Tomorrow we’ll go shopping for essentials.” YN shook her head, “Thanks, I don’t need much. My dad shouldn’t take too long in coming to get me anyway.” She placed the clothes on the banister in the bathroom, content to finally be able to shower and become clean. It had been a long day, some soap and water might not wash the pain away, but she could pretend it would. There was another thing weighing on her mind, a thought that would simply not go away. For as kind as Seokjin had always been with her, even he had his limits. This behavior felt a bit out of character with the person she knew – the one she remembered.

“Why are you doing all this Jin?”

The man in question froze as if stunned, "What do you mean?" His dark brows furrowed, his lips turning down into a grimace.

“Going to see me, Namjoon, letting me stay over. All of this,” she gestured to the bathroom which had been prepared with candles, bath bombs, and calming music. It’s out of character for you. Kim Seokjin had never really been the romantic type, caring yes, but not sentimental. “Is it out of guilt?” Is it out of pity? YN may not remember what happened the night she disappeared, but that summer would forever remain ingrained in her head. "Do you blame yourself for what happened?" Or are you doing this because you feel responsible? Which one was it? Maybe all of them combined?

Seokjin ran a hand through his hair, “Yes.” Without elaborating anymore, he walked out of the bathroom shutting the door behind him.

When YN walked out of the bathroom she felt much better. All of the day’s events had worn her thin and she was ready to head straight to bed, but not without seeking Seokjin out and confronting him. Yes? Yes, to what exactly? Everything? She hadn’t been able to find the house slippers she’d borrowed, so she traveled through the house and down the stairs barefoot. Barely making any sound. She could hear loud audio coming from the living room and voices on the other side where the library was. Though she could recognize Seokjin as one of the voices, her feet dragged her to the living room, nonetheless. Deeming it better to wait until he was done than interrupting what sounded like an important conversation.

The couch had been changed into a leather sectional angled towards the screen as had more of the décor. It looked less like a family home and more like a bachelor pad now if YN was honest. Seokjin the bachelor. He had always had someone attached to his side whether it be a dancer, cheerleader, private school girl, and eventually her sister. What about you? YN shook her head, wanting the thought to disappear as quickly as it had appeared. The television distracted her once she picked up on what was being said. It was a newsreel showing a bleached blonde with shiny hair and pouty lips holding a microphone. Behind him was YN’s home, or what used to be, in the dead of the night it looked eerie. After basic introductions the news anchor began speaking:

“Three years ago, the town was rocked by the disappearance of YN YLN. A bright young girl who had dreams of attending university and becoming a nurse. YN was a kind, shy, studious girl who kept to herself and never caused any troubles associated with teens her age. Imagine her loved ones surprised when she disappears one night from bed - never to be seen again. The strangest part was that all her belongings had been taken, all the photos with her present disappeared, and all her social medias were deleted. Perhaps most peculiar was the only substantial evidence found by investigators was wet sand found at the foot of her bed.”

“Try as they investigators could find nothing that could tell them what had happened to YN. Then a year later tragedy struck once more when on the anniversary of YN’s disappearance, YLN Minsuh – her older sister - took her and her mother’s life in a murder suicide. YN’s father who was present that night managed to survive. Many people took this to be an admission of guilt on the sister’s part, for the two had never had the best relationship. Though with no note, the case had no choice to remain open. Thankfully for a miracle would occur. Almost three years to the day, YN has returned to the exact spot of her disappearance. Residents and audiences nationally are overjoyed, and hope justice can now be served. Stay tuned as this tragic twisted tale continues to unfold. We’ll now switch back over to Bo for sports.”

A piercing wail left YN’s mouth as she collapsed to the floor. Immediately, she was scooped off the ground into a warm embrace. “Jin?” She cried, but when she met the eyes of her savior the round hazel she was expecting was instead met with sharp feline ones. "Yoongi?!"

Tag List:

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237 notes · View notes

all-my-love-for-harry · 4 years

Text

A dad, but make it official.

summary: All Harry has to do is sign the papers.

word count: 3.8k

a/n: sooo, a lot of you have been asking me about harry adopting artemis and them moving in with harry, and i’m sorry for not answering!! but here it is, sorry to keep you waiting! btw, i’ll start putting the dates in each blurb so none of you get confused with the timeline!!

you can find more of my shy little boy here

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August, 2019.

To many people in the outside, it seemed like Harry and Y/N haven’t been together for much, but to anyone who actually knows the couple and gets to see how they are with each other, it seemed like they’ve been dating for years.

Harry knew Y/N was the love of his life, and he also knew there were two things that he wanted more than anything in this world: put a ring on her finger and give his last name to her son.

There wasn’t a protocol on what to do first when it comes to take big decisions with your partner, and they weren’t a normal couple either. But what Harry was sure of, was his endless, unconditional love for the both of them.

The actual conversation of Harry becoming Artemis father legally didn’t come up for a long time between the couple. Harry’s heart ached to know what Y/N thought about them being an official family, but by any means he wanted to make her uncomfortable.

So he kept the thoughts to himself for some time, focusing on being happy with what they had right now and knowing they were in for the long run and it would be just matter of time until his wishes would finally come true.

It was a rainy day in London, a storm was supposed to happen at any time now. Y/N’s car was at the shop and Harry promised her to pick her up at UCL so they could go for Artemis afterwards.

They were hoping to get there before the rain started but still had umbrellas and a raincoat for Artemis, just in case. The sky was gray and the wind was extremely strong, so Harry drove carefully.

“Will the two of us get down?” Harry asked once he parked the car, looking through the window how different parents would get out of their own vehicles and ran to the doors of the school.

“Yeah, but let’s hurry”

The couple went out of the car and held hands while hurrying inside. Artemis’ classroom was just down the hall, and by the time they reached it, it was almost empty.

Artemis was sitting on one of the chairs coloring a book, but as soon as he looked up and saw Harry and his mum enter the room, he put the book away and ran towards them.

“You’re here!” He exclaimed, happily hugging Y/N’s legs and then Harry’s.

“Was everything okay today?” Y/N asked while Harry took Artemis to grab his things.

“He was a total sweetheart, as always” The teacher smiled. “If the storm gets worse, class might be cancelled. We’ll be sending an email”

They thanked the teacher and walked out of the classroom. Harry scooped the little boy in his arms and Y/N carried his backpack. It was already starting to rain so they hurried inside of the car.

“Where are we going now?”

“Harry’s house, honey. Is that okay?” Artemis nodded excitedly, kicking his legs back and forth.

“Harry, can you put your song?” Harry chuckled, knowing exactly which song Artemis was requesting.

“I can’t believe he likes this song” The curly haired man sitting on the driver’s seat laughed as the first notes of the song from his old band started playing in the car.

“They say that we’re not good together, and it’s never gonna work out!” Artemis screamed the lyrics of the song he had listened to so many times Y/N has already lost the count.

“I mean, who even showed this to him?” Harry was dying from embarrassment but was also enjoying himself.

“Perhaps I might be responsible for that” Y/N said, smiling innocently.

They had no choice but to join him and sing along too. These were the kind of moment where Harry felt at his happiest, two of his favorite people with him, doing something so mundane like riding a car but at the same time it felt so special and dear to him.

Harry’s house was a little further away from Artemis’ school, so the ride was longer. But they had fun during it.

“So, what do you want for lunch?”

“Nuggets!” Artemis threw his little arms over his head, actually thinking Y/N would allow chicken nuggets.

“What?! We need real food in our tummies!” Harry exclaimed while laughing.

They ended up eating pasta and Harry might have or might have not slipped some chicken nuggets under the table while Artemis was helping Harry cook.

After eating all three together, Artemis asked for permission to play with the toys he kept in Harry’s house, so Y/N and Harry were left alone in the living room.

“Hope you’re in the mood for red wine” Harry sat down beside his girlfriend, throwing an arm around her shoulders. “Think he’ll be there for long?”

“He does like the toys you bought him, so he might be there for a while”

Harry leaned towards her, capturing her lips in a kiss. He put his opened palm on the side of her head, deepening the kiss. Y/N pulled away to breath, but she planted little pecks all the way through Harry’s jawline until she reached his lips again.

“I love you so much, baby” Harry whispered, inches away from her face.

“Mhm, I love you more” She cooed, smiling at him. Y/N gave him one more peck before pulling away and sighing.

“Is everything alright?” He asked, putting one piece of hair behind her ear. “What’s on your mind, uh?”

“It’s… I don’t know, we don’t have to talk about that”

“Talk about what, darling?”

They adjusted on their seats so they could be facing each other.

“Just… don’t freak out” she told him. “I’ve been thinking a lot, and… well, you make me, us, very happy. And I really do want this to be… you know, a permanent thing” she started rambling, Harry’s face started to form a goofy smile. “How would you feel about adopting?” She asked abruptly.

“Well, it depends. Adopting a new baby or… my little fella over there?” He pointed down the hall. “Because I’m pretty fine with either, love”

“How are you so calm about this?” She frowned.

“Because I want this too, Y/N. You two make me very happy and I do see us as a permanent thing. I’m glad we’re both on that page, you know?” He took her hand. “I’m also glad we’re talking about this. There’s nothing more I want than give Artemis the Styles last name, legally. But adoption can take a little while so I’m happy we’re discussing this now”

Y/N smiled big at him, looking directly at his gorgeous green eyes. “So, you only want to give my son your last name?”

“I mean, I guess we can sort something out for you” Harry rolled his eyes playfully. Y/N opened her mouth, pretending to be offended, making him let out a big belly laugh.

*:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･:

For the next few weeks Y/N and Harry met with an adoption attorney to start looking for the process. They were told it shouldn’t take longer than six months, and that the fact that Artemis’ other parent was absent and did not have any paternal rights, it would be easier to get through the process.

“There’s something else” the attorney said. “You must live with the child for at least six months before we can make any moves, it’s the law”

Harry nodded, sinking in the information the man in front of them was giving. “If there’s more questions, feel free to give me a call”

They shook hands and Harry walked him out of the house. “Well, that went good, innit?”

“Yeah... I mean, at least we know how the process works now” Y/N sighed, whipping the sweat from the palms of her hands. She kind of had an idea of that the process was, and somehow she wasn’t scared of the adoption part but the whole living together wasn’t something they’ve really discussed.

“At least now we have the perspective for the future” Harry gave her a big smile. His mind started to imagine their future together, as a family, and he couldn’t be more excited for it.

*:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･:

October, 2019.

Harry’s been really nervous lately. The trial against the man who’s been stalking him had him on his nerves. He’s been asking Y/N to stay in his house because he was scared the man would go there while Harry wasn’t with them.

It was safe to say he was scared. And so was Y/N. She knows exactly who’s he talking about as she herself has had an encounter with the homeless guy. Recently.

Three days ago she was out in a morning run before going to work, she had a late class to give and Artemis was already at school so she wanted to take advantage of the free time.

When she was running back to her house to get a shower and drive to work, she noticed someone standing in front of the house. Y/N slowed down, trying to get a better look of the person who was there.

He was just looking at the house, staring. She gasped when the man turned, giving her a clear look to his face. It was the same man who’s been tormenting Harry for quite some time.

She knew Harry was taking that man to court, but she didn’t understand why he was in her house and how did he get her address.

Was he following her?

Too scared to come any closer, Y/N got her phone out of her pocket and called Harry.

“Are you sure it’s him?” he asked in the other end of the line. It sounded like he was looking for something around his house.

“Yeah, he turned and I saw his face” She mumbled, her gaze still focused on that man.

“I’ll be there in five”

He hung up and Y/N waited for him to get there. It didn’t take Harry long to get there, as he was driving real fast. He was mad, furious even. But he was also terrified.

One thing was tormenting him, but his family? The people he loves and cares about?

When he saw Y/N standing a few houses away from her own, Harry almost jumped out of his car. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He scanned her body up and down, trying to make sure she was in one piece. “Where is Artemis?”

“He’s at school, I went for a run. Can… can we go?” Y/N was practically shaking and Harry almost had to carry her inside of his car. They drove off and Y/N was finally able to breathe. “What did he want?”

“I don’t know, love. Was he there when you left for your run?”

“No, I didn’t see him”

“I’m gonna handle this, okay?” He put a hand on her knee. “He’s not gonna hurt you or Artemis” He promised. There was something about his voice and his hand on her knee that soothed her.

She only felt safe again when they were back inside Harry’s house, all the doors locked. Y/N had to call the school and say she was sick, and to be honest she kind of felt like she was.

“I can’t believe it, Harry. Did he follow me? Or you?”

“Probably me” He sighed. “God, I just want it to be over. I don’t understand why he would do that two weeks before the trial”

“Well, it was fucking terrifying. What a bloody creep” Y/N wrapped her arms around herself.

“I’ll take care of it, okay?” He leaned to kiss her forehead. “Everything’s gonna be fine”

She nodded and watched how he disappeared from the living room, probably to call his lawyer. Y/N started thinking about the next steps she should take. Perhaps it was time to look for another house, one with more security or in a gated community. But, could she afford that? Yeah, her salary was nice and she was able to provide for her and Artemis just fine, but she wondered how buying a house would affect her economy right now.

Harry returned to the living room with a glass of water for his girlfriend, sitting next to her on the couch. To Harry, she seemed a lot more relaxed than when he left. It was hard for him too, his mind was going places and thinking things he’d rather not to.

“I know it might be a dumb question, but how are you?”

“I’m a little bit freaked out, but I’m fine” She gave him a half smile.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. You don’t deserve this”

“Hey, don’t be sorry. It is not your fault someone thought they had the right to harass you, or that it was okay to stalk you” She took his hands in hers, looking directly at her eyes.

“Move in with me, both of you” He said, tightening the grip in her hands.

“Harry…” she whispered.

“Just, hear me out. I’ve been thinking about it since we had that meeting with the attorney, and… I’m ready whenever you are, okay?” he paused. “But I have to admit it would give me a lot of peace if you two were here full time. I hate to think something could happen to any of you while I’m not there” Harry sighed. “Please, just think about it. Promise me you’ll at least consider it”

Harry was looking at her with big puppy eyes. It was already impossible to say no to him on a daily basis but when he pulled out that look… He could get whatever he desired and he knew it.

“I’d think about it. It’d be a big change and I’d be more comfortable if I talked with Artemis first. His opinion is important too”

“Absolutely. Thank you, baby” Harry pulled her in a hug, kissing the top of her head.

*:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･:

Turns out, Artemis was more than okay with the idea of living full time with Harry. When Y/N talked to him, he started jumping around his room, saying how he couldn’t wait to see Harry again.

She must admit it took a huge weight out of her shoulders knowing Artemis agreed. The man never came back to their house, but Harry insisted on them moving as soon as possible.

“Jesus, mate. How many toys do you have?” Harry asked, playfully groaning while carrying one of the boxes that were filled with Artemis’ toys.

“Harry, will there be enough space for my toys at your house?” Artemis was watching Harry carry the boxes, he was sitting on top of other box.

“Of course, monkey. I know you already have a room there, but if you want to choose another one, we can decorate it as you please”

“Can it have a cool wallpaper?”

“What would you like?” Harry chuckled.

“Clouds!” Artemis has been obsessed with Toy Story lately, and he wanted his room to be exactly like Andy’s.

“If clouds is what you want, clouds is what you’ll get”

Y/N decided to not take any furniture with them, as Harry’s was plenty enough. She had decided to rent the house to one of her friends that was looking to move.

Harry of course didn’t let Y/N carry anything relatively heavy, so he did all the lifting. The moving truck that they rented along with the people they hired were out of the house, putting everything inside of the car.

“These are the last boxes. We left Artemis’ room for last”

“God, I never noticed how much stuff he had until I started packing it” Y/N laughed.

It only took them another hour to get everything out of Y/N house. She felt nostalgic after the last box was out of the house. She knew she made the right choice, and couldn’t be more excited for this new chapter, but this house held so many memories.

Y/N’s moms bought this house for her and for Artemis. He was only one when they walked through the door for the first time, back when it was only the two of them and no one else.

But now it wasn’t just Artemis and Y/N anymore. And that was more than okay.

*:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･:

January 30th, 2020.

It was Harry’s birthday week. He was supposed to play this concert in Miami and Y/N had the biggest surprise planned for him.

Y/N made sure they were there to see him play, and to bring onstage his birthday cake. There was something else she wanted to give him, but that surprise was something she’d keep to herself until they were alone.

“The weather doesn’t seem to get better” Harry said, looking through the window of the hotel room they were staying at.

“Do you think the weather will get better before the concert?” Y/N was knelt down in front of Artemis, tying up his sneakers.

“I hope so” He sighed.

“You still joining Lizzo for her number tonight?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fun. Will you two watch me?” Harry walked towards the bed and sat next to Artemis.

“Who’s Lizzo, daddy?”

“A very nice person. Would you like to meet her, bud?”

Artemis nodded shyly. They headed downstairs to eat lunch at the hotel’s restaurant. Harry was in the middle of helping Artemis clean his face with a napkin when some girls approached them.

Y/N sent a kind smile their way as they asked for a picture. Harry being Harry, agreed.

“Is that Artemis?” One of them asked. “Hi, Y/N” They both smiled.

“Hi, girls” She smiled back.

“This is Artemis. Say hi, baby”

The little boy mumbled a little ‘hi’, looking down his plate. Harry got up from his chair and Y/N took the pictures for the girls. They were actually very nice and Harry was very pleased with the way they treated his loves.

Ever since he started dating Y/N, Harry took special attention to the way fans treated her and Artemis. Most of them were polite as they’d never really do anything to upset Harry, but there were still the ones that would get a little pushy. Especially with Artemis.

Usually he tried to understand. Artemis was an extremely adorable child, and people liked to compliment cute children, right? But his baby didn’t like to be touched by strangers. Harry was pretty sure Artemis would riot if someone tried to pinch his cheek.

“They were nice, weren’t there?” Y/N asked once the two girls walked away and they went back to their lunches.

“Yeah, they were very kind”

Rest of the lunch went smoothly and then Harry had sound check at the venue. Artemis wanted to go to the pool so Y/N and he stayed behind. Some other fans approached them when they went by the pool and talked for a little.

After a little while they had to back to their room to get ready to go to Lizzo’s concert at 9pm. It was a little past Artemis’ bedtime, but this was a special occasion.

*:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･:

January 31th, 2020.

The weather wasn’t getting any better, and Harry was nervous the concert would get cancelled. He really wanted to start his birthday celebration on stage, singing in a room full of lovely people.

But it really did seem like the universe didn’t want that.

Later that afternoon they got a call from the fire department saying that under any circumstances they show would be played tonight as it wasn’t safe with the storm coming in the way.

Harry felt really bad about it. He didn’t want to disappoint anyone but even if he’d want to (and he really wanted to), there was no way he could play the concert.

“I know it’s not what you wanted, but it was not safe, honey” Y/N sat behind Harry, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Artemis was with Mitch and Sarah at their dressing room. They were waiting for their car to pick them up from the venue. “You’ll still have a great birthday, H. I promise”

“I just don’t want to make them upset” He mumbled.

“They’re not. You can’t control the weather, Harry. This is not your fault” She moved to look at him. He looked very sad, he was really looking forward to this show.

The car arrived shortly after and they were back at the hotel safely. Harry still looked upset so he didn’t talk much in the ride back. Artemis was already sleepy, so as soon as his head hit the pillow, he was out.

After brushing their teeth and doing their nightly routine, they were ready for bed. Harry was sighing and pouting like a baby, and Y/N felt really bad for him.

“Okay, I was going to wait until tomorrow for your actual birthday but you clearly need a cheer up” Y/N got out of bed and walked to her suitcase.

Harry looked at her confusedly but got out of bed as well. “What are you talking about?”

“So, I know we haven’t talked about this in a while, but I received a call from the attorney the other day”

“And…?”

“He told me he had the papers ready if we still wanted them” She had the papers hid behind her back so she slowly put them in front of him. “He said all you had to do was sign and you’ll be officially a dad” She flashed him a little smile. “It’s okay if you’re not… ready yet or have changed your mind. You can sign them whenever you want… or not. Your choice”

Harry looked up at him, his emerald eyes were full of tears ready to come out. He was truly speechless. It had slipped through his mind, being honest. It truly did catch him by surprise but he couldn’t stop the butterflies on his tummy.

It hit him. All he had to do was sign. And his boy, would be his. Officially, Legally his.

He nodded furiously, breathing a smile. “Do you have a pen?”

☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁

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1K notes · View notes

bored-storyteller · 3 years

Text

Oh my, thank you! Thanks for bringing this to me, I love Sally Face! It's one of my favorite indie games ever! I really hope it meets your expectations.

NOTES: I imagined the more adult Sal, but beyond that there are no other references to the timeline of the original story, except some canonical episodes mentioned.

34- Sally Face - Sal Fisher x Reader

"You can see me"

With a last glance at the clock, you quickly close the water bottle, at the same time grabbing the full glass in the same hand that you also hold the medicine box.

You're pretty sure you find Sal in his room, probably bent over his guitar. Surely it is for that reason that he has not paid attention to his therapy.

It doesn't happen often, in fact, it rarely happens that you have to rush to his rescue, nor do you really like doing it. You don't know how he really feels about it.

Knowing where he keeps his medicines and knowing when he has to take them doesn't make you two a couple. Not even living under the same roof makes you a couple - especially if you are not alone - nor does sharing the same room often and willingly.

In fact, even though someone often mistakes you for two young lovers, you don't really know what Sal thinks of you. As close as you feel him, you are not sure that he feels as close to you; on the other hand, he doesn't seem to share the same kind of intimacy with you that he shares with Larry or Ashley, or at least that's what you think.

Besides, you've never seen his face.

Yours is a purely selfish thought, and you are ashamed of it, but you cannot command feelings.

You know that the first time Larry saw his best friend's face was an accident, with Ash instead, she was the one who took the initiative. In neither case was Sal's will to make him show himself. Yet, despite this deep down, inside you, something stung excruciatingly.

When your friend had lifted his mask, Sal that time was not angry at the intrusiveness - as perhaps you would have done -, nor had he tried to escape later. It is logically normal that he now has less trouble showing himself around them. Sweet Sal, always so loving, so perfect.

You shouldn't feel offended. You know well that for Sal the prosthesis he wears is in effect his face, so it's not that he wants to hide from you, you are simply already seeing him.

Yet you know that under that face another is hidden, however much it may be disfigured. You can't pretend it isn't.

That slight annoyance you have repeatedly tried to ignore has slowly grown, but only now have you dared to call it by name. Because you like Sal. You really like him. And when you have understood this, when you have found the strength to admit it to yourself, everything is put in the right place; the joys, the jealousies you felt and feel… and also that desire to see him, to see beyond, to really see him.

But you'll never force on him for it. As simple as it would be to lift that mask to him with an excuse, you will never force him to show himself to you, even if you die with the regret of never having seen him. It's not the same, it's not the face you want to see, it's the trust you want him to give you. But you can't expect it, and you know it.

You could live with this obsession that has become so present in recent weeks that you can hardly forget it. Maybe it's just your mind that doesn't want to focus on your duties, and then it always wanders to him, aimlessly.

"What is Sal's face like?"

You asked Larry one day without realizing it. You didn't really know what you were doing with him, you just know that for a moment your brain was shut down, and when you woke up you whispered that question.

The astonished look of your friend had poured into you a flood of emotions so sudden that they almost made you cry for no reason: you felt guilty, selfish, reckless, stupid, meddlesome and terribly fragile.

You immediately lowered your gaze to protect yourself, muttering an "sorry, forget it" but never would have canceled that damn question. You thought Larry might misjudge you for that, but instead his big hand pulled you to him, ruffling your hair affectionately, saying nothing.

He seemed to have understood more than you hoped for, yet ...

You shake your head and your hand tightens on the glass of water. You knock on the door and softly call Sal's name.

"Yes?"

His answer comes a few seconds later and you feel safe in opening the door slowly.

It's not exactly what you imagined; he is sitting on the bed, his legs stretched out on the mattress and his back resting against the headboard. The guitar is stored in the case, but in his hands he holds a book with a dark cover.

His kind gaze meets you beyond that face that is always the same. It's amazing how expressive that guy can be under that stiff mask. That damn mask. That lovely mask.

"You didn't take them, did you?"

You ask softly as you lift the medicines to show them. Your voice is cracked against your will, and you're praying he didn't notice.

"Oh ..." his eyes snap to the clock hanging on the wall "thanks, I was completely forgetting about it."

His voice is soft, almost cheerful. He is not bothered by your gesture, or he is very good at hiding it.

You watch him get up to go to the bedside table where you put what he needed. You don't pay much attention to it, you just sit on the bed, picking up the book he was reading, making sure you keep your thumb between the pages, so as not to lose the mark he left.

You read the title and a few lines of the presentation absently. You're just trying to buy time with him, and you know it.

You hear it as he handles the pill box and plastic, and hear the rattle of the straps as they unfasten to release his mouth.

You don't watch it, you're used to the process and now, despite you insisting on staying there, you don't really want to watch it.

You don't understand much about the book, you just know it's about music.

"Do you like it?"

You ask, trying to give a semblance of normality.

"Enough ... actually I'm just at the beginning."

You just nod, not really being able to continue the conversation. Your head feels too full confused, but extremely empty at the same time, and you don't know why.

"Hey ... is everything okay?"

His voice makes you jump, as if he has stung you with a needle. Such a simple question, but you suddenly feel discovered, as if he has just proved he can read your mind. As if you were obliged to tell him the truth.

"Yup!"

You exclaim immediately, and without realizing your head jerks towards him, as if you wanted to assure him of the truthfulness of your words.

You don't notice it right away. You see only his blue eyes for a moment, he is looking at you with concern, more than he should.

At first you wonder if your attitude really is that troubling, but then you start to focus.

His hand trembles slightly around the glass of water, and out of the corner of your eye you can see his mask lying on his pillow.

He swallows the medicine by throwing his head back slightly, perhaps to take a break from your gaze, or to escape a little from the agitation, the fear he is having.

Sal, Sal's face. You are seeing him, free from his hiding place, while he drinks.

Surely he is disfigured, excruciatingly deformed. It's not just a few scratches, it's more, it's a real pain, yet you don't notice it.

Again, this is Sal. You're really seeing Sal's face, the face you've always loved, beyond the mask, like his mask.

He sits next to you, he's trying to act naturally, you see him, but you still see his fingers shaking against the cardboard as he puts the tablet away in the box. He did it for you.

Emotions explode in your chest and you don't bother holding them back. There is no time for any misunderstandings. You are free with him, you always have been, you don't know how you forgot this.

"Sal ..."

You call him softly, and he turns to you despite the hesitation. A light "tell me" sweet and helpful pronounced by the spoiled and shy lips.

Silently, you curl up against him, your arms glide smoothly around his chest, expressing your need to feel him close.

He welcomes you - he always does.

"Hey ..." is a faint call of him, as you hide against his neck to prevent your happiness from going out too violently.

"Thanks..." This is all you can say in your voice damp with emotion. Long last. You are like a child in front of the much desired Christmas present. You are so happy that you could carry the whole world on your shoulders.

"Thank you!" You repeat him with more conviction, and finally your eyes return to his sky-colored gaze. So beautiful, always so loving even in his placid surprise.

He looks at your wet eyes, so wet with affection for him. Your smile is so warm and true, and his lungs slowly empty of all the accumulated tension.

He didn't think anyone could look at him that way, not without his mask. He did not think that a look could be so full of love in front of his disfigured face, yet it seems that you are seeing an angel.

You look at him with your eyes shining with all the admiration you feel, and not because you can lie by saying that you are seeing a beautiful face, but because Sal is the most beautiful person you know.

"I-" His voice tries to say something, but it is cut off; this time it's up to him to be overwhelmed by emotion.

You approach slowly, and the tip of your nose touches his, practically non-existent, but you don't care. You cannot resist the desire to cuddle him, to touch him, to perceive him in every possible aspect of that intimacy that he has decided to give you.

At first he has a little jerk back, of surprise rather than fear, and soon after he is there again, looking for that touch. He is extremely uncertain, but he still responds to your unspoken requests, slowly letting his forehead rest on yours.

He exhales, as if he is releasing a great weight, but he immediately stiffens when you, without realizing it, are approaching his lips.

You wake up immediately from your numbness, before making a probable mistake, and try to get away, at least as long as his arms allow you.

"Please…"

That prayer from him is so feeble yet so meaningful. His gaze asks you to do it, to continue, because he wants it but he is still afraid of taking the initiative. He is putting the responsibility on you, and rightly so.

He is tense, you see it from his swallow and feel it from his tense muscles around you, but it's okay.

You approach again, slowly, gradually lowering your eyelids, a little by instinct and a little in the hope of putting him more at ease.

Kissing him is a special experience, and you like it - you wanted it so much -.

You are not intrusive, it is just a delicate touch, but it persists, leaving him time for him.

When he reciprocates, he does it slowly, unsure of how to proceed, probably troubled by the feelings he can give you or maybe just agitated by the situation. Yet, slowly, you feel it melt against you.

Slightly open your eyes to see that he too has closed them, and then you allow yourself to return to enjoy that moment, more peaceful and serene.

You huddle more, between yourselves, and let the desire flow through you, without going too far, simply enjoying the presence of each other, in your breaths that merge.

When you separate you do it only with your lips, but your gaze remains affectionate and aware.

In the end, that is nothing more than the confirmation of everything: of your knowing what time he should take his medicines and of his letting you know, of his knowing your favorite drink and which shower gel you always use, of cooking one by one. other, of looking so much like a couple for a long time already - and some of it is also the result of Larry's long tongue letting out a few too many words with his best friend.

You watch him as he puts his mask back on, and now you don't care anymore, because you know what's under it, and if that's his face then you've seen his soul.

Suddenly all your happiness is back. You are so happy that not even the bickering between Larry and Todd coming from the kitchen can upset you.

It must be something about the finished milk.

"I'm going to get it!"

You hum loud enough for the two to hear it, as you jump three steps at the same time, happily landing down the stairs.

Sal's laughter reaches you, and you turn to look at him. You like to see him happy, whatever the nature of that happiness.

"I come with you."

He tells you coming to you, reaching out his hand so that you can take it.

You're pretty sure you won't be able to stop smiling all night long.

*The image above is an old drawing of mine

#sally face #sally face x reader #sal fisher #sal fisher x reader #oneshot #request #larry johnson #sally face sal #gaming #video games

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mimisempai · 3 years

Text

Love can build a bridge between your hearts and mine

Summary:

To allow Loki to repair his relationship with his mother and brother, Mobius accompanies him on a trip through time. Between Asgard in 2013 and New Asgard in 2023, follow Loki on the road to recovery.

Tumblr request : A Lokius scene where Loki brings Mobius back to Asgard and they meet Thor.

As always, I got carried away, thinking that if he could meet Thor, why not his mother too. Don't ask me about his father, I don't have much love, if any, for Odin.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32670202

2893 words - Rating G

Asgard 2013

"You're not the Thor I know at all, are you?"

Thor tried to put on a brave face, "Yes, I am."

Frigga continued, her tone filled with compassion,

Thor denied, "I didn't say I'm from the future."

Frigga shook her head and answered, "I was raised by witches, boy. I see with more than eyes, and you know that."

Thor attempts to hold back his tears and fails miserably, "I am totally, totally from the future."

They both hug each other.

They continued to talk, Thor recounting everything that had happened, Loki's death up until Thanos' death and what followed.

Frigga said softly, a hand on his shoulder, "Everyone fails at who they are supposed to be, Thor. The measure of a person, of a hero, is how well they succeed at being who they are."

Thor replied, a trembling smile on his lips, "I really missed you, Mum."

"I miss you too mother... I miss you both."

Mobius entered the time theater and his throat tightened as he heard Loki's last words. He had been aware all along of the sacrifice Loki had made in order to preserve the main timeline. But hearing the words from his mouth broke his heart.

He walked over to Loki sitting in front of the screen and put his hands on his shoulders. Loki leaned his head against Mobius' arm.

Mobius simply said, "I'm sorry Loki."

Loki waited a few seconds before answering, "I'm not going to lie to you and say that I don't miss them, I miss them every day and I regret that my mother died thinking that I didn't consider her my mother. But what I regret most is not being able to introduce you to them, tell them that I am happy, and that you are part of the reason for that happiness."

Mobius kissed the top of Loki's head, and they remained like that for a few moments in silence, in front of the still image of Thor and Frigga embracing.

Then Loki stood up, took Mobius' hand and said softly, "Let's go home."

Mobius nodded pensively.

As they walked hand in hand, his other hand in his pocket, Mobius felt the tempad under his fingers.

When they arrived home, after closing the door behind him, Mobius walked over to Loki, took his hand, and made him sit with him on the couch.

"Mobius? Is everything okay?" asked Loki, surprised.

Mobius nodded, looking serious, "Loki, how about a chance to see your mother and brother, to tell them what you need to tell th-hpmph!"

Loki had thrown his arms around Mobius' neck and was kissing him passionately. Mobius tightened his arms around him, responding to the kiss with the same passion.

After a few moments, they parted and Mobius continued, again serious because the subject required it, "However, I want you to be aware that this is not something we can repeat. You understand why don't you?"

"Oh Mobius, I understand, but just once will be enough for me, if only to maybe lessen that feeling of unfinished business between me and them. I...I-thank you."

Mobius wiped a tear from the corner of Loki's eye with his thumb and replied softly, "If I can make you happy, even just a little, that's enough for me. You can choose for yourself when and where you want to meet them. The important thing is that we don't do anything that might disturb the space-time continuum, okay?"

Loki nodded and hugged him in response.

"Now?" asked Loki next, his eyes shining with excitement.

"Yes. Just take some time to think about where and when you want to go."

Loki had watched the lives of his mother and brother several times. He just had to find the perfect time to talk to each of them.

"Can I see them each on a different date?"

"Yes, of course."

"Very well, then let's start with Asgard in 2013, just after Thor leaves my mother and returns to 2023."

Mobius abruptly raised his head, "Loki? Are you sure? That's right before your mother's-"

"Yes Mobius, I'm sure, I promise."

Mobius, passed his knuckles on Loki's cheek before taking the tempad and entering the date.

The timedoor opened. Just before crossing it, Loki stopped Mobius. "Wait, I think it's better if we go like this."

Mobius felt the now familiar sensation of Loki's magic flow through him and found himself dressed in Asgardian attire.

Loki looked at him with a smile, "If I had known what you would look like in an outfit from my realm, I would have dressed you in it long ago."

Mobius chuckled slightly, enjoying the sight of Loki in his prince's clothes before grabbing his hand and passing the timedoor.

They found themselves in the hallway of the palace where Thor and Frigga were. As the door closed, they had time to see Thor grab his hammer and disappear before their eyes. They had just enough time to hide behind a column.

Loki was frozen and refused to move. Mobius pushed him gently.

"I just told your brother that you know how to sneak around better, but that doesn't stop me from knowing that you're here... Loki." came Frigga's voice.

Loki slowly stepped forward, and whispered with a broken voice, "Mother..."

"Mother?" asked Frigga, "Didn't you tell me I wasn't your mother?"

Loki stopped, unable to take another step, unable to say another word.

Frigga continued to move closer, until she arrived in front of Loki. She approached her face to his and scrutinized his eyes.

"But you're not that Loki, are you?"

"No, Mother I-"

Frigga put a finger to Loki's lips, "Your brother just tried to deceive me the same way, you both have a tendency to forget that I was raised by witches."

Then, with a welcoming and fond smile, she opened her arms and Loki threw himself into them. "Mother, I have missed you so much."

"I miss you too, my son..."

She stepped back a little, took his hands, led him to a stone bench and made him sit with her. She kept his hands in hers and asked him, "Tell me more."

Like Thor, Loki told her everything that had made up his life since he had seized the Tesseract. When he finished, she put her hand on Loki's cheek and said softly, her eyes shining, "I always knew, Loki, that you could do anything, no matter what you set out to do. I'm glad I don't see that shadow in your eyes anymore. You look...dare I say it...happy?"

Loki nodded, "Mother I miss you in ways you can't imagine, believe me, but yes, I am... happy."

Frigga, a knowing smile on her lips, added in a slightly louder voice, "I have a feeling that the person behind the pillar over there is no stranger to it, is he?"

Following the direction of his mother's gaze, Loki turned his head just to see Mobius emerging from the shadows.

He rose to join him, took his hand and led him to his mother.

"Mother... you are right, I present to you the man who is one of the main reasons for my happiness, the man who now shares my life, Mobius."

Mobius, who remained true to himself, extended his hand in a straightforward manner, "Your highness..."

Frigga did not grasp Mobius' hand but instead embraced him, whispering in his ear, "Thank you." then tightened her hold before releasing him.

Seeing Loki move closer to Mobius as if he couldn't stay away from him, Frigga smiled fondly.

The three of them stood in silence, savoring the moment.

However, the sweetness of those few seconds was interrupted by troops running just below them, reminding them of the ephemeral nature of their situation.

Frigga nodded and said, "I think it's time for all of us to go our separate ways."

Loki, knowing what would happen to his mother, "Mother, I-"

Frigga shook her head, "Don't tell me, things are as they should be. I am so delighted to know that you are happy, nothing could have fulfilled my mother's heart more. I love you Loki, my son."

Loki threw his arms around her, "I love you Mother."

Meanwhile Mobius had made the timedoor appear, and was patiently waiting for Loki.

"Go, my son. I am proud of you."

After taking one last look at his mother, Loki walked over to Mobius, unable to stop his tears from flowing, Mobius took him in his arms, his gaze meeting Frigga's in which he could read the gratitude. He simply nodded and Frigga turned away and left.

Mobius asked Loki in a whisper, "Loki, sweetheart, I need you to tell me where and when we are going now."

Loki wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and told him with a hoarse voice, "New Asgard in 2023."

Mobius nodded, knowing exactly what moment it was.

He programmed the tempad and they both walked through the timedoor.

They arrived at a cliff above New Asgard, a few feet away from Thor and Valkyrie.

As they walked, their conversation came to their ears.

Valkyrie asked Thor, "What will you do?"

"I'm not sure. For the first time in a thousand years, I- I have no path. I do have a ride, though."

Thor began to turn away to leave and froze when he saw the two men advancing toward them.

"What sorcery is this?!!!" he cried out as he reached up to call his hammer.

Loki, seeing where this was going to lead, began to shout, placing himself in front of Mobius in defense, "Stop Thor, stop! I come in peace! Stop my brother!"

Thor lowered his arm and continued to move forward but less sure, eyes narrowed, until they were face to face.

"Ouch!"

Loki buckled at Thor's blow to his abdomen. He made a move to stop Mobius from rushing in and putting himself in danger. "That's... well... Mobius... that's normal... that's even standard as a way to greet each other between my brother and me-mmph!"

Loki found himself caught in his brother's crying embrace. "I thought you were dead!"

Loki pushed Thor away slightly, "Thor, listen to me, I am really dead, it is important that you understand this, I will be leaving again later but here I will always be dead."

"But what? How-..." Confusion was written all over Thor's face.

Loki pulled him to sit on a grassy mount not far away.

"Come brother, I will explain."

Mobius and Valkyrie stood there while the two brothers caught up.

After a few moments, Valkyrie, breaking the silence, asked, "So you and Loki..."

Mobius stared at her in surprise, "How did you...?"

"I hesitate between the fact that you rushed to save Loki from the God of Thunder, you a human with no power, or the fact that Loki who only cares about his own little self stood between you and his brother to protect you."

Mobius smiled and held out his hand, "Mobius, nice to meet you."

Valkyrie took it and replied, "Valkyrie, likewise."

Mobius continued, "And you and Thor...?"

"To think I was beginning to like you."

They were interrupted by Thor's thunderous laughter as he looked up at them.

"You... and him?!"

Thor stood up as Loki looked on in horror, and rushed to Mobius, opened his arms and exclaimed, "Into my arms my brother!"

Mobius, amused, found himself caught in the embrace of the god of thunder.

Loki breathed a sigh of relief as he approached them.

"So you're the genius who finally made my idiot brother see reason?" asked Thor, mockingly.

"Thor!"

"If by that you mean I was the one who made him see that he was better than what people wanted him to believe, then yes it was me, but the rest he did on his own." Mobius had said this, in a firm tone, with a defiant expression on his face.

Thor nodded with a knowing smile, "I can see how you won his heart."

"Thor!" exclaimed Loki again, annoyed.

Thor turned to Loki, a mischievous sparkle in his eye, "Loki, don't pretend, you're the one who told me just before that Mobius was-hmph."

Loki had thrown himself at Thor, putting his hands over his mouth and Thor burst out laughing. All this under the amused eyes of Mobius and the exasperated one of Valkyrie.

Thor pulled away from Loki and approached Mobius again, putting his arm around his shoulder and leading him away, "It's time I take my role as big brother seriously and do what the midgardians call the shovel-talk."

Loki raised his hand in protest, "Thor, no..."

Mobius turned to Loki, shook his head and gave him a smile that was meant to be reassuring "It's okay Loki."

Loki let them go.

After a few moments of silence watching them, making sure Thor wasn't hurting Mobius, he turned to Valkyrie, "So you and my brother...?"

Valkyrie rolled her eyes and muttered, "I really wish your brother had hit harder before..."

Loki raised his arms in surrender, "Pretend I didn't say anything." He paused and resumed more seriously, "Shall I congratulate you, your majesty?"

"You have a problem with that?" replied Valkyrie in a defensive manner.

Loki shook his head and smiled amusedly, "Not at all, I know you will look after the people of Asgard as well as I or Thor would have. Probably even better."

Valkyrie just nodded once in recognition.

Loki continued to watch Thor and Mobius in the distance, curious about what was being said.

After a few minutes the two men returned to Loki and Valkyrie.

Thor clapped his hands together, "Well my friends, I think it's time to leave. I have a ship to catch," he pointed to the ship behind him, "She has a kingdom to rule and you two need to return to your time, past or whatever."

He walked over to Mobius and shaking his hand, he said, "Take care of my little brother, I know he makes people want to hit him sometimes, but he's a good person, I always knew that."

Mobius nodded, "He is. Take care."

Then Thor turned to his brother and hugged him, "Brother, I know nothing has ever been easy between us, but never doubt that you are my brother and that I love you." Loki tightened his arms around him, " I love you too brother." They remained in each other's arms for a few more seconds before parting ways.

Thor turned to Valkyrie, "Come my friend, accompany me."

As he walked away to the ship, Thor turned and called out, "Be happy!" he paused, and a mischievous gleam in his eye continued, "And invite me to the wedding, whenever and wherever!"

"Thor!!!" shouted Loki.

A thunderous laugh answered him.

Mobius and Loki watched them go away for a while. Then Loki turned to Mobius and said, "Take me home."

Mobius opened the timedoor and programmed the tempad. They walked through the door that led them directly home hand in hand.

As soon as the door was open and disappeared behind them, Loki leaned forward, closed his eyes and put his arms around Mobius' waist. He pressed his lips to Mobius' and kissed him, putting all his emotions into the kiss. Mobius' hands wrapped around Loki's waist in turn and they explored each other's mouths, their tongues dancing together in a loving rhythm. After a moment, the kiss ended and they simply stayed there, wrapped in each other, listening to their breaths settle. When Mobius caught his breath, he asked, "Are you okay Loki?"

Loki replied, his lips against his, "Yes love, better than ever."

**********

The next day in the archive room, Loki was putting away the various films in their respective boxes when Mobius joined him.

He was putting away the last one titled, Thor- New Agard 2023, letting his hands linger on the edge of the film case before closing the lock on the box and turning to Mobius.

"Aren't you going to watch them anymore?"

Loki shook his head with a smile, "No, because now I have other memories here." while patting his head before adding, "thanks to you."

He pressed his lips to Mobius' in a tender kiss before taking his hand and pulling him behind him without a backward glance.

Once outside, he asked Mobius, curious, "What did my brother tell you?"

Mobius looked at Loki with a smile, remembering the scene.

"I'm only going to ask one question, Mobius."

"Go ahead!"

" Do you love my brother?"

Mobius had replied tit for tat, "More than my life."

Thor stared at him for a few seconds and replied, "That's enough for me."

He paused for a moment and continued, "But... if you hurt him..."

In his eyes, Mobius read all the love he had for his brother and replied, "Never, I promise."

Thor continued, smiling mockingly, "Well, we'll wait a little while, so my little brother will get anxious.

Mobius chuckled and replied, "You may not be blood brothers, but you sure are a lot alike."

"Mobius?" Loki's voice brought him back to reality.

Mobius placed his hand on Loki's cheek and smiled fondly as he replied, "Your brother didn't tell me anything I didn't already know, that you're worthy of all the love in the world."

________

Whole series of one shots here : X

As always, bear with me as it is not beta'd I hope you enjoyed it 🥰

#lokius fic #loki series #loki #mobius m mobius #thor #frigga #valkyrie #established relationship #time travel #moki #wowki #time husbands #timefrost #loki x mobius #fluff #family

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youalexturnermeon · 3 years

Text

Warm Beer and Cold Women Pt.3 (Johnny Lawrence x Reader)

Part 1

Part 2

Request: Hi! I absolutely love your work and I was wondering if I could get a Cobra Kai Johnny imagine where the reader is a bartender and starts crushing on him since he’s a regular and he flirts with her all the time and she pretends to hate it but she actually loves it? by Anon

A/N: Before you read you should know that I adjusted the timeline a little, all mistakes in the timeline that you are noticing are on purpose. Also I decided to let johnny keep his black Cobra Kai car in that one. Then I’m perfectly aware of the fact that I lowkey drifted away from the actual request but don’t worry, I’m coming back to that. It’s the second last part to this little series. Enjoy.

Warnings: badass reader, drinking, DUI, swearing, ANGST, a little fluff

Wordcount: 2650

"Jesus Christ, (Y/N), thank god you're finally here!" was the first thing you heard from Jenny as soon as you set foot into the bar for yet another late shift on a boring Thursday night.

"We've been waiting for you for hours!" Jenny said and grabbed your arm dragging you further inside. You were staggered, "What the fuck, Jen, I'm not even late, I know I was yesterday but I'm perfectly on time today! Look," you pointed towards a clock on the wall "8 pm sharp."

"Jesus, don't you ever check your phone?" she went on ignoring you. And as a matter of fact, you didn't. You trashed it a couple of days ago as a result of a drunk rage after another shift without your favourite regular. That's why you've been borrowing your colleague’s phone to call yourself an Uber home. But that was still not helping you understand why you were needed so much. Apparently, the bar was waiting for your arrival since the opening at last. In the distance, behind the almost empty counter you saw the staff door opening and Kenny making his way to you in a quick pace.

"She's is here!" Jenny called out to him as if he wasn't able to see that for himself.

"Finally."

"What the fuck?" you asked again, trying to think of all the things you could've done wrong in the past weeks, but you couldn't find any. You never messed up a drink, you always locked the doors, you even cleaned the puke in the men's bathroom. "Am I in trouble?"

Kenny shook his head, you looked at him quizzically.

"It's about your boyfriend," Jenny helped him out answering. You almost blurted out 'He's not my boyfriend' as it was already on the tip of your tongue because you were so deeply conditioned to say that. But when your glance skipped over the almost empty seats by the counter again, your heart suddenly skipped a beat and when it was back at keeping you alive it started beating so hard against your ribs as if it was about to burst. Johnny was back.

"He's been here since we opened at 5," Kenny said, sounding a little annoyed "He's drunk off his ass, came in drunk already, and refuses to leave until he sees you. We tried to throw him out but he's one persistent motherfucker and lowkey aggressive, muttering your name saying he needs to talk to you and nobody else."

"Yeah, maybe you should go and talk to him" Jenny affirmed. But you were already on your way. Without a word you almost stormed over.

At first you wouldn't have noticed him. He didn't look like himself, sitting there on his regular seat at the end, head hanging, covered by his hands. He looked rough.

The two weeks he didn't show himself, you almost started hating him. You thought him to be like any other man on earth who, after they broke you, finally got you to get soft towards them, waking your interest after hundreds of times trying, just disappeared without a trace. First you were blaming yourself, asking yourself if you went too far with your little game of pretend, whilst still waiting every day for him. Had it been too much for him saving you the other day and getting his face bashed in for you? You wished he'd come and tell you what a bitch he thought you were to your face. Then you despised him for giving you up so quickly. But as soon as you laid eyes on him all these negative thoughts disappeared, and you were just concerned. Concerned about his condition, only the question inside your head how on earth you, a simple barkeeper, were able to help him with that. You grabbed a bottle of whisky and simply headed to the other side of the counter, not standing in front but sitting next to him this time. The worst about it, he didn't even take notice of you at first.

"Johnny," you said softly placing a hand on his arm. Like being electrocuted by this touch, he winced but finally looked up. You almost gasped at his appearance. Normally he was always clean shaven, now he looked like hadn't shaved in days. Besides that, he was also hurt. At first you thought his injuries might still be from his encounter with the three men that were bothering you, but the scratches and bruises were fresh, and a band aid was sticking to his forehead that wasn't needed before. Johnny blankly stared at you from his bloodshot eyes and you suddenly felt the urge to hug him. But you resisted, first you had to get him to talk. Instead, you grabbed two of the glasses in front of Johnny uncorked the bottle of whisky and poured you one. You took a sip of the burning liquid hoping for some courage to miraculously appear as you watched Johnny silently drinking, too.

Kenny walked by on the way back to his office, judgingly eyeing you.

"Damn, I have to start taking all the booze you're drinking here from your paycheck, (Y/N), slow the fuck down, would you?" he said sighing with one foot already inside. Out of a sudden Johnny snapped.

"Jesus Kenny, don't wet your precious leather pants," he shouted out, slamming his glass on the counter "I'm gonna pay for it! Let a girl enjoy her drink for once" Some heads turned in your direction.

You held still for a second and didn't dare to breathe, afraid of another fight to happen since normally Kenny didn't allow anybody talk to him like that. But he simply shook his head and closed the door behind him, muttering something like "This girl actually has to work here, but whatever" leaving you alone with Johnny.

"You look hot, as always," he said trying to smile, yet the smile didn't reach his sad eyes. He almost looked like he's been crying.

"And you look like shit."

"You mean that?" he gestured at his face noticing your gaze upon his massive black eye. You nodded.

"That's nothing."

"What happened, Johnny?" you asked but he did not answer and just kept on sitting in silence, sipping his drink from time to time. Then, after what seemed like forever, he finally looked you straight in the eyes.

"I fucked up, (Y/N), that's what happened, I fucked up big time."

"Tell me!"

"As if you give two shits about it, you probably wouldn't care. You fucking despise me and my sorry ass."

"I do care!"

“Nah, you wouldn’t!”

You sprung off your seat, you did not expect that coming out of his mouth, also it hurt to hear him say that, because you really did care about him! You probably cared about him more than anything in your life at the moment. But if he was going to be a bitch to you so were you.

“Well, don’t waste my fucking time then!” you exclaimed “And stop annoying everyone that you need to see talk to me instead of fucking off. I can gladly leave you all by yourself so you can keep on pitying yourself. Nice seeing you, jerk!”

And you were about to storm off, go back to pretending to work just like you did every other day when there was nothing else to do, when you instantly heard a “(Y/N), wait!”

You turned around and saw Johnny, now more miserable than ever, showing at your seat inviting you to sit back down. You swallowed your pride and did so.

“I’m sorry,” he said “I just can’t believe that someone would actually give a shit about me at all. And I did want to talk to you, I still do. You’re the only one I want to see right now.” “Then tell me what’s going on.”

“There’s this kid,” he started sighed and stopped, then took another sip of his whisky and began again “I have a dojo in a strip mall, I’m a sensei,” “What’s that?” you blurted out before you could stop yourself and you felt stupid. Johnny looked at you, completely staggered, forgetting his pain for a moment. Proving you that it was in fact a probably very stupid question.

“It’s a Karate place, I teach Karate there.”

“Go on.”

“I have a shit ton of nerds that I teach but they’re mostly good kids, they got bullied a lot before, but I helped them, I showed them how to kick ass, so no one dares to fuck with them anymore. There’s this one kid, Miguel, I’ve been teaching him since the beginning, he actually gave me the idea to open a dojo, he begged me to and he’s a great kid, he really grew on me. He lives next door with his mom and grandma, they’re great people, Mexicans. I even learned a bit of Spanish from them. And I’ve been hanging out a lot with him lately. I really, really liked him.”

He rubbed his eyes and stopped talking.

“What do you mean you liked him?” you asked carefully and studied Johnny’s face that he covered with his hands again.

“There’s more to the story. There’s another dojo in town, fucking Miyagi-Do. Of course, you can’t expect only one dojo to be there in L.A but how I wish that at least that one wouldn’t exist. The sensei is a twat. I fucking hate this guy. And his kids started fighting with my kids at school and not like throwing some punches at each other and leaving it be after somebody starts crying. No, they started a fucking Karate War at school. I mean, I get it, when I was their age I also took Karate way too seriously but letting it go this far? I don’t know, I can’t really understand that. It got out of hand real quick two weeks ago.”

“Fuck, did something bad happen?” you wondered and poured yourself and Johnny another whisky.

He nodded and stared into the distance. You waited for him to answer.

“There was a fight two weeks ago and apparently it got really bad. Miguel got kicked off a balcony at school, he fell two stories deep, spine-first onto a handrail.” You gasped. You school also had problems with fighting, a lot to be precise but as far as you knew, no one got kicked off from somewhere.

“He’s been in a coma now for two weeks and they say that the chances of waking up from a coma after two weeks are pretty miserable. He might as well be dead by now.”

“It’s gonna be fine,” you said although not knowing shit about coma, you just wanted t comfort Johnny. You could not stand seeing him so broken you even wished he would go back to his old nature again, hitting on you, joking and just having a good time “He’s probably going to wake up soon and go back to Karate again.”

“You don’t know that!” Johnny said raising his voice, “He broke his fucking spine, (Y/N), even if he wakes up, he’s probably going to be crippled for his whole life.”

He took a deep breath and drank his whisky at once, grunting at the burning feeling in his throat.

“And now my own kid is in fucking juvie for kicking Miguel of a railing and he won’t even talk to me!”

“Wait, you have a kid?” you wondered and stared at Johnny wide-eyed, not knowing what else to say, this was surely a surprise for you. And Johnny went on with his rant.

“Yeah, Robby, he’s 17. But that doesn’t matter now, does it? He’s locked up, doesn’t want to hear a word from me, but that’s okay,” his voice was cynical, you could hear how much despised himself right in the moment and it was painful to see.

“I’ve been a shit father anyways, right? Every single day of his life I’ve been failing him. I wasn’t around much. I did nothing to keep him out of trouble. If so, I only made it worse, I only pushed him to train with Miyagi-Do and what happened to Miguel is all on me.” Despite calming himself down with a drink, Johnny’s voice got louder with every word he spoke. Again, heads were turning towards you, but you didn’t care.

“It’s not your fault what happened,” you said calmly and placed a hand on his shoulder, he was so tensed that you might as well have been touching a stone. And Johnny shook your hand of and let out a hateful laugh.

“Not my fault?” he shouted his lungs out “Who else’s fault is it then? Of course, it is mine. It is all on me, I fucked up. I fucked up both Robby’s and Miguel’s lives and on top of that mine’s not that great either. I spent the night in a fucking cell.”

“Calm down, Johnny,” you said softly and finally went in for a hug “It’s going to be okay; I promise!”

“No, it’s not!” he yelled as you wrapped your arms around him tightly pressing yourself against his trembling chest. At first, he let his arms sink and didn’t do anything, he kept on shouting, making even more heads turn towards all the noise, but then suddenly he buried his scrubby face into crook of your neck and sighed, finally placing his hands on your back, finally relaxing, firmly embracing you. You could’ve stayed like that for ever.

“C’mon, (Y/N), get him out of here!”, you suddenly heard Kenny who stood there, arms crossed, watching you, “He’s scaring off the people.”

You released Johnny from your hold who went back to staring down the counter whilst burying his face in his rough hands, just the way you have found him.

“Yeah, alright, I’ll bring him home.”

“Yeah, sure, feel free to come back to work whenever you’re ready, no rush. Or maybe you want to do home office instead?” said Kenny sarcastically and you rolled your eyes.

“C’mon Kenny, I can’t let him go home like this alone, he’ll kill himself on the way. Besides, he’s probably the reason this place still hasn’t gone bankrupt. And I’m the reason he keeps coming, so maybe we owe him that?”

The big biker in front of you didn’t look too happy but he knew you were right, still, he wasn’t that easy to convince.

“Come on,” you said putting on your best puppy eyes, trying to look all cute because you knew the old man liked you deep inside “I’ll do double shift tomorrow, I promise. But just please let me go.”

Kenny stood motionless.

“Please?”

“Alright, alright, I’ll cover for you. But if you don’t come in early tomorrow…” “I know, I know, you’ll fire me” you finished his sentence and smiled at him.

Then you nudged Johnny who was not getting any of the conversation you just had and told him about your plan about getting him home. He stood up and he clearly wasn’t very strong on his feet. He was swaying from side to side on the way out.

“Okay, give me your keys, Johnny,” you said when you arrived at his black dodge. Normally you would have made fun of the yellow stripes and snakes all over, but you weren’t in the mood for it.

“I think I remember you telling me that you don’t have a license anymore and that you’re not willing to get involved into DUIs anymore.” And yet he submissively handed you over his car keys. You shrugged and got in the car, waiting for him to take the shotgun seat.

“I guess we all have to make exceptions sometimes. Now concentrate and lead me the way.”

“Thank you” Johnny said, his voice now all raspy and he suddenly looked tired “Now you are saving my ass.”

**************************************************************************************

PART 4

Already working on part 4 whether you like it or not, I’m too invested in that one

Sorry to all waiting for their requests to be written, I’ll soon be on it

Thanks for reading!

Taglist: @lililolli (you want to be on the taglist, too? drop me a message)

#johnny lawrence #johnny lawrence x reader #johnny lawrence imagine #johnny lawrence x you #cobra kai #cobra kai imagine #johnny lawrence angst #johnny lawrence fluff #karate kid #karate kid imagine #billy zabka #william zabka

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maplecornia · 3 years

Text

chapter 24

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 2.94K

𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: You watched them from the sidelines ever since you were a young teenage girl. Now you’re grown up, they’ve returned after 2 long years and everything has changed. What happens when you pull back the mask and find the darkness within? What happens when you see that they’re broken?

𝔞/𝔫: things are getting heavyyy

If you're still enough, you can hear the inner whispers of your heart.

Have you noticed?

You're able to hear everything you have kept locked away. It tries to break through the cage, and you can feel the chains growing weaker and weaker with each passing moment. Each tick of the clock drawing closer and closer to the moment where you can no longer hold it in.

Where you finally break down.

Taehyung sighs and leans back in his chair, the meeting room now empty and dark. It's hard to believe that at the break of day it was filled with conflict and torn decisions.

"I'm against it."

At the sound of Yoongi's sharp dismissal, it's as though the room wakes up. Some in protest, some in shock. Suga raises his brow at the reaction, almost scoffing when he sees it.

"It's too much of a risk." He sighs almost in contempt. "If you want her so badly, why not sign her with Source or Pledis? They're our shareholders for a reason. Plus, since we're all under HYBE it will be exactly like she were a BigHit affiliation. Given the way this industry runs, however, she's probably best out of Kpop and should be signed under HYBE America. After all, she is a foreigner."

Though they are harsh, his words make sense. This would be the most logical approach rather than breaking their ban on female trainees. They made the ban for a reason, Yoongi doesn't understand why they would throw that away for someone who is slightly talented.

Besides, what about every other talented girl before her?

What reason should she have to achieve the dream which they were denied?

"I have to agree with Yoongi," Jin speaks up, his brow furrowed in concentration. "She has a unique and beautiful voice, that much is true. It'd be a shame to let it go, but if you think about it, we wouldn't be letting it go. Giving it to another company under HYBE might provide a better chance for her in the industry."

Taehyung bites his lip, not liking where this is going.

Jin glances around the table, hesitating before he says his next piece.

"We just got back, can we trust that they'll accept us if we do this? Next thing you know there'll be rumors of a scandal."

Though it was all on their minds, it still hurts to hear it out loud.

Can they trust ARMY to be there for them this time?

"It is a bit concerning. She'll be the only female trainee in an all-male company. Can you imagine the rumors? The field day Dispatch would have? She'd be hated before she even had a chance to show them her worth." Jhope murmurs under his breath, his eyes sparkling with deep worry.

They've all faced that. The fear of being hated for just being you. For existing without the mask.

"But I liked her," Jimin says, leaning forward. Though his words are simple, they are said with the most sincerity. "She's someone you hardly ever see, her voice stays with you, it doesn't leave. It's the kind that people can't get enough of. That's something special...shouldn't we take that into account?"

Biting his inner cheek, Taehyung glances up at BangPD, wondering if he knows. Did Jungkook tell him? He knew about Yen, why wouldn't he have found out about him as well?

If only he hadn't saved that recording. If only he hadn't been so careless, then none of this would have happened.

Somehow he feels as though those moments are being stolen from him.

"Jimin has a point, Yoongi. Did you hear her?" Jin speaks up, his gaze glazing over as though he were looking into the distance. Or recalling a long forgotten memory. Yoongi scoffs and smirks bitterly.

"Of course I did, I have ears."

"Are you sure?" Jin mutters in response, but it's almost as though Yoongi can't hear him.

"Think of this realistically, you have to know there's zero to no chance of her making it. Even if she's talented." There's a moment of uncomfortable silence at his words, words which no one wanted themselves to say. Sighing, Suga gestures towards Namjoon.

"Come on, Joon back me up here."

The room turns to Namjoon, waiting to hear his response.

He stays silent for a moment, his hand resting on his chin as he ponders the situation, his deep eyes calculating moves and countermoves. Possible situation and solutions.

All while trying to forget that the possible trainee is Yen.

Biting his bottom lip, he can't help but remember the way she was in the studio. How her eyes lit up with unimaginable love and devotion. A look only a fellow artist would be able to recognize. She was made for this, he can tell. She yearns to sing, to be lost in music, enveloped in a world of her own making. To be able to share that with others.

Looking over at BangPD, he narrows his eyes thoughtfully.

"What are you planning to do?"

Yoongi's eyes widen at Namjoon’s question, and he leans back, looking to BangPD's response. Bang Sihyuk smiles softly, almost as though he expected this.

For some reason, that look irks Taehyung.

Don’t think you can control us. We weren’t made for your chessboard.

"It will be on a purely trial basis. I am planning to sign her as a trainee, but the public will not know about it until I am sure that she will be a good addition." He looks towards Suga, pointedly directing his next statement towards him. "I understand your concerns for her. After all, she would be our first female trainee for a while."

Suga bites his inner cheek in protest, leaning back in his chair and brooding.

"However, I have been planning this for a while now." The room goes silent with the revelation as they turn to him, waiting for him to reveal more. "Ever since you've left for the military, I've been thinking of possible trainees to recruit for a new girl group. The first girl group to be officially under BigHit entertainment. They would be managed, produced, and signed underneath our label. Not through a loophole like BE:LIFT, Source Music, or Pledis. This would be ours and ours alone."

Jimin shakes his head in confusion. "Why now? What changed?"

BangPD sighs, his careful eyes scanning the room in a calm and collected manner.

"I don't know entirely myself." He rubs his face before continuing, playing with the portfolio of Yen. "I thought it was time to expand our horizons, to try something new...I guess you could say I was inspired."

He glances towards Namjoon, and Joon can't help but remember that day all those years ago.

The day when BangPD proposed a plan, an inspiration to him, not quite unlike this one.

Namjoon’s brow furrowed in concentration, he turns to your smiling photo, still spread across the table.

Was it you?

Were you the reason for this inspiration?

"In any case, before I moved any further, I wanted to see if things would work out with her. One trainee. I didn't want to make a mistake like last time, hence the trial period." Bang Sihyuk continues, swaying a bit in his chair.

"Who would train her?" Taehyung mutters underneath his breath, unable to look away from your photo this whole time. Turning to BangPD, his eyes are aflame with conviction. "If we have our normal staff take part in her training, we won't be able to control who else could find out. If her existence were to be completely secret, who could we trust?"

It's a valid question, but Taehyung doesn't like the glint Sihyuk gets in his eyes at the notion. Silently, he wishes he never spoke up. Maybe then he would've been able to stay under the radar, and BangPD would never have to suspect he had any affiliation with the girl.

With Yen.

"You would."

Two words is all it takes.

Two words and the room is in an uproar.

"What are you talking about?! We have enough on our plate with our comeback, and now you expect us to train a girl who shouldn't even be here in the first place?!" Yoongi is so outraged that he stands, his chair rolling back into the wall.

"Yoongi, calm down--" RM begins, but Suga isn't willing to listen to anyone at the moment.

"Do you have any idea how much pressure we're under? And now you want to add an inexperienced trainee to our list of burdens just because she can sing?!" he snarls, his lip curling in disgust, his eyes dark with anger.

"Yoongi-hyung, you heard her voice. You have to admit that we found something here." Jungkook speaks up, meekly. Taehyung narrows his eyes his way.

Just what does Jungkook get out of all this? Taehyung knows he has to be the one who gave BangPD the file of your voice. He was the only other one there, besides Taehyung. Taehyung himself couldn’t bring himself to give you the flash drive, but Jungkook didn’t even think to tell you. He went straight to BangPD as though this were his decision to make. Did he even think of asking you what you thought?

What’s your angle?

Yoongi rolls his eyes, gesturing to the portfolio on the table.

"Yeah, we found something. But not something worth risking everything we built over!"

"Don't you think you're being a dramatic? We aren't even sure if this will work out. It's just a trial, and it's the best option for us to train them given the situation." Namjoon murmurs, rationally. Suga's eyes flame with defiance at the rebuttal and slams his hand on the table.

"And what happens if word gets out before we're ready?"

The room goes silent with the ultimatum, and they all avoid his gaze.

"What happens when we're the cause of her downfall?"

Glancing at each other, they ponder the question. A question that has weighed heavily on them ever since they debuted, ever since they became the star in the public's eye. Ever since the world knew about the boy group...

BTS.

Scowling, Yoongi pulls away.

"I don't know about the rest of you, but I don't have time for this. I have work to do, work that has been waiting for us for 2 years! Or did you all forget our promise?" When they don't answer him, he scoffs, pulling his backpack on his shoulder and walking out the door. "I'll see you at practice."

There's a moment of silence as soon as Yoongi leaves, silence uncomfortable and pressing. Licking his lips in nervous anticipation, Hoseok looks at the rest of them, almost unsure.

"Is he going to be okay?"

BangPD leans forward, folding his hands on the table.

"Don't worry about Yoongi, I'll talk to him later. But what about the rest of you?"

His quick, analytical eyes scan the table, hovering over every one of them. Almost as if he were trying to predict what exactly they would say next.

"Do you agree?"

Now, Taehyung grits his teeth. His grip tightening around the water bottle he was playing with in his hands, he throws it across the wall. As he watches it crumble at the force, he finds the ruin in his mind easing. Water drips off of the wall, and he feels a sort of sadistic satisfaction at the sight of destruction.

Now he’s not the only one broken.

But once that fades, he's left once more with his memories and his regret.

"Dammit." He groans, dropping his face in his hands hopelessly.

Standing, Tae grabs Jungkook by the hand before he can follow the rest of them out. The door shuts behind them, leaving only him and Jungkook in the meeting room, an uneasy silence hanging over them. With words they need to say, questions waiting to be answered.

"Taeh--" Jungkook begins, but in his rush, Tae interrupts him.

"Were you there?"

The silence that blossoms between them grows to a deafening roar as Jungkook gently pulls away from Taehyung's firm hold. It creates a bitter but necessary distance between the two of them. It lets them know that they're different, that what happened back then was something that belonged to one as much as it did the other.

"You heard her too, didn't you?" Jungkook murmurs, his words turning Taehyung's blood cold. Smiling softly, Jungkook runs his hands through his hair. "I saw you as you were leaving, you were the one who recorded her, aren't you?"

Biting his bottom lip, Tae can't answer. Even though he knows that moment wasn't his, even though he knows that his ideas of fate and chance have been destroyed, he's unable to admit to it. He can't find it in him to voice the fact that he was there, that he gave birth to her chance, and he wanted it to be his and his alone.

Jungkook chuckles nervously at the silence before speaking once more.

"I wonder...why didn't you have the same idea as me?"

His hands tangled up in the locks of his hair, Taehyung stares at the slick wooden table, his heart in knots and his mind jumbled.

"Why didn't I?" he mutters to himself, a soft whisper that lingers empty on the air. "Why couldn't I say anything?"

Pulling away from the table, where Yen's future was decided this morning, he swallows hard. By the end of the day, he found himself lingering around this room, the studio, anyplace that reminded him of her.

Laughing bitterly, he rubs his forehead.

"Why..." He whispers, holding his phone tightly to his chest.

"Why can't I forget you?"

Biting his bottom lip, he quickly messages you, having the sudden urge to see you. Maybe then, would he realize what he can't find? Would he be able to create another memory, another moment in time? One that was yours and yours alone?

After a couple of moments, you don't answer.

Maybe...I was just afraid of letting go.

Standing almost decisively, he rushes out of the room, and down the hallways of the building.

I need to know.

As he rides the same elevator you rode yesterday down to the lobby, he holds his phone tighter in his hand.

If I don't find out now, I may never get another chance.

Desperate, he sends another message to you.

One more time.

Catching his face in the metallic walls of the elevator, he can't help but imagine yours smiling up at him. A face that makes everything seem alright again.

That's all I need.

What happens when that is taken away from him? What happens when he can no longer see the person who gives him courage? Biting his lip, he can feel the pain in his chest grow.

Just let me see you one more time.

He doesn't want to let you go.

As the elevator dings and he steps out, he pauses, seeing Namjoon right in front of him. Namjoon glances up, his eyes glazed over and tired, but when he sees Tae, they widen in recognition. Taehyung smiles inwardly to himself, he knows this look. A look lost in the wilderness of creativity and desolation.

"Oh, Taehyung!" he says, and Taehyung nods to him curtly before brushing past him and continuing to the front door. Namjoon, however, catches him by the wrist and Tae pauses, turning around.

"Namjoon?" His face is blank, but something in his eyes tells Tae to be wary. They are sort of dark, not really there, but urgent and anxious. Taehyung wonders how eyes can hold so many words, and yet tell you nothing at all.

"You knew, didn't you?"

At his words, Tae blinks, his heart pounding.

"I..."

"That's why you followed her, how you knew about her injury."

How does he know?

"When were you going to tell me?"

Biting his bottom lip, Taehyung can't help but feel a bit of aggravation towards his older friend. Why can't he keep anything to himself? Why is it a crime for him to live his own life, without everyone looking in? Yanking his arm out of Namjoon's grip, he scowls, turning on his heel.

"When it became your business."

Namjoon stands there, a bit in shock before rushing forward and taking Tae forcibly by the arm once more.

"Taehyung, wait!" At his touch, Tae tries to pull away, but Namjoon won't budge, his eyes desperate and wild. They unnerve Taehyung, make him want to escape, hide away until everything turns back to normal again. "If she's going to become an idol, any affiliation you have with her will only hurt her."

Tae's eyes widen at his words, snapping a hidden string he didn't know he had inside of him. RM doesn't notice, instead, his grip tightens around Tae until he feels as though he's suffocating from the inside out.

"You know that right?"

Gritting his teeth, Tae pulls away from Namjoon, staggering back until he's a good distance away. Raising his eyes to his hyung, Namjoon finds a look he's never seen in his younger friend before.

Loathing.

"Don't act as though you know everything." He spits before turning away and walking out of the door.

Namjoon sighs as he watches him leave before glancing over at the now empty lobby. The lobby where just a day ago, he met a sweet, cheerful girl. Someone who filled his mind with inspiration and wonder.

Smiling sadly, he rubs the back of his neck, looking up at the sky as though that will offer him the answers he seeks.

"Just who are you, Yen?"

𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢: this one was actually pretty hard to write, i'm ngl ;-;

chapter 25 here

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jafndaegur · 3 years

Text

Blue and Grey [where's my angel?]

Jumin x MC

a/n: Reverse Isekai. If you know the song; then you know the song.

Where is my angel?

The end of a tiring day.

"Someone come and save me, please"

Is overshadowed by a sigh...

MC stared up at the ceiling, her phone held limply in her grasp. The Mystic Messenger app blinked sporadically with the "Normal Route" logo. Her lips wobbled and she hadn't realized the sob that wobbled in her chest.

Everything had felt so real. She knew without a shadow of a doubt that she had spent eleven days with the most amazing people that she would know in her lifetime.

She fell in love with the most amazing man she would know in her lifetime.

Her breath quivered and a small squeak came out with her exhale.

Living and in the flesh, Jumin had been real—every word, every touch, every bit. Same for the others. So why was it now that she suddenly woke up from the dream? Now the real world heaved a sigh and existed all around her as it had before the game. She didn't think miracles were real, but being transported into the world of the game had been a blessing. It saved her and in turn she was able to save someone she loved.

Except now.

MC turned off her phone, unable to bear the sound of the upbeat music or the warm yellow glow of the videogame.

Little time had passed since she'd been brought in and out from the videogame world, less than eleven days (probably less than eleven hours even). No one had worried about her, no one cared. She bit her lip and forced herself to not think about the near-empty contacts list on her phone.

She was forced back into reality and she would live. As she always had.

The color that had been so suddenly and vibrantly splashed into her life was striped away with the harsh scent of acetone and paint remover.

She walked to work. Her manager greeted her with a practice smile and gave her the laundering list for the day. MC nodded mutely, pulled on her apron and went to the back of the dry cleaning facility. The party recipients were gone, and the lavish ballroom the RFA held their party in also dissipated. Only the sound of chirring machinery and the rustle of clothes, either in bags or not, now existed. MC stared at the rows of slowly shifting suits on the conveyor racks and wondered how often Jumin took his suits to a dry-cleaner. She momentarily fancied the idea of him just purchasing a new suit everytime he dirtied and old one—and she giggled. It was the first time laughing since she came back home. But the immediate pang in her heart at the idea of Jumin's bemused grin and his narrowed grey eyes caused her to swallow back a cry. Because he totally would find her notion silly, before saying something like "I only have the finest launderers in all of Korea dry-clean my suits. And I do leave a mean tip, if I say so myself, darling."

MC hated this.

She found that the world existed in faded hues of blue and grey. The sky glimmered in a dull linen blue, brushing up against the greyed horizon while the sun faded from view. Walks were the only thing MC found she could stomach after long twelve hour shifts. She hadn't the heart to delete the Mystic Messenger game, but she couldn't look at the sprites or the characters knowing she'd interacted with them as real breathing people. So it was a little comfort, but the cool breeze and the nighttime air in the city made her feel closer to her RFA friends even though they weren't there.

City nights in general made her feel closer to Jumin.

MC wondered if in some other universe, or world, or timeline, Jumin lived...missing her the way she missed him. He was far too expressive to be a simple videogame character after all.

She wondered if she was just a game to them too, a little person all coded up nice and neatly for them to choose their preferred routes.

A park between her work place and her apartment sat quaintly in the city. It was safe and hardly used at this time of night. For the past few months since returning, MC had made it a habit to eat dinner here, enjoy the night, and pretend she could see the stars. Tonight was no different. Pulling her thermos from her backpack and a bottle of water, she found a comfy spot on a children's jungle gym and sat down to eat.

Cars honked and neon signs buzzed. People walked on the streets. People talked loudly. She could hear it all from her little spot, and it felt almost nostalgic. For all the secrecy, Rika's apartment had sat in a fairly occupied part of Seoul, and from the little one bedroom MC had always been able to hear the city life.

She could hear it too, from Jumin's penthouse.

Closing her eyes, she tried to picture her friends.

Zen was probably at rehearsals now. He worked late into the night, practicing, doing his best for whatever upcoming role he may be participating in. Jaehee was probably still at work too—although MC had thoroughly chewed Jumin out for working his poor secretary too hard—since she'd been allowed a revision of her schedule, late nights turned into noontime sign-ins for work instead of the usual eight o'clock.

Yoosung and Seven probably weren't doing too differently. Yoosung was probably causing another bout of sleep deprivation by playing a LOLOL tournament. Seven was also probably sleep deprived, but from doing secret spy stuff rather than having fun. She hoped regardless, that they were doing well.

And Jumin?

"And Jumin," MC sighed, sinking her head onto her knees and squeezing her eyes shut.

A deep and familiar baritone followed. "And me?"

She'd done this frequently, in her return. Imagine him there next to her, hear his voice, feel the ghost of his touch.

A warm hand gently rested on the top of her head, slowly smoothing out her hair.

She wrapped her arms around her legs. "You're probably at home, staring out at those stupid French doors in the living room watching the nightlife live on. Elizabeth the Third is probably at your feet, being the cute thing that she is before going off and finding something shiny that catches her eye."

There's an answering chuckle and her breath shatters in her chest.

Please, she begged. This isn't funny, this is just cruel.

There's quiet and the presence of the hand on her head gone. MC knew she was alone again. She won't go home yet, she needed a minute to collect herself.

But then there's a shuddering breath and the most gentle murmur. "And if I were to say I'm beside you again?"

MC reeled back so terribly that she fell off the jungle gym. A sharp yelp escaped her as she landed on her tailbone and stars circled in front of her eyes. Hurried footsteps and the panicked shout of her name met her ears—she stared in a daze as Jumin hurried and crouched before her, worrying over her.

She gazed dumbly.

"My love, are you hurt?" Jumin's voice is urgent, and he gently lifted her arms, her ankles, twisting her shoulders, checking for injuries.

MC stares and stares and stares until she's squinting.

To his credit, Jumin bears her scrutiny without flinching. Just that same urgent and worried look.

"You're here." She finally breathed.

Relief visibly washed over Jumin and he relaxed. His hand, it's warm—so, so warm—gently cupped her cheek and MC leaned into the touch without question.

Jumin's nose brushed against hers. "I'm sorry it took so long."

"That's what you're apologizing for?" MC whispered, not knowing if she was supposed to laugh or cry or both.

A velvety laugh rumbled in his chest and he rested his forehead against hers. "Darling, I can't apologize for you being clumsy."

MC choked, shaking her head. Her hands tenderly cupped his face, thumbs sweeping along his jaw. Jumin closed his eyes and pressed a little closer to her, his breath feathering along her cheek with every heave of his chest.

#mystic messenger #mysme #jumin han #jumin x mc #mysme jumin han #jumin han x mc #song fic: bts blue and grey

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ginkgomoon · 3 years

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Hello there! I hope everything is going well with you. (・∀・)

I have some questions. In CH 30 & 32 the Time Observer mentioned about the "price being too heavy/dear" & he mentioned that he never expected for Victor to choose that method to prevent the crisis. I was wondering what price is he talking about & what's "the method" he mentioned? & Victor collapsing in CH 32 was not from hitting the bullet I believe. What exactly happened there?

Also...I don't know the details but I think I saw it somewhere that Victor goes through different timelines & dimensions for 10000 years in the later part of the story...? I remember reading it in a R&S that every time he crosses a dimension he'd experience soul crushing pain... The mere thought of doing it for so long honestly made me feel traumatized. I was hoping you could give me some insights as to what exactly he was doing.

I hope I'm not bothering you with tons of questions & they made sense. Thanks a lot in advance! Have a good day! <3

Hello!!

Thank you, you too! :)

I hope I helped answered your questions here. It's quite long, so enjoy the read!

I did Victor’s Time Observer analysis and I’ll be heavily referencing that post to help answer this particular ask. Big thank you to @cheri-cheri and @ey8508 for help clarifying some of my thoughts concerning Victor this chapter! Spoilers down below! ⏱

“With great power comes great responsibility.” -The Peter Parker Principle

We all know Victor bears great power, but also with that comes great responsibility. He is the sole individual who has the will and power to alter time and space, however this develops drastic consequences to his health and to history- all for his love for MC.

Victor doesn’t care about this price- he is more concerned with whether he can prevent the death of the girl in every unpredictable future.

“The person who can save the world… is not me, but her. As for myself, I know my ending line and how much pain I can bear better than anyone. I would rather take such a risk.” -Chapter 35-36 Rumours and Secrets

Chapter 30-6

Victor is seen to be flanked by bodyguards on Adagio Street. Moments later, in a pure white space, we see the Time Observer addressing Victor.

I stood in the centre of the street, looking hesitantly around, but I was unable to spot that familiar figure.

In the dead of the night, from the distant horizon, there seemed to come the sound of a mechanical little violin.

In a boundless, pure white space, the music would be at time peaceful and solemn, and at others somber and mournful. After the final note, that pair of tightly-closed eyes opened.

The Time Observer looked at Victor, neither showing surprise.

That pale white hand brushed lightly over the violin strings, and his gravelly voice spoke up with the pluck of the string.

TO: “The natural rules of operations no longer supply. This world… in memory is a turbulent past and in imagination, there is no serene future. She should have stayed in that world. Her return was a mistake.”

Victor: “If you’re still here that means we still have a chance.”

TO: “A chance that comes at such a heavy cost. Is it really worth it? You will soon understand, in some things, you are doomed to helplessness. Try with all your might, and yet, it remains out of reach.”

Victor: “I won’t let her die again. No matter when."

This will foreshadow future events such as in Chapter 32, where Victor shows a demonstration of this.

Chapter 32-6

Amidst the scattering glass shards, I saw a number of bullets flying towards me.

Only one thought ran through my mind.

Am I going to die?

Chapter 32-8

In the darkness, a crack suddenly splits open, and a blinding light appears, obscuring my sight. My heartbeat practically came to a standstill, the pain I expected never came. The blinding light disappeared, instantaneously replaced by darkness.

Time seemed to pause for a second.

The pitch black bullets, the fractured glass, the car in mid-air…

And then it fell all heavily to the ground.

And in this moment, Victor challenged “fate”, or rather, the “natural rules of operations”, stated by the Time Observer.

I reached out and grabbed the black clothing fluttering before me. Even my voice was trembling.

MC: “Victor…”

I looked in a daze at the man before me, at those fierce eyes beneath his wind-blown hair.

He was looking back at me, as if trying to etch me into his eyes with his deep gaze. But there was another emotion hidden within as well.

After confirming he was unharmed, I let out a sigh, then looked anxiously into his eyes.

MC: “What are you doing here?”

Victor: “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

But this time, his voice was flat.

MC: “I’m sorry… but I know exactly what I’m doing. I’m not unaware of the danger… I must simply stay and stop them.”

I hastily wanted to get Victor out of danger, but his feet were planted firmly. I looked up, to get a look at his expression.

His voice was steady, stopping me in my tracks.

Victor: “I see.”

MC: “You really believe I can stop them?”

Victor: “I said before, even if you don't trust yourself, always trust me. I won’t do anything I'm not sure I can handle. Go what you think needs to be done.”

He patted the back of my head lightly, with a hint of tremor in his voice. He didn’t ask me or stop me, as if he already knew the choice I’d made.

So, while the STF agents and runaway Evolvers were battling, MC was literally going to die at that moment. But Victor enters- using his Evol to stop time, ultimately stopping the bullets and MC’s death.

I whirled around, hoping to catch sight of him.

MC: “Victor!”

I wanted to tell him I’d done it, that I really had prevented this crisis.

A faint worry floated up in my chest. What about Victor?

Medic: “Someone, come quick! There’s another person here!”

I turned and hurried to the end of the bridge.

I then quickly found him.

Ringed by a crowd of people, there he was, the person I would recognise anywhere.

It was…

I halted my steps for a moment, then ran to him without hesitation.

I broke into a panic.

Chapter 32-10

Victor… What happened to him??

I pushed the crowd aside and frantically ran to him.

His face was pallid, eyes squeezed shut, his hair plastered messily to his forehead with sweat. I grasped his hand, unable to believe how icy cold it felt to the touch.

MC: "How could you… Why did you…”

Just then, those eyes shut with pain cracked open. He pursed his lips and then coughed violently, blood started trickling out. Even like that, he still chuckled weakly.

Victor: “I used to think… that your problem was that you thought you could control fate all by yourself. Stubborn, self-reliant, in over your head. Whenever anyone tried to tell you anything, no matter what they said, it was always in one ear and out the other.”

Although it sounded a little weak, his voice was unusually calm, and didn’t really even pause or halt. Almost if, if he stopped, he wouldn't be able to start again.

Victor: “But I really did learn a little something from you. You are the thing unto yourself, so only know the best what your values and decisions should be. No one can guide you. And just like I can’t hold you back, you also can’t change this decision that I’ve made. Don’t ask why, this time, just let me say my piece.”

His voice grew weaker, but he managed to lift his right hand and place it over mine.

I clasped his hand, and a feeling of suspense and dread came over me like I'd never felt before.

MC: “I know… I know… You don’t have to say more.”

He was afraid of something, but not because his life was slipping away. It was more like… something would happen.

Victor closed his eyes, completely exhausted. I squeezed his hand tighter, as if trying to hang on to those remnants of warmth.

You have to make it through this.

A man standing by the riverside swiped his hand through the fog, swiped his hand through the fog, stirring it up into an erratic vortex.

Zero: “Did he actually…”

TO: Like I said before, he is the most suitable candidate.”

Zero: “But he refused to help us open the Door of Return.”

TO: “Perhaps it’s only temporary, and he’ll change his mind. I didn’t imagine he’d choose this method for preventing this crisis. Too bad… the price was so dear.”

After Victor saves MC from death, she finds him on the ground- pale and in terrible pain. Throughout Victor’s time with MC, we slowly see the influence he has on her- and the influence she has on him. He tells her that while she shoulders everything on her own and never listens to anyone, she did teach him things in the process. With her love and kindness, she strives to defy “nature's course” and saves worlds. Literally.

You were correct, Victor didn’t suffer injuries from the bullets because he stopped them just in time but Victor is overusing his Evol, and it’s gradually taking a toll on his body. Even back before MC crossed over to the Winter World, Victor was trying to find other alternative ways for MC to live and not sacrifice herself. Unfortunately, there were none. He did also suffer immense pain whenever he time traveled, especially when it led to his time travel pocket watch cracking and breaking in the end.

Victor would normally be practical and very principled in how he executes his plans, but this time around, it was him. This- he- was the plan. That's it. This is similar to how Victor opened a time rift to send MC away in Chapter 18- to somewhere and sometime in space. He waited for her to come back with the help of the Time Observers to confirm her safety. Only someone with his powerful Evol could do that, otherwise they’d risk losing consciousness in the “Time Rift”.

Additionally, he held onto that hope that MC could and would be saved in the end, like how he tried to find her for 17 years after the orphanage incident, not knowing whether she was dead or alive. Victor wants to wield that control, denying “helplessness” and “winning all the bets” he had with MC prior to her “death” in Chapter 18. Victor stated that if she couldn’t trust herself, then she should trust him and his decisions to protect her. Even if it’s detrimental to his health. Life-threatening, even. Because in the end, Victor knows he will always win. He just does.

And since he knows that he won’t be able to stop MC from doing what she wants, we now see him fully embracing then acting upon it. He accepts that she’s her own person and he has grown to have so much faith in her, seeing how she successfully survived Winter World then coming back home safe. It’s almost like- “okay. It’s you and me against the world”.

On the sidelines, Time observer and ZERO both observe, surprised that Victor will pay such a high price to avoid MC’s death from occurring- with the risk of his own. Could they have lost their most powerful time Evolver from this incident?

Though, we shouldn’t be surprised that the Time Observers think that Victor would be so foolish to use his Evol up to the point where it would actually kill him just to save MC. It's literally in their name- “Observers''- they haven’t and aren’t even allowed to actively participate in the events that happened in Loveland, let alone the different histories and worlds that existed, other than claiming to “correct it” by influencing other people who can. They don’t appear to have this kind of empathy in understanding Victor and why he wants to save MC’s life, or how important she is to him.

“You misunderstand. We never alter, we are correctors of history. We want you to join us, your power’s scope of influence has already surpassed the dimension of this current world. Before you are rejected by it…”

Victor: “I will not leave this world.”

“Even if you’ve seen the future of what is all to pass?”

Victor: “No matter what happens, the person I’m seeking for is right here.” -Black Curtain: Chapter 6

Also taken from my Time Observer Analysis-

Since Victor’s Evol is strong and has the capability to do more than “observe” like the Time Observers, he is the one who is deemed the most suitable and more responsible for “grasping the time in the past and the future”. Ever since STF found out about Victor’s Evol, they wanted him to cooperate with them too. Every time he stops time, certain surrounding energy and space changes.

The organisation also entertains the idea of fate, and how things should be refused to be changed. Since they have “seen the future of how the world ends”, they want Victor to cooperate with them in making it stop. Nobody can rewrite the ending among them, except him. Victor refuses to join because he doesn’t adhere to this idea.

“QUEEN’s return has brought unexpected consequences; the entire collapse of the world is ahead of schedule. The world’s line has come to an end, no matter through time or space, we can no longer interfere in this world.” Was there a difference in letting each world go to the end alone to close all the world lines in the future directly? Although we found a breakthrough, this situation really caused us a lot of headaches: she who should not have survived and she should not have been sent to other worlds. As a result, it would seriously interfere and disrupt the timeline. No one had done it before, and no one except Victor could do it.

In disbelief, we weighed it and threw the olive branch- as long as he is willing to cooperate, we will help him find her. As decisive as he was to refuse a few times before, this time he had promised me without thinking. And for a moment, I didn’t know if his decisiveness was good or bad. -Chapter 33-34 Rumours and Secrets

Victor "travelling ten-thousand years in the future" was mentioned in his Chapter 35-36 Rumours and Secrets. The Space and Time Administration (who the Time Observers were under) could "repair his abilities", after he stopped the bullets from hitting MC. He would have to stay there for the Space and Time Administration's time duration of ten-thousand years. Victor accepts. (BIG THANKS TO @cheri-cheri FOR CORRECTING ME LAST MINUTE WITH THIS ONE, YOU AMAZING HUMAN!!)

#mlqc #mlqc victor #love and producer #mr love queens choice #恋与制作人 #mlqc translation #mlqc analysis #mlqc en #mlqc time observers #victor #mlqc spoilers

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