angelilyyy

he saw you three times over the past ten months. the the first occurance was at the dispensary. he was on his way out and you were on your way in. he opened the door for you and you quite literally turned and walked away.

the second was at a friend's funeral. he passed way unexpectedly in a tragic accident. you paid your respects and the moment you saw he was also there, you left.

you found yourself another coffee shop, gym, grocery store, literally everything. you stopped going to places you had no business going to as well.

gas stations? you didn't drive, so you stopped.

the pet supply store? you didn't have a pet but he did. why bother?

shoko's house? he lives in the apartment complex right across from her's. they're closer and have always been closer. you didn't have to see her at her place anymore.

you also distanced yourself from any mutual friends you had just to lessen the risk of seeing him too. he was having breakfast with shoko when he learned that.

"how's she been? i just wanna know if she's okay."

"i wouldn't know," shoko shrugged, taking a bite of her breakfast sandwich. "she doesn't talk to me much anymore."

"can you figure out? she has me blocked on everything."

"ha," she chuckled while pulling her phone out. "serves you right. i'd do the same."

he really did want to stay in contact with you after the breakup, but he knew better. he knew you wouldn't be able to do that, and it was selfish of him to even expect that. he honestly didn't even know if he himself could hold that promise either, so he understood why you went mia on him.

you could imagine his surprise when he looked down at his phone and saw a call coming from you.

he was at the gym with satoru. suguru was like a night owl. he'd always prefer doing things at night. he'd tell you that's when he felt the most productive—and he was.

he worked an overnight job, did all of his school work at night, and in this instance, he was getting a gym sesh in past midnight with his best friend.

he had just gotten out of the shower after hitting back and biceps, ending the night with cardio. his towel wrapped low around his waist, water droplets dripping onto his body from his hair.

as he finished drying his hair, lotioning, and putting some clothes on, listening to his best friend yap about whatever the fuck, his phone lit up on the counter.

he thought it was strange that someone would be calling him at around 2am.

what was more strange was that your contact was showing up at this ungodly hour.

he almost didn't believe his eyes when he saw your contact name, still saved as 'baby' with a heart, and old contact picture of a candid smile he refused to delete, just like the rest of your pictures.

suguru picked up immediately, already assuming the worst. were you okay? safe? alive? his heart was racing and he began to panic.

"sugu?" you hiccuped.

his heart dropped to his ass.

"please, please. are you there?"

suguru pinched the bridge of his nose. "yeah. yeah, sorry. hey, bab–" he cut himself off after seeing satoru raise an eyebrow. "what's going on?"

"i don't know," you slurred, voice breaking because you felt embarrassed and really just wanted to crawl into a corner and cry. "i'm drunk. i feel sick. i was here with these new people and— and– they left without me." you hiccuped.

"and then there was this guy doing these dumb street interviews and i had to get away because he was annoying. i don't know what to do. i'm lost and alone and i feel like i'm going to pass out and i didn't know who else to call–"

"hey, calm down," suguru replied, trying not to make it seem obvious that he too, was freaking out. "where are you?"

"i was at the club. 44. and then i walked down some street. i don't know which way but i smell curry. not the good kind though. like really bad curry. i feel like i'm going to–" you gagged. "throw up."

"no, don't throw up." he covered the mic of his phone and looked over at satoru, who was frozen in one spot. "hurry up. put some fucking clothes on. we have to leave," suguru scolded.

he uncovered his mic, running off to grab his gym bag. "baby, can you do me a favour? put me on speaker and share your location with me," he asked you with a much gentler tone than he just did with satoru.

"no, i don't think i can," you answered, starting to get overwhelmed. "i just remembered your number but i have you blocked and my phone's about to die–"

"baby?" satoru questioned.

"hurry the fuck up or i'm going to leave you here."

you started crying on the other end abruptly, "why the fuck are you yelling at me?!"

"no, no," suguru took a deep breath in and out, "i'm sorry. i'm not yelling at you. i'm talking to satoru."

satoru quickly grabbed his things and they made their way to suguru's car. he pleaded you stay on the phone with him, to which you rambled on and on about how your phone was about to die and you'd try your best.

suguru pulled out of the parking lot. his phone connected to his car, and that's when satoru began connecting the dots.

"give me five. i'll be there in five. don't move, okay?"

"i can't move, sugu. my entire body feels so heavy."

"good enough. just give me five minutes."

you giggled a bit. "i'd be lucky if someone didn't kidnap me right now."

"don't say that," he scolded. "five minutes, okay?"

he had a pretty good idea where you were, considering 44 was the one club where you and suguru would actually enjoy.

oh right. the third occurance was the club. it was still a month fresh. you were with your friends when you saw him. you were pretty drunk so you didn't run away from him instantly. matter of fact, you looked happy to see him, and even danced with him for a while until the alcohol wore off.

you were at the bar, ordering some more cheap shots for yourself when suguru approached you.

"hey–"

"oh, hiii!" you sang. "you want one, sugu? here, let's have a shot together. it's on me."

he took the shot despite not wanting to drink tonight. he was dragged out of his shared home with satoru and toji because he was "sulking all day n night," according to toji, and how neither of them could stand it anymore. suguru could not say no to you. especially not after seeing you the happiest he had ever since the night you two broke up.

the dj had been playing a mix of your favourite songs.

the kind you used to scream in the car together with the windows down and the bass turned up too loud. music you'd dance to in the kitchen while waiting for your food to heat up. the tunes you'd hum under your breath absentmindedly and then deny doing when he pointed it out. suguru recognized it almost immediately. it made something twist in his chest before he could stop it.

you grabbed his wrist without warning. "come on," you insisted, already tugging him toward the floor. "this one's mine."

he should have refused.

he knew he should have.

he knew that. somewhere, deep down, he knew that.

but a month of not having you near him had done something ugly to his self-control. the second you touched him first, smiling at him like that, whatever sense he had left just folded. the word 'no' died in his throat before it could form, so he let you pull him.

the dance floor was packed. lights flashing overhead in soft, dizzying colours, bass crawling up through the soles of his shoes. people were too close, too loud, too sweaty, but then there was you in front of him laughing and swaying to the music and somehow none of it felt irritating anymore.

"how have you been?" you asked suddenly, like this was normal. like this was just another night. like you hadn't blocked him on everything and vanished out of his life so suddenly.

he stared at you for half a second.

"good."

you squinted at him immediately. "liar."

he almost smiled. "why ask if you're just gonna call me a liar?"

"i wanted to see if you'd lie."

"and?"

"and you did."

he shook his head. "i've been alright."

"you still staying up all night like a psycho?"

"i work overnight."

"that wasn’t the question," you teased.

"... yeah."

you frowned. "that sounds concerning. you should really get that checked out. i'm concerned for you."

"it's not concerning."

"suguru," you deadpanned, swaying a little closer with the music. "everything about you is a little concerning. i worry for you everyday."

that made him laugh for real. not a lot. just enough for his mouth to twitch and the sound to leave his nose.

your eyes widened immediately. "there he is. there's my sweet boy."

you looked so stupidly happy over something so small that it made him feel sick in the worst way.

he missed this.

he missed you giving him shit. he missed the way you'd look at him like pulling one reaction out of him was some great personal victory.

"fine. i'll get it checked out." he gave in. "what about you? how have you been?" he asked after a moment, quieter this time.

you shrugged like it was nothing. "same old."

same old.

like you hadn't cut everyone off. like you hadn't become a ghost. like there wasn't something tired hiding underneath your smile.

his hands stayed on your waist. your arms had moved up loosely around his shoulders by then, more for balance than anything else. at some point the space between you disappeared completely, and neither of you were the ones to fix it.

you tipped your head back to look at him properly, cheeks warm, eyes glassy. "i know you missed me, baby. i did too."

there was no accusation in it. no teasing, either.

he could have lied—probably should have. instead, he just looked at you.

and that was answer enough because your expression softened in that way he remembered too well. the way it only ever did with him. like something in you unclenched. his hand slid slightly higher against your back without him thinking about it, keeping you close. keeping you steady.

and that was when it hit him in one clean, miserable wave.

this was the happiest he had felt in a while.

not at the gym. not at work. not with satoru and toji dragging him around trying to fix him with noise, and routine, and sarcasm. it was here, with you halfway drunk and smiling against him in the middle of a packed dance floor.

the happiest he'd felt was standing in the middle of a crowded club, holding the girl he wasn't supposed to touch anymore.

that was until you suddenly snapped out of it.

you were still swaying together when something changed. your movements slowed. your hands loosened slightly where they rested on his shoulders.

suguru noticed immediately. "you good?" he asked, leaning closer so you could hear him over the music.

you didn't answer. instead, you were staring at him. really staring. like you were seeing him properly for the first time all night.

"… wait." your brows slowly pulled together. your gaze flicked down to where his hands were resting on your waist. then back up to his face. the haze in your eyes cleared just enough. "suguru?"

the way you said his name was different this time hit his gut. "what's up, baby? are you okay?"

panic flickered across your face. you stepped back abruptly, your hands dropping away from his shoulders.

"i—" your eyes darted around the crowded dance floor like you were suddenly trying to remember how you got there. "i have to go."

"hey, wait—"

but you were already shaking your head. "sorry."

the crowd swallowed you almost immediately as you pushed your way toward the edge of the dance floor, disappearing between bodies and flashing lights before he could follow.

it was the last time suguru felt your touch.

"y/n?" satoru asked in a whisper, snapping him out of the memory.

suguru nodded his head and muted for a brief moment. "she's drunk–"

"i'm really trying to wrap my head around why you guys broke up." suguru shot a look at satoru. "what? don't look at me like that. you still love her. she still loves you. i don't get it."

suguru clenched his jaw and unmuted so he could avoid having this conversation.

he knew. in his brain it made sense at the time. he just didn't want to get into it with satoru. it was something he had already gotten into with his psychotherapist and psychiatrist and it was a painful awakening.

his gps was showing his eta to be thirteen minutes away. suguru kept his word and made it in five.

he found you sitting on the curb in a mini skirt and little top, heels taken off and discarded far behind you. your phone was still on, not having the chance to die before suguru had gotten there and you can hear the audio starting to screech in close proximity.

the moment you groaned with irritation, he ended the call. you looked up at him with mascara running down your face because of your little breakdown earlier.

when you saw him, it felt like time stopped.

the world stopped spinning, everyone and everything slowed down.

he was the light of your life.

after you and suguru broke up, not only had you become extremely avoidant, but you numbed the feeling and filled the void with the help of an expensive and impractical form of "therapy": alcohol.

you wouldn't drink all the time. it started off occasional, once every two-ish weeks when you would party with your friends on the weekend. you also had knew your limits that you didn't mean to exceed. you'd tell yourself it happens.

but the context made it concerning.

you'd brush off your friends' concerns, knowing deep down, they were right.

you should have listened.

every two weeks turned into every week, then every few days, then everyday, multiple times everyday where you were always blacked out.

seeing suguru made you want to bawl.

it hit it all at once. you hated that you let it get so bad. you needed help. you wanted to get better. seeing him made you realize that.

you still loved him.

and after all, loving someone means wanting to be better for them.

as he crouched down to reach eye level and placed his retro nike windbreaker over your shoulders, you felt immense shame. you didn't have it in you to look him in the eyes. you didn't want to know if he looked disappointed or disgusted at you.

he didn't.

he was just glad you were safe—and that you trusted him enough to still be there for you.

he took his time putting your arms through the sleeves and zipped it up for you. as he was doing that, you noticed satoru outside of the passager door, using his arms as support to lean on top of suguru's car.

"are you okay?" satoru yelled out.

you couldn't answer in time. you were bridal swept off your feet by suguru swiftly. his hands had come up automatically like second nature. one arm slid behind your back, the other under your knees.

you made a weak sound of protest as your feet leave the ground. "hey," you mumbled. "i could've walked."

"i don't think so," he replied quietly.

you could feel him—solid, warm, familiar in a way that makes your chest ache. he smelt like soap. for a moment your body relaxed before your brain could catch up. he adjusted his grip when you shifted, tightening just enough to keep you steady.

he walked around the car to where satoru's standing. suguru didn't look at him, "get in the back."

"the back?"

"yeah," suguru repeated. "the back."

"this is fucked up," he disapproved.

"you'll survive."

suguru opened the passenger door and lowered you into the seat carefully. he adjusted you when you slumped sideways, made sure your legs are tucked in properly, then reached across to buckle your seatbelt himself. he gave it a small tug to make sure it was secure.

"you good?" he asked for personal reassurance.

you nodded, already melting into the seat.

he pulled his jacket closer around you, tucking it up under your chin like you might get cold, then closed the door ever so gently.

satoru just stared at what was unfolding before his eyes.

"… wooooow," he dragged, closing the door. "i get booted and she gets princess treatment." he leaned forward between the seats. "you know, technically, you could've just let me sit there."

you giggled a bit. typical satoru and his old, rage-baiting antics. god, he was so dramatic.

"you complain too much," suguru shook his head while putting his own seatbelt on.

a little time passed. you were watching the streetlights slide by under the night sky when suguru stopped at a red light.

satoru slouched in the backseat, stretching his legs. "yo, i'm exhausted. there's literally no one out right now. just run the red."

suguru looked at him through his rear view mirror with a raised brow, "no. i'm abiding traffic laws."

you pointed forward immediately, poking his cheek. "aw, laws. i missed that about you."

satoru sighed dramatically. "oh my god. you've been gone ten months and you'ree already ganging up on me again."

"that's because you're annoying, toru," you reply like it's an instinct (it was).

"annoying is crazy."

"you quite literally thrive off getting on everyone's nerves. exhibit one, me. exhibit two, sugu. exhibit three, hime. should i continue?"

suguru let out a quiet huff of laughter before he can stop himself.

you squint at him. "did you just laugh?"

"no."

"oh my god. you so did."

satoru leaned forward between the seats, grinning, "don't lie. you've been miserable for months. that's the first time i've heard you laugh in a while."

"the fuck are you talking about? i didn't laugh," suguru lied. "now sit back. you're distracting me."

he scoffed. still leaning forward, "didn't you run like three reds getting here? now you're talking about laws and safety."

"that was different,” suguru retorted.

"how?" there's a brief silence. "yeaaaahhh, that's what i thought."

you hummed, pleased, "i like when he drives safe."

satoru chuckled, "careful. if you keep that up he's never gonna break a rule again."

"can you not?" suguru rubbed his temple.

the moment the car stopped, he was out of his seat, around the hood, opening your door before you can even unbuckle yourself.

suguru doesn't even let you try to walk.

"okay, okay," you mumbled as he reached for you. "i can–"

he doesn’t argue. he just lifts you.

again.

he pulled you in until your cheek pressed against his shoulder. you barely had time to protest before your body settled, heavy and warm and embarrassingly comfortable. you sighed without meaning to.

the lobby was quiet. almost too quiet. your voice echoed when you whispered. "you're gonna drop me."

"i would never, baby," he said, immediately, adjusting his grip instinctively, thumb caressing into your side. "you know that."

you do.

but that's what made everything about you two hurt more.

the elevator ride was slow. you sway slightly with the movement, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie without asking permission.

"all good?" he asked again, softer this time.

you nodded, "you're really strong, sugu."

"of course i am," he replied, softly yet snarkily, still holding you like you weighed nothing.

the elevator doors opened. he continued to carry you down the hallway like it’s nothing. you hadn't walked through these halls in months despite almost always being here throughout the five years you knew suguru, and the three you dated.

suguru exhaled and gestured toward the door. "you got it?"

"yeah, just one sec,” satoru replied, already fishing his keys out as they reach the door, glancing over his shoulder when he realizes suguru never put you down. "huh?"

"what?" suguru asked shifting his grip, steady yet antsy, thinking something happened to you while he couldn't see. "is she okay?"

satoru nodded, unlocking the door. "yeah. just looks like she's damn near boutta pass out."

"don't drop me," you mumbled as suguru walked into their apartment.

satoru huffed, keeping the door open, "surprised he didn't."

the apartment looked the same. it was dim and quiet at night compared to the chaos that comes throughout the day.

you always loved it here. the kitchen was on the left as soon as you'd enter, leading into the living room, and then three rooms—one for toji, one for satoru, and one for suguru. only toji's room was shut right now. he was probably fast asleep.

suguru placed you on the couch. you immediately sank into the cushions, pillows, and blankets that were laid out. he turned on the lamp near the couch on for a little more light.

"there," he starts, "stay."

you nod at his command, "i think i'm pretty good at that."

satoru snorts from behind you, toeing off his shoes, "liar. you ran off and got lost less than an hour ago."

suguru disappeared into the kitchen while you and satoru continued to bicker. he soon came back with a glass of water, crouching slightly to hold it out to you.

you handed the glass back when you're done, leaning sideways into the couch cushions. suguru pulls a blanket from underneath you and drapes it over you without comment, tucking it around your legs. his fingers linger for a second longer than necessary.

a comfortable silence settled in.

a little too familiar, like how it used to be.

"okay!" satoru slapped the couch, disrupting the silence, "i'm tapping out now. i'm sensing something coming and i don't wanna be in between that. don't have the brain power for that right now."

you frowned, "you're abandoning me?"

"yes. i am," he repeated. "love you, but i'm tired," he stretched. "let me know if you need anything."

"i won't."

"yeaaahh, we'll see about that. you absolutely will," he ruffled your hair before walking towards his room. "you know where i'll be."

suguru sighed, "go to bed."

satoru grinned at you, softer now. "night." you waved back.

the silence stretched once again. you could not look at him. you hadn't been able to look him in the eyes the entire night. you sat on the couch, everything coming back to you again. his words, his promises, his warmth, his touch, memories with him.

it was right about now where you wished satoru didn't leave. the alcohol was leaving your system rudely.

your throat began to close up again. it felt like wires were tightening up around your neck, making it hard to breathe, hard to regulate yourself.

unbeknownst of your state again, suguru excused himself momentarily, "i'll be back. i'm just going to grab something."

he went into his bathroom, scurrying through his cabinets and drawers knowing he didn't throw out the makeup wipes you left at his place in bulk. it took him a little to find them because they were hidden away at the back, but he got them. he read the packaging carefully, making sure they were still good to use. he grabbed an unopened pack, knowing they'd still be okay.

then, he went into his closet and looked through some hoodies. his fingers immediately recognized your favourite one he owned, also hidden at the back. it was just the sage essentials hoodie, but for some reason you loved it.

he remembered how the conversation went and could not help but smile sadly at the bittersweet memory.

"you need to stop stealing my clothes, baby. i'm running out."

"i mean, i could give everything back," you responded, sitting at your desk finishing a paper whilst in his hoodie. "not this one though."

"i don't even think i got to wear it yet," he stated politely, pointing out a fact. not offended, nor argument-driven, just calm and patient, like he always has been with you.

"girlfriend tax, sugu. sorry not sorry," you smiled. "in my defence, this is the only one that actually fits me well. the rest are like dresses on me."

"okay," he kissed your forehead. "it's yours. only because you look good in it."

he found your shorts he did not get to give back to you. they were thin, black shorts but he figured you'd be a lot more comfortable in these than the skirt you were wearing.

he had just stepped back into the living room when he saw you curled in on yourself, shoulders shaking, mascara streaked even worse than before. your top was gone, discarded somewhere on the floor without really thinking about it, overheated and uncomfortable. you were sitting there in nothing but your bra under the heap of blankets.

he froze for half a second, then hurried to you. he placed the wipes and clothes on the table across from you without looking.

"hey, hey, hey. what's wrong?" he asked quietly. "why are you crying?"

you tried to wipe your face quickly when you saw him standing there.

it didn't help.

you looked like a mess. you were a mess.

your eyes were red, lashes clumped, eyeliner smeared halfway down your cheeks, lips trembling like you were barely holding it together.

he knelt in front of you on the ground. he placed his hands on your covered legs and drew little circles into the blanket with his thumb. he was close enough for you you could feel his warmth again and it made something in your chest cave in.

"slow down," his voice remained quiet. "look at me. i only left for a minute. what's going on?"

you shook your head. "i can't," you whispered, voice cracking. "i'm sorry, i didn't mean to start again, i just— it won't stop. i don't know why it won't stop."

the rest dissolved into sobs.

he sat beside you, approaching you slowly. his arm slid around your shoulders slowly, cautiously, like he was testing whether you'd let him. his hand rested flat behind your head first, thumb brushing your hair lightly. when you didn't pull away, when you didn't tense up or tell him to stop, he tightened his hold just a little and guided you closer.

your body went with him without resistance.

your forehead pressed into his chest, right over his heart, and you hated how natural it felt. how your muscles relaxed on instinct, how your breathing shifted automatically to match his.

it was like your body remembered him better than your mind did.

his other arm came up around your back, folding you in completely now, holding you close in a way that felt both protective and familiar. his hand settled between your shoulder blades, firm and steady, fingers spreading slightly like he was grounding himself as much as he was grounding you.

you could feel him everywhere.

the warmth of his body through his shirt. the slow rise and fall of his chest under your cheek. the quiet, steady rhythm of his heartbeat. the faint scent of his shampoo and cologne that clung to him, something you'd always associated with comfort.

you clutched at his shirt without thinking, fingers curling into the fabric like you were afraid he might let go if you didn't hold on. your grip was uneven and weak at first, hesitant, like you weren’t sure you were allowed to touch him like this anymore.

he noticed this, like how he noticed everything. his hand moved. it slid up your back slightly, pressing you closer, a silent reassurance.

it was okay.

you could.

your face buried deeper into his chest, and that was when the sob you'd been holding back finally broke free. it wasn't loud. it wasn't dramatic. it was quiet and ugly and shaky.

"shhh, calm down," he murmured softly, lips brushing against your hair as he spoke. "i got you."

one of his hands began moving in slow, steady strokes up and down your back, from your shoulders to the middle of your spine and back again. the motion was repetitive, grounding, something he'd done for you countless times before when you were overwhelmed or anxious or couldn't sleep.

and that was when it really hit him.

you never cried like this.

in all the years he'd known you, he could count the times he'd seen you properly break down on both hands, nothing more.

the night you'd spotted that trembling stray on the sidewalk and knelt down in the rain because you couldn't stand the thought of it being alone. he caught you tearing up a bit, but wiping your tears away before he'd noticed. he promised you he'd take it home, and he had.

the week your grandparents passed within days of each other, when you'd sat on his bed in silence for hours before finally curling into him and letting yourself cry, apologizing between breaths like you were doing something wrong.

the nights you'd gotten overwhelmed about school, work, and your future, staring at the ceiling and insisting you were fine until the pressure built up too much and cracked through.

that was it.

that was all.

every other time, you swallowed it. joked it off. distracted yourself. took care of everyone else first. you were strong to a fault.

you felt it in the way your body responded immediately, tension slowly bleeding out of you with every pass of his hand. your sobs softened into broken breaths, then into quiet sniffles pressed against his chest.

he didn't check his phone, didn't shift away, didn't rush you. he stayed like that the entire time.

"breathe," he whispered into your hair. "just breathe with me, okay? slow down."

he inhaled slowly, exaggerated it a little, held it for a second, then let it out. you tried to follow, even though it felt impossible at first. your breaths were uneven and shaky, but eventually, slowly, they started to match his. after a while, your sobs softened into quiet sniffles and broken little breaths.

your throat hurt. your head felt heavy. you felt empty and too full at the same time.

he never let go.

when you finally lifted your head, your eyes landed on his chest and you frowned faintly. "i got makeup on your shirt." there was a dark smudge of mascara, liner, and foundation smeared across his t-shirt from where you'd been crying into it.

he glanced down, clicked his tongue softly. "doesn't matter." he brushed his thumb gently under your eye, wiping away another tear. "what's going on with you, baby?" his voice laced with pure concern and ache, "please talk to me."

"nothing," you lied. "i've just been drinking. i'm tired. it happens. i'm sorry."

he tilted his head and raised a brow. "try again."

he saw right through you.

"i don't know," you finally admitted. "i thought i did. i always think i do. but i don't."

he waited.

"i didn't mean for tonight to happen like this," you went on. "i didn't mean to get that drunk. i didn't mean to lose my friends. i didn't mean to call you. it just keeps happening."

your voice wavered.

"i'm tired of pretending i'm okay," you whispered. "i'm not. i've been pretending for so long i don't even know what 'okay' is supposed to feel like anymore."

suguru knew that feeling all too well.

if anyone knew, it was him.

after all, that is why he had decided to leave.

he remembered the night clearly.

the way the words had tasted wrong the moment they left his mouth. even though it made him sick to his stomach, he knew he had to be mean, or else you wouldn't let go.

the way you had looked at him across the room like the air had been knocked out of you. he had told himself he was doing the right thing—that he was protecting you from the worst parts of him.

back then, his head had this constant, heavy fog. it was suffocating. every thought circling the same conclusion that he was dragging you down with him. every bad day he had, he started noticing the way you watched him more carefully. the way you tried to lighten the room when he went quiet, the way you carried both of your moods on your shoulders without ever complaining.

it had terrified him.

not because you were doing anything wrong, but rather because you were doing everything right.

you loved him enough to stay, and he had convinced himself that was exactly the problem.

so he left first.

he had told himself you would heal faster that way—if he stepped out of your life completely, you would eventually move on and find someone easier to love. someone who didn't come with the weight he carried around inside his chest every day.

he thought he had been doing you a favour.

sitting here now, holding you while you cried into his shirt, the idea felt almost cruel.

his hand slowed slightly on your back. "have you been drinking like this a lot?" he asked quietly.

you didn't answer right away. your fingers tightened slightly in his shirt. "… yeah." the word came out small.

"how long?"

you sniffed, wiping under your nose with the back of your hand before answering. "i don't know," you admitted. "a while."

he didn't need more explanation than that. the exhaustion in your voice said enough.

"every day?" he asked carefully.

you hesitated again. "most days."

suguru exhaled slowly in worry. "okay," he murmured. "that's okay. we'll figure that out."

you frowned faintly against his chest. "figure what out?"

"how to help you."

you pulled back just enough to look at him properly for the first time since the crying had started. your lashes were still wet, eyes swollen and red, but there was something searching in your expression now.

"why would you do that?" you asked quietly.

the question caught him off guard. his brows pulled together slightly. "what do you mean?"

"why would you help me?" you repeated. "you left me."

"because it's you," he said.

he stared at you for a moment like the answer was obvious.

because it was.

"i'm going to help you no matter what. any time, irregardless of what we are. you mean too much to me for me to not help you when you reach out."

"that's not fair," you whispered. "you can just say things like that."

suguru stilled, "i'm sorr–"

"do you know how hard it's been to stay away from you? i thought if i kept seeing you i'd just… keep coming back," you admitted. "and that felt worse."

his mind flashed briefly to the three times he had seen you over the past months. the dispensary. the funeral. the club.

every single time you had turned and walked away from him like he was something dangerous. he had thought you were finally moving on. he had thought you hated him.

"i missed you too much."

suguru felt something in his chest shift uncomfortably. it was the realization settling slowly into place.

you sniffed again, voice barely above a whisper now.

"i still love you. and i hate that i do."

"i know," he said softly.

your brows furrowed. "do you?"

"yeah," his voice was quiet, but steady.

you stared at him, searching his face like you were trying to figure out if he meant it.

"then why did you leave?" you asked. there wasn't anger laced in your voice, just exhaustion.

"because i thought loving me was hurting you." the words came out louder now. "i thought if i stayed you'd eventually start resenting me for it."

you shook your head faintly. "that wasn't your decision to make."

"i know. i know that now."

his hand slid gently to the side of your neck, thumb resting just under your ear where he could feel the faint rhythm of your pulse. he hesitated for only a moment before continuing.

"… i love you. i never stopped. not once."

your eyes glistened again, but this time you weren't crying. if anything, you looked stunned. like the idea that he might still love you had never crossed your mind.

your hand lifted slowly, brushing along the side of his jaw. you let out a shaky breath and leaned forward. "you're an idiot."

"yeah," he admitted easily. "i know that too."

he moved first, but it was slow. so slow you had time to pull away, to push him, to run like you had been for months. you didn't. you met him him halfway.

the first touch of your lips was impossibly soft. it was a gentle, questioning press that was more breath than kiss. it was hesitant, testing the waters after a ten month drought.

his lips were warm, softer than you remembered. they parted immediately under yours, a quiet, welcoming surrender. your hand slid from his jaw to the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in the soft hair at his nape, holding on for dear life.

his hands, which had been resting on your legs, flew to your waist, gripping you tight enough to bruise, pulling you flush against him until there was no space left. he gripped onto you like he was afraid you might disappear. one slid up your back, tracing the line of your spine through the blanket before coming to rest between your shoulder blades, pressing you closer.

he was holding you close, but it wasn't demanding. it was grounding, like he was making sure you were real, that you were really here.

the kiss deepened, but it never grew frantic. it remained soft, almost reverent. his tongue traced your bottom lip, a slow, deliberate sweep that made you shiver.

you opened for him without a second thought, a soft sigh escaping your throat as his tongue met yours. it wasn't a hungry exploration, but a familiar, comforting dance.

it was like coming home.

"i missed this," he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with emotion. "i missed you."

you could taste the faint mint of his toothpaste, coconut chapstick, the unique flavour that was just him, and it was intoxicating.

he shifted, turning you both slightly so you were leaning back against the couch cushions, his body hovering over yours without crushing you. the angle changed, and the kiss became deeper, more intimate. his hand moved from your back to cup the side of your neck, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin just below your ear. you could feel the frantic, unsteady beat of his heart against your ribs, a rhythm that matched your own.

this was the suguru you knew.

the suguru who kissed you like you were the most precious thing in the world, who could pour all the words he couldn't say into a single touch. you were melting into it, your body relaxing under his, your hands roaming his shoulders, his back, reacquainting yourself with the solid, familiar planes of his body. a part of you, the part that had been lonely and hurting for ten months, wanted more. it wanted to feel his skin against yours, to lose yourself in him until the pain went away.

"i love you," the kiss broke apart slowly, your foreheads resting together. his eyes were closed, his breathing unsteady. "fuck, i love you so much."

you didn't trust yourself to speak, so you just nodded, pulling him back in. this time it was less hesitant, more sure. it wasn't hungry or desperate, but thorough. it was like he was trying to memorize you all over again, mapping every curve and dip of your mouth. his tongue slid against yours, a slow, deliberate dance that sent a shiver down your spine.

"sugu," you breathed out, your head falling back to give him better access, your eyes fluttering shut.

"yes, baby?" his voice was muffled against your skin, the words a broken, worshipful thing. it was the name he was finally allowed to call you after ten months, and it shattered what was left of your composure.

"please, touch me."

he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and serious. just as suddenly as it started, he stopped.

he pulled back, his breathing heavy and ragged, his hands still gripping you like he was afraid you'd vanish. his lips were swollen and red, his eyes dark and clouded with a mixture of lust and something else. something pained.

he didn't see the mess—he just saw you. he saw the girl he'd loved for years, the girl he'd broken, the girl he was desperate to put back together.

"i'm sorry," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "we can't."

your heart plummeted. shame, hot and sharp, flooded your veins.

of course.

this was a mistake.

you were a mess. a drunk, pathetic mess.

and he'd finally come to his senses. you tried to pull away, to retreat back into yourself, but his grip on you tightened, holding you in place.

"hey, look at me," he said, his voice gentle now. you couldn't. you kept your eyes down, staring at the dark smear of mascara on his t-shirt. "please, look at me."

you finally met his gaze, and what you saw there wasn't rejection. it was concern. it was that same soft, achingly familiar look he'd always given you when you were hurting.

"not like this," he said softly, his thumb stroking your cheek. "not when you're drunk. not when you're hurting. you deserve more than that, baby."

you just stared at him, your mind too fuzzy to process his words. he sighed, a quiet, resigned sound, and carefully untangled himself from you.

he knelt in front of you again, his expression unreadable. "come here," he murmured, gently taking your chin in his hand.

he pulled one of the wipes from the pack, the scent of cucumber and green tea filling the air. he was so careful as he started to clean your face, his touch impossibly light. he wiped away the tracks of your tears, the smudged mascara, the foundation that was caked around your eyes. he didn't say a word, just worked gently, his brow furrowed in concentration.

it was the most intimate thing he'd done all night.

more intimate than the kiss, more intimate than the desperate way he'd held you. this was suguru taking care of you, the way he always had. this was him seeing you at your absolute worst and choosing to tend to you instead of taking advantage.

once your face was clean, he set the wipes aside and picked up the hoodie. it was your favourite one, the soft sage green one that was perfectly worn in. "arms up," he instructed softly.

you obeyed, lifting your arms over your head. he pulled the hoodie over you, his knuckles brushing against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. it swallowed you whole, the fabric soft and warm, and it smelled overwhelmingly of him. of laundry detergent and his cologne and something that was just uniquely suguru.

he then picked up the shorts. "can you stand up for me?" you shook your head, your body feeling too heavy. he just nodded, like he expected that. "okay, just lift your hips."

he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your skirt, his gaze fixed on your face, not your body, as he slid it down your legs and tossed it aside. he helped you into the shorts, his hands lingering on your hips for just a second longer than necessary before he pulled away.

he stood up, and for a terrifying moment, you thought he was going to leave you there, cold and alone on the couch.

he stood up and held out his hand. "come on."

"where?" you whispered, your eyes wide.

"just to sleep," he promised, his voice soft. "i'll take the couch. you need to sleep in a real bed."

you shook your head. the thought of being in his bed without him somehow worse than being on the couch alone. "can you stay here with me? please? just for tonight," your voice had that small, vulnerable edge again. "i don't want to be alone."

he looked at you for a long moment, his gaze searching yours. he looked at the tear tracks on your clean cheeks, the way you were clutching his hoodie, the raw fear in your eyes.

you were his weakness. his kryptonite, even. you always made him give in.

"of course. i'm not going anywhere," he murmured.

you shifted further onto the couch, making room for him. he adjusted automatically, lying down on the outer edge, his back near the open room, his body angled slightly around yours.

it was a subconscious, protective gesture, one he'd made a thousand times before. putting himself between you and the rest of the world.

you tucked yourself in against him, instinctively, your body remembering the shape of his even when your mind was a mess. your forehead pressed against the solid warmth of his chest, right over his heart, your hand resting lightly against his stomach.

you could feel the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart under your ear, a slow, comforting thrum that was already starting to lull you into a state of calm.

his arm wrapped around you without discussion, settling securely across your back. his other hand came up to rest on your head, his fingers stroking through your hair in a slow, repetitive motion.

your breathing evened out quicker this time. the exhaustion, both emotional and physical, caught up to you fast. the weight of the last ten months, the alcohol, the crying, the emotional whiplash of seeing him again—it all crashed down on you at once.

your body went heavy, your muscles relaxing one by one. within minutes, your grip on his hoodie slackened, your hand going limp against his stomach.

he stayed awake a little longer.

listening to the sound of your breathing, deep and even now. making sure you were really okay, that this wasn't another dream he'd wake up from alone. he could feel the gentle puffs of your breath against his neck, the soft weight of your head on his chest.

it was familiar and agonizing all at once. he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering in your hair. he'd forgotten what this felt like. he'd forgotten how right it felt to hold you like this.

eventually, his eyes closed too.

——

morning came in slowly.

satoru shuffled into the kitchen first, hair a mess, still half asleep. he stopped mid-step when he saw the couch. "... oh?"

toji followed. "what now."

they both looked down to see you and suguru tangled together on the couch, completely out, faces relaxed, breathing slow and synced.

"... oh." toji stared. "man, it's been months."

satoru grinned. "nah. i knew it."

toji groaned, opening his wallet. "you said by christmas."

"i said before the year ended. it's only the first week of december. technically, i'm still right. pay up."

"okay, but this isn't 'back together' either. they're just sleeping."

"look at them," satoru scoffed quietly. "that's not casual. you're telling me you and your missus don't sleep together like that?"

toji handed over the fifty with a sigh. "fuck you."

suguru woke up the way he always did. too early, half-aware, and still tired. and the first thing he saw was two faces hovering directly above him.

he jolted. "holy fuck—"

the sudden movement sent a shock of adrenaline through his system. before his brain had even caught up with the sight of satoru and toji's smirking faces, his body reacted on pure instinct.

his arm, which had been resting loosely across your back, snapped around you. he pulled you flush against him, your body shifting easily in his arms. he rolled slightly, curling his body over yours in a move that was both protective and possessive, shielding you from the unexpected intrusion.

your face, which had been resting on his chest, was now buried in the crook of his neck, your breath warm against his skin. he held you there, a solid, unmoving wall between you and his idiot friends, his heart slamming against his ribs as he stared up at them.

"suguru's awake," satoru whispered loudly.

"no shit," toji replied, his eyes fixed on the way suguru was practically covering your body with his own. "yeah, you win."

"see, that wasn't casual."

"not at all."

"what the fuck are you guys doing?" suguru scolded quietly, making sure you wouldn't wake up to their stupidity.

toji moved his head slowly, "could ask you the same thing. you back together?"

suguru rolled his eyes, "no."

"give me my fifty back," toji tried snatching the fifty back from satoru but he wouldn't budge. he ignored him, for now, and immediately focused on suguru again. "you fucking?"

"what time is it, holy," suguru sighed, tiredly. he glanced at his phone to see it was still just 7:25am. "it's too early for you to be running your mouth like that. watch it."

"okay, then elaborate," toji snarked. "what am i looking at?"

suguru's gaze softened for a fraction of a second as he looked down at you.

you were still fast asleep, completely oblivious.

your cheek was pressed against his shoulder, one hand fisted in the fabric of his t-shirt right over his heart. your legs were tangled with his under the blanket, your knee bent and resting against his thigh. even in sleep, you were seeking his warmth, his comfort.

he tightened his arm around you again, his hand splaying across your back, holding you even closer. it was an unconscious gesture, one that spoke volumes. he looked back up at toji, his expression hardening again.

"i don't know yet," he admitted, agitated. "now please, both of you, fuck off."

"aight, whatever," toji shrugged his shoulders. "i've got work in another hour and a half. hold whatever drama you guys are going to get into until then."

"suguru," satoru called out from the kitchen with his overly sweet morning coffee. "i've got class at 10:30. i'm practically begging you to wait until then."

"if your loud mouths shut up, you wouldn't have to worry about it," suguru scoffed. "if you guys wake her up, you'll have to deal with it. hide in your rooms until then or something."

you suddenly shifted. your body heavy and warm, a feeling of unfamiliar comfort surrounding you.

that was wrong.

your bed wasn't this warm. your pillow didn't smell like him.

the memories hit you then, not as a coherent narrative, but as a series of disjointed, sensory flashes. the thumping bass of the club, the burn of cheap vodka, the cold night air on your face. his car.

his hands on you. his mouth on yours, soft and questioning at first, then deeper, more certain. the desperate, aching want that had flooded your system, the way you'd clung to him, silently begging for more. the feeling of his body over yours, the solid weight of him, the worshipful way he'd touched you.

you pulled back quickly, sitting upright so fast the blanket pooled in your lap and the world tilted violently. your heart was suddenly racing, beating against your ribs.

the room felt wrong. too bright. too close. the air was thick with the scent of him—laundry detergent, his cologne, and something uniquely, painfully suguru.

your eyes landed on him.

he was sitting up beside you, watching you with a guarded expression. he was in a simple t-shirt with your makeup on it and sweats, his hair still slightly messy from sleep.

your gaze dropped on the hoodie you were wearing. your favourite one. the one you dropped off when he wasn't home months ago. then onto your discarded skirt and top, scattered in a neat pile near the coffee table.

your stomach dropped.

"no," you muttered under your breath, the word a choked, horrified whisper.

he stood up slowly, his movements careful, deliberate, like he was approaching a spooked animal. "hey. it's okay."

"don't," you said quickly, scrambling to your feet.

satoru and toji looked at each other frightened. they truly did not want to get caught up in this. they both snuck into the nearest room, satoru's, without being seen. however, they were still very much going to listen.

your head swam, a wave of dizziness washing over you, but you ignored it, stumbling back a step. "i don't remember getting here. i don't remember falling asleep."

your brain was racing ahead of you, filling in the blanks with the worst-case scenarios.

what had you done?

what had you said?

you remembered wanting him, remembered kissing him with a desperation that bordered on pathetic, but after that?

nothing. it was a blur.

"did i— did we?" you stopped yourself, the question catching in your throat. you couldn't ask it. you couldn't bear to hear the answer.

"no." he said gently, his voice soft but steady. "you called me. i picked you up—"

"i know that," you snapped, more panicked than angry. "i remember the club. after that it's just… bits and pieces. that's not good."

you bent down, your fingers clumsy and shaking as you grabbed your skirt from the floor. shame was flooding in fast, hot and suffocating. "i should go."

he didn't move, just watched you with an unnerving calm. "you just woke up."

"exactly," you replied, your voice tight, strained. "i shouldn't have stayed."

you turned and moved toward the door, your clothes clutched in your hand like a shield. you had to get out. you had to breathe.

his hand caught your wrist. "no."

"let go."

"we need to talk."

you finally turned to face him, your eyes wide and pleading. "i don't know what i did. i don't know what i said. let me leave, suguru. please."

"you told me you still love me last night."

the words landed between you like something physical. you stopped fighting him immediately.

your body went completely still, energy draining out of you all at once. you just stood there, your wrist still held in his gentle grip, your mind utterly blank.

"… what?"

he didn't soften it. didn't wrap it in anything. he just looked at you, his gaze steady and unwavering.

"you told me you still love me. we're going to talk about it."

the panic drained from your face in slow degrees, replaced with something quieter. heavier. more devastating. the shame was still there, but now it was mixed with a raw, terrifying vulnerability.

you had said that. you had laid your heart bare, and you couldn't even remember doing it.

your grip on your clothes loosened, your fingers going numb. the fabric slipped slightly, but you didn't notice.

the air in the room felt thick, heavy with the weight of your confession. your breathing steadied, but your chest felt hollow, achingly empty. you could feel the start of a headache brewing behind your eyes.

he finally let go of your wrist, but he didn't step away. he gestured towards the couch. "sit down. please."

you didn't have the energy to argue. you sank onto the couch, your clothes falling into a forgotten heap beside you. you wrapped your arms around yourself, a flimsy barrier against the cold reality of the morning.

he knelt down in front of you. he left a careful foot of space between you, a space that felt both a courtesy and a chasm.

he put the blanket back onto your bare legs. he leaned forward, really looking into your eyes.

"you called me around two," he started, his voice low. "you were at that club downtown. i told you to stay put, that i was coming to get you."

you just stared at your hands, picking at a loose thread on the couch cushion. you remembered that part. the desperate, lonely urge to call the one person you knew shouldn't answer.

"you were upset and drunk. i brought you back here. you didn't want to be alone."

he paused, running a hand through his hair. you could feel his gaze on you, but you couldn't bring yourself to meet it.

"we talked," he said. "we talked about the last ten months. about how miserable we've both been. and then… you told me you still love me."

your breath hitched. it was one thing to hear the words, another to hear the context. to know it wasn't just a drunken slur, but a confession born from months of pain.

"i told you i never stopped loving you either," he admitted.

the words hit you like a physical blow. you finally looked up at him, your eyes wide. he looked just as wrecked as you felt.

"we kissed. it wasn't just a drunken mistake. not for me, at least. hopefully not for you either."

"i remember that," you shook your head, confusion and warring emotions swirling inside you. "but i don't remember saying it.”

"i can tell," he smiled gently yet painfully. "but you did. and i need to know. was it just the alcohol talking or did you mean it?"

the question hung in the air, heavy and loaded. it was the moment of truth. the moment you had to decide whether to run back to the safety of your lonely apartment or to take a terrifying leap of faith.

you looked at him, really looked at him. at the dark circles under his eyes, at the way his shoulders were slumped with a weight you knew all too well. at the hope and fear warring in his gaze.

you thought about the last ten months. the sleepless nights, the forced smiles, the constant, dull ache of missing him. you thought about the flashes of memory from last night—the comfort of his arms, the rightness of his kiss.

you took a shaky breath, the words catching in your throat.

"i meant it," you whispered, the admission feeling both terrifying and like a release.

for a long moment, he didn't move, nor say anything. you were sure you'd made a mistake, that you'd just handed him a loaded gun and he was deciding whether to pull the trigger. the silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

then, you felt the couch shift as he moved. he closed the careful foot of space he'd left between you. his arm slid around your shoulders, tentative at first, and then he was pulling you into him.

you went stiff for a second, your body's instinct to protect itself warring with your desperate need for his comfort.

his other arm came around you, his hand sreading across your back, and he just held you. one of his hands came up to cup the back of your head, his fingers tangling gently in your hair, pressing your face into the crook of his neck.

that was your undoing.

the careful composure you'd been clinging to shattered. you didn't realize when, but you began to tear up again. it wasn't sad, but relieving—a release of months of pain you hadn't allowed yourself to feel. you clung to him, your fists gripping the soft fabric of his t-shirt, your body trembling against his.

he just held you tighter. he didn't shush you or tell you it was okay. he just let you have a moment, his own breathing ragged in your ear, his hand stroking your back in a slow, soothing rhythm.

when your tears finally subsided, leaving you feeling weak and hollowed out, you didn't pull away. you just stayed there, tucked against him, listening to the steady, reassuring beat of his heart. it was the most peaceful you'd felt in half a year.

"i'm sorry," you mumbled into his neck, your voice hoarse.

"you have nothing to be sorry for." he said, his voice a low rumble against your ear. "i'm sorry."

"it's okay, suguru."

you finally pulled back just enough to look at him, your face blotchy and your eyes swollen. he gently cupped your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheek.

"so… what now?" you whispered, the question feeling impossibly big.

he took a slow breath, his gaze serious. "first, you're going to let me make you some coffee and something to eat."

you wanted to argue, but the thought of food and coffee was suddenly overwhelmingly appealing. you just nodded, unable to find the words.

he stood up, pulling you with him. he kept a hand on your waist, steadying you as you swayed slightly. "go brush and wash your face. you know where my bathroom is," he gestured towards his bedroom. "i'll be in the kitchen."

you gave him a small, hesitant nod before disappearing into his room. the bathroom was just as you remembered it, tidy and clean. you grabbed a spare brush from his drawer and used his toothpaste.

you splashed cold water on your face, trying to wash away the evidence of your breakdown. you looked at your reflection in the mirror—at your puffy eyes and pale skin—and barely recognized the person staring back at you.

when you emerged a few minutes later. the smell of coffee filled the small apartment. you found him in the kitchen, standing by the counter, two mugs in hand. he was wearing that same soft, guarded expression, but there was something new there too. a flicker of hope.

"we're not just jumping right back into things," he said, his voice quiet, like he was reading your mind. "i know we can't. there's too much happened between us."

you looked up at him, relieved.

"we talk. for real this time. about everything. about why i left, about what you felt."

"okay," you agreed, your voice barely a whisper. "tonight?"

"it's up to you. whenever you want to, i'm here for you. i'm ready. you stay here tonight," he added, his tone leaving no room for argument. "you can stay in my room, and i'll stay out here."

"seriously?" you sulked. "i've spent months away from you and we can't sleep together?"

a hint of a smile played on his lips.

"it's not funny."

"i know, baby. we'll take it slow," he continued, his gaze fixed on yours. "one day at a time. we start over. we go on dates. i pick you up, i bring you flowers— everything we used to do."

"flowers, huh?" a small, watery smile touched your lips.

"roses, lilies, and tulips. he leaned forward and booped your nose. you scrunched it immediately after. "yeah, i still remember,"

"but for tonight, we can watch a movie, order some food, and talk about whatever you want to talk about."

you looked at him, at the hopeful, earnest look in his eyes, and felt something inside you finally start to heal. you nodded. "i'd like that."

his hand coverered yours. "we're going to fix this," he said, his voice full of quiet conviction. "i promise."

you squeezed his hand, a silent agreement. "i believe you."

"fucking finally, holy fuck."

you turned around to see none other than toji walking out of satoru's room. no one else has a more suggestive way of speaking. satoru followed him out, waving slightly at the both of you. and no one's more nosey than the two.

"i'm going to be late to work now because of you," he directed towards more suguru than you. he then ruffled the hair on your head. "missed you, kid. i'll see you later."

"still only a year younger than you," you remarked.

it was his nickname for you ever since you two met, which was eight years ago. he waved without looking and shut the door behind him. now your attention diverted to satoru.

"how are you?" you asked, discreetly wiping your eyes. "still annoying as ever, i assume."

"ha, ha, ha," he raised his brows and smirked. "i can hold what just happened, and last night over you, by the way."

suguru scoffed, "no you won't." he took a sip out his mug and gave him a stare.

"you're no fun," satoru sighed. "i'm doing wonderful. ask why."

"… why?"

"i'm fifty dollars richer because of you guys."

The dull ache in your lower abdomen started around lunchtime, but you were sure it was just soreness. Larissa’s mother had spent a half hour detailing the woes of childbirth, leading you to the belief that you would simply wait to give birth for Larissa to return home from her work trip. You completely understood your irrational thought process, but you simply weren’t ready. Now, by the end of the school day, the dull ache had sharpened enough to make you hold your breath as they washed over you. From what the obstetrician told you, false labor wasn’t uncommon but these contractions were coming at regular intervals. These twins were coming whether you wanted it to happen or not. 

The last of your students filed from the classroom when you pulled your phone from your desk drawer. There was a text from Larissa asking how your day was and instead of replying over text, you chose to call her. 

She answered immediately, but her voice was hushed. She must have been in a meeting, “Is everything okay?”

“Define okay.” Your joke didn’t land with her. As your pregnancy progressed, Larissa always seemed to answer the phone with concern like you were calling with the worst news possible. When she doesn't respond to your quip, you reveal the news, “I think I’m going into labor.”

There was a pause on Larissa’s end, a door shut, and finally she spoke once more, “How far apart are the contractions?”

“Ten minutes or so... I stopped tracking the length. I was in class.” This was a small lie. They were about 7-8 minutes apart, but rounding up would put Larissa’s mind at ease. You knew to head to the hospital when they hit five minutes, “I have time, but not much.”

“You need to call my mom.” You could picture Larissa as she spoke. She was pacing already, her nondominant arm folded across her middle as her right held the phone against her ear. Larissa would be fretting until she was next to you once more, but she wouldn’t let you hear it in her voice. 

“No. I can’t. Larissa she spent-” You cut your sentence short when a contraction tears through you. You choked down the groan of pain, not wanting Larissa to hear. Through deep breaths, you continue your thought, “She spent... all last night talking about... how miserable childbirth was... I don’t want her there. I want you.”

“Well, we don’t really have an option do we? Come on, Fern.” Larissa shook her head, knowing she couldn’t offer you the solution you so desperately wanted. 

You think back on the past few days. Chris was more of a dragon queen than usual. There was a Facebook post about an impromptu class reunion and her mood had been bleak since reading about it, “You haven’t spent the last few days with her. She has been in this terrible mood since she found out about her class reunion.” 

“Picture that and multiply it by eighteen years and you have my childhood. Now, call her. Call someone, anyone. You need to go to the hospital soon. I’m leaving now.” Larissa was entirely exasperated by your behavior. Her anxiety had been through the roof about you and your pregnancy for months, and it was just her luck that she would be out of town when you gave birth, “I need to get my things from the hotel and I’ll get home as quickly as I can. I can be there in a couple hours if I somehow find a flight, but otherwise I might not be there until late tonight.”

You knew it was wrong to whine, but all you wanted was her to be with you, “Larissa...”

“I know. I know, but it’s the best I can do.” Larissa’s fingers pinched the bridge of her nose. She was entirely helpless and she wanted to be with you as desperately as you wanted her. Nothing could ever go as planned for the two of you. Larissa’s next suggestion was possibly just as worse as Christine taking you to the hospital, “Call Rowan. She will take you.”

“I can’t-” 

You begin to argue, but can’t get more than a couple words out before Larissa interrupts. Her tone was the same she used on stubborn, misbehaving students, “Don’t argue. You need to go to the hospital. Call Rowan and I’ll call my mother.”

“Larissa... I’m scared.” You wanted the impossible from her. In that moment, you wished she had teleportation powers rather than shapeshifting. Every cell in your being wanted to be irrational and stubborn, to sit in your desk chair until Larissa arrived home, but this wasn’t about you anymore. It was about the twins. 

“I know. I am too, but we will get through this... together.” 

“Okay... I love you.”

“I love you too. See you soon.”

You battled yourself as you navigated to Rowan’s contact. It had been months since you last saw her let alone spoken to her. Larissa had been keeping her updated on the pregnancy without your knowledge as she believed there was still the opportunity for reconciliation between the two of you. The phone rings twice before Rowan answers and before she can get a word out, you begin speaking, “Rowan... Rowan, are you there?”

“Yes, I’m here. What do you want?” You expected her tone to be colder and twinged with anger and resentment, but Rowan only sounded dejected. 

Rather than dwell on her sadness, you jump into your reason for calling before she has time to reject you all together. You didn’t intend for your voice to sound so fearful, but there was no hiding the panic rising within you, “I-I need someone to take me to the hospital. Larissa is gone.” 

“I’ll be right there!” You could hear her rising from wherever she was sitting, immediately jumping into action to come to your aid. The familiar jingle of her keys came from her end of the phone and you couldn’t help but smile in relief, “Are you at school or at home?”

“My classroom.” 

“Okay, I’m coming down right now. Don’t move.” Rowan urged as she passed through her front door. You heard it slam behind her right before she hung up. Rowan had sprinted down to your classroom, sliding across the tile floors as she turned corners. When Rowan arrived in your classroom, she didn’t mention the fight nor did she attempt to make idle small talk. Like nothing had happened at all, she offered docile words of encouragement and ignored the pain from your vice-like grip on her hand. 

The contractions grew closer together and in some ways you were grateful for the pain as it meant you wouldn’t have to talk to Rowan. What were you supposed to say to your former best friend? She had chosen Marilyn over your friendship. You found there was nothing left to say. Regardless of how you held a grudge, Rowan drove you to the hospital, her right hand gripping yours as she drove. Time moved by in a blur because you were so focused on the increasing pain of contractions. 

By the time you made your way in the sliding doors of the hospital, Chris was wildly yelling at the front desk attendant about letting her in to see her daughter-in-law, “I don’t care. I don’t care! I want to see her immediately.”

In typical Christine fashion, she hadn’t been listening to a word of what was being said to her. The woman at the front desk was trying to tell her there was no Fern Rogers currently admitted. Mid rampage, Chris turns and sees you, beginning a new argument to why they weren’t helping you. She was thoroughly unembarrassed by her ridiculous behavior, but you were grateful to have someone who would advocate for you. 

Rowan helped you until Chris moved to your side, from there the vampire waited awkwardly. Once they were ready to take you back to your hospital room, Rowan shifted to come with you, but Chris’s protective glare had the vampire bid you farewell, “You are in good hands. I’ll see you when it's all said and done.”

There seemed to be so much going on between the increasing frequency of contractions, Chris’s insane behavior, and nurses speaking to you. You felt it was in your best interest to block out most of it and just think of the words coming from the medical professionals. The contractions were longer and harsher and you longed for the experience to be over.

Once in the hospital bed, Christine loomed at your side, gripping your hand harder than you held hers. You were happy to have her there for you, but you would kill to have Larissa or your own mother there in her place. She had made a promise to Larissa that she would watch over you and care for you in her absence. While she was entirely overbearing at some points, she was determined not to fail her daughter in keeping this promise while you gave birth. Her voice was filled with a sweetness you had never experienced from her before, “You are doing wonderfully. I’m so proud of you.”

There was so much going on around you. After all the personal research and discussion with your obstetrician, you felt as though you had forgotten everything you had prepared yourself for. Your eyes were closed when you heard your doctor speaking to you, “Okay, Fern... It’s time for you to start pushing.” 

“No, no, no, I can’t. Larissa isn’t here.” You weren’t pleading with your doctor. Instead, you were looking up to Chris, hoping she would have the power to pause this moment until Larissa could be here. 

Chris brought a hand to your cheek, wiping the hair from your face, “You don’t have a choice, dear. It’s time.”

------

Chris was gone when you had awoken from your short nap causing you to furrow your brow at the absence of anyone’s company. Soon, you heard her voice clearly through the hallway, accompanied by the most relieving voice of all: Larissa. 

“I missed it? I missed everything?” The heartbreak in Larissa’s voice was evident. She had come straight to the hospital, still in the same clothes she had been wearing when she spoke to you on the phone. While she would never make it known, Larissa was dead on her feet. From the day she left, she had only been able to sleep a couple hours each night, her insomnia derived from being apart from you and the anxiety of you giving birth.  

“It’s okay. The girls are fine, Fern is fine. You’re here now.” Christine enveloped her daughter into a hug, her typical critical tone was completely absent. Larissa was shocked by her mother’s tenderness, but accepted the hug readily. 

You couldn’t make out Larissa’s words, but her voice rang out with a soft sob, “She’ll never forgive me for being gone. What kind of mother am I?”

Chris gave Larissa a final squeeze, rubbing her back in effort to have her calm down. Rarely did Chris ever offer Larissa physical affection and this would be a moment for Larissa to remember forever. Christine spoke quietly, “A wonderful one. Now go in there and be with her.”

You were wide awake and watching the doorway to your hospital room when Larissa finally appeared in the doorway. Holding out a hand to her, you beckoned for her to come to your bedside, beginning to speak before she could apologize profusely, “Two healthy babies. They say Vi is having some trouble breathing but it’s nothing they haven’t seen before and Thea is strong as an ox.”

“And you?” Larissa took a seat on the edge of the bed, taking your hand in hers. She pulled your hand to her lips and began pressing kisses to your fingers as her own form of silent apology. You looked her over, taking into account the winkles in her dress, fly aways in her typically perfect updo, and the absence of makeup on her face. You debated on urging her to go home and rest, but you knew that would be a fruitless argument. 

“Tired.” You hum, grasping the fabric of her jacket in your free hand just to feel the fabric. Her absence over the past few days had been unbearable and you longed for her proximity. Larissa leaned in closer, resting her head on her shoulder to observe your current state. 

Larissa released a breathy laugh, unable to help the tears in her eyes as she brushed some of the stray hairs from your forehead, “I bet.”

“I’m not mad at you. I promise.” You urge, wanting to premise this fact before Larissa could ruminate on it any longer. Giving her hand a squeeze, you begin to tease her a bit, just to lift the moment, “Just... don’t miss the big stuff like birthdays and Christmas.”

“I can do that.” Larissa laughed once more, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your lips. 

You had begun to regale Larissa with the story of Rowan picking you up, her mother verbally assaulting hospital workers, and promptly informing her you weren’t interested in giving birth ever again. Larissa wore a teary eyed smile through the entire story, partially due to the sadness of not being there through it and partially due to the humor of it all. The moment was broken up by a nurse entering the room with the tiny, swaddled Althea. Already having the opportunity to have held Thea, you nodded at Larissa to take the child from the nurse. Your heart ached because it felt so full. Watching Larissa hold little Althea was the one thing you needed in that moment. After all you had been through in the past twelve hours, that sight made it all worth it. 

------

“Oh, mom, they are absolutely beautiful.” You smile at your mother through Facetime, filling her in on the past day of having both the twins finally at home. While you were exhausted, you couldn’t stop smiling and neither could your mother. Their flight leaves later today for them to finally meet their grandbabies. 

“Larissa and I spoke and Violet is the spitting image of you as a baby.” Diane chimed in. Minutes before the Facetime with your mother, Diane had just gotten off the phone with Larissa, calling her first so she could get a peek at what she was really interested in: the girls. You wouldn’t have been surprised if she had taken screenshots and already had those pictures printed for herself and all of the other relatives. 

“Christine says neither of them look like Larissa, but Stephen says Althea looks like her. I don’t know who to believe.” Your words make your mother laugh. In the nicest way possible, the dysfunctional nature of Larissa’s family had always amused Diane as she was unable to understand why they all fought so much. 

“Send me some baby pictures of Larissa and I’ll settle the debate.”

“Oh, I know you will, mom. Larissa told me-” A gentle rapping came from the doorway to Larissa and your bedroom pulled you from your conversation. You glance up to see Rowan, hands nervously shoved into her pockets as she bites at the inside of her cheek. Without glancing at your phone, you speak quickly to your mother, ending the call, “I’m sorry, ma. Rowan is here. I have to go. Love you!”

“Sounds good, honey. Love you! I’ll see you tonight.” Diane makes kissing noises at the phone before hanging up, leaving you and Rowan alone together. 

Before she could get a word out, you speak first, “Ready to talk about it?” 

She nods and you gesture for her to join you in bed. After the events at the hospital and ample time apart, you were ready to put this issue to rest. You wanted your best friend back. 

Rowan sits at the end of the bed, knees to her chest as she leans back against the bedpost. Her eyes remained downcast as she spoke mournfully, “I shouldn’t have gone behind your back. After everything happened, I- I couldn’t tell you... I didn’t know how. And- It’s over... Me and her...”

“Are you really? Or will this be an on-again off-again thing?” You were skeptical of her relationship ending with Marilyn. After all, they had ‘ended things’ after she ended her reign of terror on Nevermore. While your relationship with Rowan had always been no bars held, it was difficult confronting her about this. Rowan had been through enough loss and heartbreak in her life and you weren’t interested in adding to the pile. 

“It’s over. You, Larissa, the girls... You’ll never have to worry about being hurt.” Rowan wouldn’t look at you and you could see the glimmer of tears as they ran down her cheek. Whatever had happened between the two of them, you felt guilty you hadn’t been there for Rowan. Regardless of how she held secrets from you, she was still one of your most treasured friends. As she continued speaking, it was harder for her to hide the incoming wave of sobs that shook her chest, “I- I think I tried fixing her, but there was nothing I-I could fix.”

“Oh, Ro... C’mere..” You tried to hold back the tears as you watched her fall apart. The only thing you could offer was your open arms which she accepted immediately. Rowan fell into your arms, resting her face on your chest as she allowed the tears to fall onto your pajama shirt. 

“I’m s-sorry.” Rowan croaked.

“It’s.. It’s nothing time can’t fix.” You stopped yourself from telling her ‘it’s okay’. None of what happened was okay. With mutual effort and time, there was no doubt in your mind your friendship could strengthen and grow past this breach of trust. Rowan was remorseful, that you knew. When her cries finally died down, you offered her a pick-me-up, “Would you like to meet the girls?”

“Really?” Rowan perked up a bit, brushing the tears from her face.

“Yes of course. They need to meet Auntie Ro.” You brush some of Rowan’s hair behind her ear and put on a kind, teasing tone, hoping it can bring her from her despair, “Chris and Larissa are with them right now.”

You walk with Rowan down the hall and push open the door to the girl’s room. Chris sat in a rocking chair with Violet bound in her arms while Larissa paced back and forth holding Althea. Each time you observed Larissa with one of the girls, you felt as though you could die from the overwhelming amount of love within you. It wasn’t hard convincing Chris to hand over Violet to Rowan as she claimed she was plagued with ‘mom arm’ from holding her for too long. Once Rowan took a seat with the child, she was completely enamored. 

“I love her. I’ve never loved something more. Besides this one right here of course. Oh, we are going to get into so much mischief, you girls and I.” The vampire cooed to Violet and gestured to Althea who rested in Larissa’s grasp. Rowan had never been a fan of young children, especially babies, but the way she cradled Violet let you know she had changed her opinion. She reached a finger to stroke the baby’s cheek, her gaze never leaving the infant's face. 

Larissa was happy to have Rowan there, but she immediately reverted into Momma Bear mode at the thought of any troublesome activities with her children at any stage of their lives, “No mischief. I don’t need either of them getting hurt.”

“Oh, scraped knees and bruises build character... and make good stories.” Chris chimed, folding her arms over her chest and leaning back into her chair. 

“Mother! Really? You of all people~” As Larissa laid into her mother, you tuned the both of them out, opting for nostalgic thoughts instead. As Chris started in on her own scolding of her daughter, Larissa shot you a look of annoyance that faded when she saw the adoration on your face. In this moment, you had it all. You raised your brows at her and offered a smile which she couldn’t help but return. A wonderful partner, your best friend back, lovely little twins. After all of the chaos and heartache from the past two years, it was finally time to settle down with your loved ones and live the life you deserved. 

The sound of the basket hitting the floor caught the attention of a blonde constable who towered over her peers. You couldn’t help but feel a bit lightheaded as additional organs followed the heart from the washer, each of them seemed washed perfectly clean. Catching yourself on a nearby dryer, you squeeze your eyes shut and turn away from the crime scene, needing a moment to regroup. 

“Ma’am, this is an active crime scene. You shouldn’t be here.” A hand grasped at your shoulder and you turned your head to gaze at, who you assumed to be, a police officer. You were met with the sight of a partially exposed sternum. Your peripheral vision takes in the sight of her broad shoulders and finally you look up into her face. Rather than take in the full scope of her features, you close your eyes once more and breathe deeply to steady yourself. The woman grabbed you by your shoulders and manipulated you to the side, “Here, you should sit.”

You can feel a chair at the back of your leg and her hands push you down to sit. There was nothing in you willing to fight back against her hands. When you open your eyes once more, you are face to face with the same constable as she is squatting down before you now. Her elbows are resting on her knees and a comforting smile graced her lips, “Are you alright?”

“Wh-what’s going on?” You shook your head, eyes fixated on the delightfully odd shape of her nose. With another long blink, you finally look into her eyes and feel instantly at ease. Were they lapis or cobalt? 

Her voice saved you from downing, “The laundromat is on lockdown until further notice. There was a body found early this morning. Do you visit the laundromat regularly?”

“I live upstairs. I come down here to do my laundry whenever I like… The landlord gives the longtime tennants a key to-” You close your eyes and wave a hand as you search for the right words, “...come and go.”

While no wallet or credit cards were found with the deceased, the laundromat owner and your landlord had been the one to find the organs in the washing machine and the rest of the corpse in a laundry basket. Your landlord was easily able to make an identification on the victim,“I see and are you familiar with the deceased? Her name was Maya Wren.” 

Your brow furrowed in pain. Of course you knew Maya. She had lived in the apartment under yours for as long as you lived in the building and from the few interactions you had, she was quite nice. You shook your head in disbelief, “Yes. She-she was my neighbor. She worked here in the laundromat.”

The initial shock of seeing the organs pulled from the washing machine was subsiding. With another deep breath, you sat back in the chair and gazed down at the blonde. As she watched you sit up, her back straightened and a hand came to rest on the nearby dryer. You felt almost pinned into the chair. She wore a small smile as she spoke to you, “I’m sorry. I haven’t gotten your name yet.”

You gave your name and looked around the room over the top of her head. You obviously wouldn’t be doing laundry here anytime soon. 

She saw your eyes wandering around the room and her comforting smile widened. You watch her long fingers reach out and grasp at the handle of your laundry basket and draw it close. She stands with the laundry basket in her arms, “Perhaps I should walk you back to your apartment and we can finish this interview.”

“Oh, you don’t have to-”

“Please, I don’t mind.” She gave a little shrug, a more jovial smile appearing across her face, “Uhm, what do you do for work?”

“I am a cryptographer. Odd jobs here and there. It pays the bills.” You shrug, starting towards the back door. 

The constable kept a step behind you at all times, following you out the back door and up the backstairs to your apartment. She asked you miscellaneous questions about Maya and what you knew about her. You mentioned her typically nocturnal habits, occasional loud night with a male suitor, and the few times you had seen her down at the laundromat late in the evening. As you reach the top of your stairs, you turn on your heels causing the officer to stumble, not expecting you to stop as soon as you do. 

“Sorry.” She mumbles as she bumps the laundry basket into your hip. Her kind eyes meet yours, “I’m afraid that’s all the questions I have for you, but I certainly will be in contact… if I have additional questions.”

You move to grab the laundry basket, your hands brushing up against hers. You pull the laundry basket from her grasp and rest it on your hip with one hand, extending your other to her, “It was a pleasure meeting you, Constable..?”

She grasps your hand and gives it a hardy shake. From the goofy look on her face and the way she shook your arm just a little too wildly, you could tell that she was someone you would want to grab a drink with, “Hilmarson. Miranda Hilmarson.” 

—--

You wiped the sleep from your eyes when a knocking came from the front door of the apartment. It was your day off and you were taking the rare opportunity to sleep in. There was a small part of you that considered ignoring the visitor. If it were a friend at the door, they would have just texted or called. When the knocking persisted, you pulled yourself from bed, rolling your eyes at the frequency in which they were banging on the door. 

By the time you reached the front door, you couldn’t hide your frustration as you yanked open the door and shouted, “What?!”

Your dirty look subsided when you looked up and saw Constable Hilmarson at your front door. Miranda was a little taken aback by your rudeness, but her pleasant smile returned to her face when you couldn’t hide a pleased smile at the sight of her. 

“Y/n, this is my partner, Detective Griffin. We were hoping to talk to you more about the case.” You glanced at the serious-looking brunette, but your eyes shifted back to Miranda to watch the way her long fingers waggled and flexed as she spoke. 

You considered her request, unsure of what additional help you could provide them with. Turning back to look into your apartment, you check to make sure it was too messy for guests. There were a few things left about, dishes near the sink, and a box of cereal left out on the counter, nothing too unsightly. Next you glance down to your own outfit, the little shorts and tank top weren’t covering much, but knowing there were two women about to enter your apartment made you feel more at ease. 

When you looked back at the women, you saw Detective Griffin looking particularly annoyed with the time you had taken to respond, but Miranda didn’t seem to mind. You pull open the front door and step to the side, giving space for the women to come inside, “Yes, of course. Come inside. While I’m not sure of what else I can help you with, I can certainly tell you what I know.”

You offered them a seat on the sofa and asked the customary questions, asking if they needed anything to eat or drink while they were in your home. They both declined, so you took a seat opposite the tall blonde. You couldn’t help but notice Miranda glance down at your legs as you crossed and uncrossed them nervously. It was hard not to wonder if she was admiring you or just concerned with all of your nervous shifting. 

“Thank you for your time. These questions shouldn’t take too long.” Griffin took over the interview, seemingly reasking you the questions Constable Hilmarson asked you the day before. Even while Detective Griffin was the one speaking to you, many of your responses were directed to Miranda as she took notes on a little pad. There were even a couple moments where you had Detective Griffin repeat the question as you were too busy watching Miranda. 

Truly, there was no other word to describe her other than ‘adorable’. Sure you found many other notable charming attributes, but there was no denying that her enthusiasm for her job was akin to that of a golden retriever. When your eyes caught hers, Miranda finally jumped in with her own question, “We found some markings carved into the victims body. You told me you are a cryptologist. Do you think you could decode them for us?”

“I- Well I could certainly take a look.” You shake your head and shrug. There was no denying that you were a skilled cryptographer, but each case typically offered a new and sometimes unique challenge. Miranda jumped up at your acceptance, rounding the coffee table to kneel by your chair. She leaned in close, presenting her phone before you. 

You glance at her from the corner of your eye and she is incredibly close to you now. Her shoulder pressed into your bicep. Trailing your eyes down her face, you follow the length of her arm until your eyes reach the phone in her hands. Immediately you close your eyes in response to viewing a corpse with no warning. 

You huff and open your eyes once more, pulling the phone from Miranda’s hand to shift the photo around. As you take a closer look, she thoughtlessly places a hand on your forearm before providing more information to accompany the picture, “The organs were found washed clean. No blood anywhere. These letters were carved into the torso.”

Your eyes narrow at the symbols. It read, ‘𐐏𐐭 𐐸𐐰𐐼 𐐮𐐻 𐐿𐐲𐑋𐐮𐑍, 𐑅𐑊𐐲𐐻’. Why did they need your help for this? This was impossibly simple to decode, “Well, Constable... It’s just the Deseret alphabet.”

Standing from the chair, you move away from Miranda and approach your bookshelf in the corner, knowing the exact volume you are looking for. Hilmarson was following you each step of the way. She leaned in close, looming over your shoulder to get a better look at the book as you leafed through the pages. Once you reach the correct page, she sets the phone next to the chart of symbols and letters.

“Can you write down the letters as I go?” You glanced up at her and were surprised to see her face so close to yours. 

You glance down at her lips, watching them move as she responds, “Of course.”

Quickly you decode the phrase and she takes notes of each of the letters as you go. The only challenge about Deseret was their symbols typically translated into sounds rather than true letters, so you would have to sound out the phrase when you were done. As you read off each of the sounds, Miranda’s brow furrowed more and more, stuped by the ridiculousness of the sentence forming on her sheet.

Yee-Long Oo H-Short A-Dee Short I-Tee Kay-Short O-Em-Short I-Eng, Es-El-Short O-Tee.

“What does it mean?” Miranda asked, holding out the notepad to you. 

“Y-ou ha-d it c-o-m-ing,” The first portion of the phrase was easy, but the last word seemed to be a challenge, “es-el-o-tee...”

“Eselotee? Is that a real word?” Miranda pondered, face moving in closer to yours as you both gazed deeply into the notepad, hoping to string the sounds together. You reference the boko once more, checking for notes on the symbols used in the last word. According to the book, the beginning and end sounds could be made more straightforward. 

“S-el-o-T. Slut.” You state, knowing this was the most likely solution, “I’m guessing it was a former partner, stalker, or something.” 

You pull her phone from the book, offering it back up to her. Shelving the book, you turn back to face her, but she was already back in deep discussion with Detective Griffin. You stand off to the side awkwardly, trying not to eavesdrop on their official discussion, but you couldn’t deny that you were a little curious about the case now that you were involved. 

Detective Griffin was the first to leave your apartment, offering you a curt nod and half smile as a thank you for your assistance. Constable Hilmarson lingered behind to speak to you, her hand resting against the door frame as she looked down at you, “Thank you very much for your help.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I would have thought you came all this way just to see me again.” You tease her, taking a step closer. Your hands came together behind your back and you licked your lips. Miranda was quite attractive and after spending more time with her today, you saw it fit to shoot your shot with her. 

“Well, I- Uh- I remembered your- Uhm-” Miranda stumbled over her words, a smile and a blush began spreading across her face. 

“Perhaps we should grab a drink tomorrow night?” You ask, leaning forward slightly, hoping you were making her even more flustered. 

“Well, I’m not-” Miranda stopped herself. Her facial expression almost seemed like she couldn’t believe you were asking her out, “Are... are you asking me on a date?”

“If you want it to be a date... then yes. If you don’t then-”

“Yes. Yes, I would love to get a drink with you.”