Orphic

It was supposed to be a routine gym session, nothing out of the ordinary. He stuck to his usual regimen, tuning out the noise, until she walked in.

At first, he hadn’t paid much attention. He didn’t care for unnecessary socializing, and he certainly didn’t care for whoever else was using the gym. But it was impossible to ignore her presence. The way she carried herself—with the kind of confidence and intensity that only came from years of dedication—caught his attention before he even realized it.

She wasn’t just there to work out. She was pushing herself, training with a focus and precision that mirrored his own. He watched, only briefly, as she powered through her routine, completely unfazed by the chaos around her. It wasn’t for show. It wasn’t for attention. She was simply working.

That was four years ago.

Now, their relationship was as natural as everything else in his life—like training, like competition, like the air he breathed. It wasn’t something he had to think about, wasn’t something he questioned. It was there, steady and unwavering, woven seamlessly into the rhythm of his daily life.

She was the one constant in a world that demanded too much. Through grueling seasons, exhausting travel schedules, and the relentless pressure of being at the top, she remained. She understood the silences, the moments when words weren’t necessary. She knew when to push and when to let him be. And in return, he gave her the quiet kind of devotion that only someone like him could offer.

It still baffled people—how they worked, how someone as reserved and private as him could end up with someone so bright, so effortlessly magnetic. But Kiyoomi had long since stopped caring what anyone else thought.

With the arrival of the Olympics—and both of them making the cut—social media seemed to latch onto the couple.

It started subtly at first. A few clips here and there, grainy training footage where they happened to be in the same frame, speculation in comment sections about whether they’d be competing on the world stage together. But the moment the official rosters were announced, their names mentioned in the same article, the internet exploded.

Fan edits, analysis threads, heated debates over which one was more competitive. Articles dissecting their training regimens, headlines dubbing them the power couple of the games. It was relentless.

Kiyoomi hated every second of it.

He had never been fond of attention outside of his sport, and this was a whole new level of invasive. Clips of them training separately were cut together as if they were practicing side by side. People scrutinized every expression, every glance, every moment of shared screen time. Some fans even dug up their oldest interviews, trying to pinpoint when their relationship had officially started—as if it had been some kind of well-guarded secret waiting to be unraveled.

But while Kiyoomi bristled at the unwanted spotlight, she took it in stride. She had always been better at handling the public eye, fielding questions with ease, laughing off absurd theories. She reminded him, with a teasing smirk, that they weren’t the ones making a big deal out of it—social media was. And if anything, it was just another distraction they didn’t need to waste energy on.

So he tried to ignore it. To focus on what really mattered.

Because at the end of the day, all that mattered was stepping onto the court or the rink, proving—once again—why they were among the best in the world.

And if the cameras happened to catch the way he lingered by her side before a match, or how she always found him first after a win… well.

That wasn’t for the world to pick apart. That was theirs.

➽─────────❥

The radio played softly, providing a nice background to Kiyoomi’s doom scrolling. Sure, he didn’t partake in social media in the sense of posting, that’s what his management team was for, but that didn’t mean he was completely out of the zeitgeist. In all honesty, and something he would vehemently deny if asked, the only reason he really got on was to check what his girlfriend posted. Gorgeous didn’t even begin to describe what he thought of her. Ethereal, maybe? As he watched her latest Tiktok he surely thought that encapsulated her well. It would be a shock to most people, outside of Motoya probably, how absolutely, horrendously down bad he was for the woman. Kiyoomi, the man made of stone, reduced to a blushing school boy at the sight of his girlfriend’s GRWM. 

He was, as Atsumu would say, so whipped. Here he was, sat in his car waiting for his girlfriend to finish practice while he scrolled through her latest posts. He lived with the woman, for Christ's sake. Slept in the same bed, woke up next to her, literally got ready with her and had done so for the past three years. The media would have a field day with that information.  

Very few people knew that the pair had been dating for as long as they had, much less that they’d moved in together after their first year. No one really expected it, his own family most of all, but it just made sense. 

Yes, Kiyoomi was… particular about his space and held himself and it to a certain standard, but he also liked having her near. Their schedules were both hectic and in the beginning they’d sometimes go weeks without seeing each other. That caused a lot of tension early on in their relationship. So, ever the problem solver, Kiyoomi mentioned her moving in—five months into their relationship. She declined, of course. But they got to it seven months later anyway. 

Kiyoomi is pulled from his thoughts when he sees the doors of the skating rink swing open. He spots a few familiar faces but not the one he wants to see. After a few minutes he finally sees her all but skipping to meet him. It’s unreal the way she still has so much energy after what he knows is a grueling practice. He pops open the trunk so that she can set her things down before exiting the car. 

She all but threw herself at him, to which he caught her as he always did, “You’re a freak.” 

The way she doesn’t bat an eye at the comment is a testament to how used to him she truly is, “You didn’t have to come get me, you know.” 

“I’m fully aware,” he states while wrapping his arms around her. “‘Thank you’ is what people usually say.” 

She hums, “Thank you.”

He offers a feigned dismissive, “Yeah, Yeah,” before taking her bag and placing it in the trunk of his car. “Let’s get you home, weirdo.” 

Once they’re settled in the car Kiyoomi asks, “How was it today? Feeling alright?”

The worry in his voice didn’t go unnoticed by her. She nods and he sighs as he pulls out of the parking spot, “Be honest.”

His hand finds its way to her thigh, as it often did when she sat beside him, and gave her a soft squeeze as he waited for her response. She gave a long-suffering sigh as she is wont to do whenever he pressed her on things regarding her wellbeing. “I’m fine, Kiyo, promise.” 

He doesn’t buy it, but he’ll drop the matter for now. His thumb draws absentminded shapes on her thigh as he navigates the evening traffic, “You still haven’t told me how it went.” 

“It was okay,” she responded shortly. The attitude wasn’t aimed at him, they’d been together long enough for him to know what that tone was like. This was not that. 

“You’ll get it,” he says, voice holding a softness that was only reserved for her. She was her own harshest critic, as he was his own, but he was her biggest supporter. A fact that went both ways. 

“I know,” she sighs. Her hand finds his and he quickly interlaces their fingers. “But… I don’t know, it shouldn’t feel this hard.”

“Yes it should,” in the soft glow of the red traffic light Kiyoomi is certain that he’s never, and would never, meet anyone as beautiful. He knew what was likely going on in her head, every critique swimming and pooling together until they’re drowning her. He’d seen it before in the way she would obsessively watch tapes of her competitions, in the way his bright girl would dim under the shadow of a less than perfect performance. “It means you’re pushing yourself and getting even better than you already are. You’re where you are for a reason, you earned your place.” 

The way her shoulders relax slightly and she settles in her seat instead of feeling like she’s about to tell him to pull over and get out of the car lets him know that he’s done what he can for the time being. This was a side to her very few people got to see. Gone was the inscrutable confidence and poise the media persona people had latched onto, and was what was left was what every athlete feels at least once in their careers—imposter syndrome. 

Not that it was warranted, in Kiyoomi’s very professional and unbiased opinion. She was in a league all her own. He would be the first to admit that his knowledge of the sport was lackluster when they first met, he’d spent his own life dedicated to volleyball and little else. But, the first time he saw her perform he—long before they became a couple—he was taken aback. She moved with a grace that seemed woven into her very being, performed like it was the only natural thing to do. The technique that went into her work, he learned later, was as demanding as his own, but she made it look easy. It was a testament to her talent. It wasn’t just Kiyoomi who thought so; she was favored to take home gold, not just in Japan. That, however, was a double-edged sword. High praise often led to even harsher criticisms. 

➽─────────❥

Kiyoomi was known for being very particular. He liked to keep things clean and organized, sometimes to an obsessive level. At least he used to. In his teenage years that was certainly true, but time had changed that. Maybe not so much time as it was just simply living with her had eased some of his more ornery tendencies. She wasn’t messy, but her spaces were lived in. Mugs left on the counter as they waited for the extra shelving to get delivered, her throw blanket left on the plush armchair and kindle still on the coffee table not too far, plants and framed pictures—all a testament to how embedded she was in their shared space. 

“I’m gonna shower,” she calls out as he shuts the door behind them. She leaves her sports bag by the entrance and Kiyoomi doesn’t chide her for doing so.  Under normal circumstances he’d ask her to put it away, citing his worry that she’ll manage to trip over and injure herself. But, some ‘fights’ were better left unfought. 

He hums in response, wandering into the kitchen and rolling up the sleeves of his hoodie. The fridge hums softly as he opens it, retrieving the prepped ingredients he had set aside earlier. Even though she had protested before she’d left earlier that day claiming he didn’t need to do that for her, he knew better. She always got hungry after practice, and she liked knowing there was something warm waiting for her when she was done. Besides, he enjoyed doing it when he could. They’d normally get food prepared for the week, easy and simple with their respectively busy schedules. 

As he sets a pot on the stove, he hears the water start running from the bathroom, muffled but still present. It’s an oddly domestic sound, one that fills the quiet of their home in a way he never used to appreciate before. His fingers drum against the countertop absentmindedly as he waits for the oil to heat up, gaze flickering to the picture frame near the dining table—one of the two of them from a trip last spring. She had insisted on taking it, dragging him into the shot with a laugh, her hand clasped around his wrist like she was afraid he’d bolt. He hadn’t. He never would.

Kiyoomi hadn’t realized how much time had passed until he felt a pair of arms snake around his torso and cheek pressed against his back. “Careful,” he says but there’s no heat behind his words. 

“Sorry,” she murmurs. 

“You don’t have-”

She interrupts, “I was being snippy with you. Let me apologize.” 

He chuckles, because her attitude earlier he wouldn’t exactly classify as ‘snippy’, he’s been on the receiving end of that before, but he doesn’t argue. 

“You were being nice to me and I wasn’t being nice back. I do appreciate you picking me up. I also do appreciate you looking out for me, you know. It was just… it was a rough day.”

“I know.”

“Doesn’t make it right.”

He nods as he moves to grab plates, koloa in tow. “It doesn’t,” he agrees. “But I know you enough to know you didn't mean it.”

The soft, unspoken understanding between them lingers in the space between words. He doesn’t need her apology, not really—he knows her, knows the weight of her bad days, knows how exhaustion sits heavy on her shoulders sometimes. But he lets her say it anyway, because she needs to, because she’s the kind of person who won’t let a sharp edge sit between them for long. 

He pats her hands and she detaches herself from him. Insteading choosing to hoist herself onto the kitchen counter island, “You sure?”

“I’m sure,” after collecting the plates he returns to her. He sets the plates down and places his hands on her hips, scooting her closer to the edge and himself, “Wanna set the table?”

There’s an unspoken meaning in the request: We’re good. Let’s move on. And she takes it, nodding but before she hops down she presses a kiss to his lips. Soft and sweet and still able to set his heart racing even after all these years. 

He pats her hip lovingly as he lets her down. They fall into a familiar rhythm, moving around each other with an ease born of time. Warm contentment washes over him. He’d never thought he would have this. In his youth, foolishly, he’d seen relationships as distractions, and sometimes they could be, but this wasn’t that. This was accountability, this was having someone to come home to who made the good days great and the bad ones bearable. Rough days come and go, but this—the way they found their way to each other through the fog—this was what mattered. 

➽─────────❥

Frustration. 

Hunger. 

Rage. 

The days leading up to the full moon were always tough. In his younger years, and still on his worst days, Remus had a tendency to lash out. His friends tended to take the brunt of it. Time and time again they’d subject themselves to the worst of Remus’ moods with no more than a shake of their heads. James would shove an extra chocolate bar into his hands with a pointed look, Sirius would needle him just enough to keep him from sinking too deep into his own head, and Peter would distract him with whatever gossip he’d picked up.  They tried. They continued to try even when Remus would bite back. 

He’d gotten better as the years went on, but it never went away—not really. It laid in wait just below the surface. Simmering and festering. He could control it now. For the most part. He had enough practice with it, disguising it under a well-worn mask. A polite smile, the strain only noticeable to his friends. Remus tried to distance himself from her, if only for a while. He didn’t want her to witness him like that. She didn’t need to see him when he was more beast than man, ruled by baser instincts.

 It didn’t work. 

He’d opened the floodgates and there was no quilling the monster now that it knew what it felt like to have her near. Now that it knew how sweet her voice could be or hold soft her touch was when she brushed against him ‘accidentally’. 

He hadn’t run from her the way he had before. Instead he offered her a half-truth. When he said he wasn’t feeling well it wasn’t exactly a lie. She didn’t need to know that the reason he was feeling poorly was because his bones ached with the all too familiar feeling of preparing to snap and contort in hellish ways or that his headache stemmed from the wolf taking a more centerstage role rather than its usual heckling background act. 

The distance lasted for a day. In all actuality it was closer to a few hours. He’d been a lot more terse than he had been in years. It was clear to his best mates, who gave him a wide berth as they made their way to the Great Hall. It was Peter’s idea, which was surprising. Out of all his friends he was the one who interacted with her the least, Lily having taken the second place spot after Remus himself. So, there they were, sitting side-by-side. Remus was acutely aware of the way their thighs touched every so often. While it shot a thrill up his spine it also grounded him in a way he wasn’t used to. 

He was still in a god awful mood, but he was a lot more… tolerable. 

Her voice was soft as she spoke to him, as if she could sense his growing agitation. It wasn’t aimed at her—gods no—but at the loud second years sitting further down the table. They were grating, talking too loudly, voices overlapping each other; they were just too much. Any other day it wouldn’t have been an issue. He likely wouldn’t have noticed, in all honesty, but the wolf made it very difficult to ignore. 

“Remus?” her voice called to him, soft and soothing like she was coaxing a skittish animal into paying attention. The wolf loved it, standing in metaphorical attention at the sound of her voice—honeyed and sweet without even trying. Though, Remus was willing to bet that only he thought so. 

Remus did his best to keep the vexation out of his tone as he spoke to her. The last thing he wanted was for her to think it was her doing, “Sorry, dove, I didn’t catch that.”

In his peripheral vision he could see James look at Sirius in bewilderment and mouth something like ‘when’d that start’. Sirius looks just as perplexed, if not chuffed at the sudden change in their friend. Remus paid them no mind, as was becoming par for the course whenever she was around. 

“I asked if you still wanted to meet in the library later,” she repeated patiently. She pushed the remaining food on her plate around with her fork, a clear indication that she was done but didn’t want to leave just yet. He found it—like everything else about her—endearing. 

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “Yeah, of course.” 

“You’re sure?” 

“Do you… not want me to?” He feigns hurt. 

She levels him with a look that Remus knows all too well by now, “I didn’t say I didn’t want you to. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t busy.” 

Remus let out a breath, shaking his head. “Never too busy for you, dove.” He didn’t think much of the words as they left his mouth, but judging by the way James nearly choked on his pumpkin juice and Sirius was now full-on grinning like Christmas had come early, maybe he should have.

If she noticed their antics she didn’t mention it. Instead giving Remus the courtesy of pretending his friends weren’t as embarrassing as they actually were. Her voice drops so that only he can hear her, “If you’re not feeling well we could always reschedule.”

His own tone mirrored hers, low and like they were sharing a secret meant only for each other, “I’m fine. Besides, the library isn’t exactly the most taxing place to be, is it?” 

Remus resisted the urge to smooth out the furrow in her brow as she looked at him. He wasn’t being completely truthful and he knew that she knew that. 

She studied him for a moment longer, likely deciding whether to call him out or not. It seemed he was in the clear, at least for the time being. She packed her things and headed to her first class of the day. 

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

The candlelight casted a soft glow that helped ease the headache Remus had been nursing since lunch. The sound of pages turning and the ambient noise of other students quietly murmuring to each other filled the silence between them. Not that it was really needed, but it was nice. 

“You’re so annoying,” she huffs at him like he’s just committed a personal slight against her. 

“Am I,” he asks, unbothered. He glances at her from his spot across the table, where he had been sitting quietly for the past couple of minutes, “What’d I do this time.” 

He does his best to suppress a smirk at the petulant way she looks at him, all that’s missing is a pout and the look would be complete. “You were right,” she grumbles. He could tell that the exasperation in her tone was only half-genuine. 

“You’ll have to be more specific, love,” the word falls from his mouth with an ease that has her blink in surprise. It’s momentary and fleeting, but he noticed it in the same way he’s committed all of her quirks to memory in the past two weeks since their outing. It wasn’t the first time he’s called her that, or some variation of it, but it was the first time he’d done it intentionally—with a confidence that came from knowing the way she would react to it. 

“Don’t get smarmy with me, Lupin,” the glare sent his way is nullified by the way she ducks her head right after. 

Remus realized that he enjoyed this version of her far more than the one he had glorified for so long. She was still kind, charming, and unbelievably attractive, but she wasn’t perfect. Where most might’ve been disappointed that what they’d envisioned had turned out to be incorrect, Remus was beside himself with admiration. He saw sides of her he’d never been privy to prior. His favorite, or rather one of his favorites, was her temper. It wasn’t that her temper caused her to be particularly mean, just that it’d make her huff and puff in a way that reminded him of a displeased mooncalf. Not that he’d ever say that to her—he’d rather not be on the receiving end of her ire. 

“Already with the name calling. It’s not even dinner yet,” Remus sets his book down to give her his undivided attention. His hands itched to reach across the table and take one of her hands into his, but he refrained. The terms of endearments were already blurring the lines of their ‘friendship’, any touching and he’d lose any semblance of self control he had. 

“I’m not name calling,” she defended. 

“You are,” he was quick to counter. “You still haven’t told me what I was right about. I’d like to know what I’m gloating about before I do it.” 

“You already know what I’m referring to, Remus,” she says his name in what he assumed was meant to be a chiding way, but it sends a thrill up his spine nonetheless. 

“I don’t know why you continue to try to prove me wrong,” he says after a beat. “One of us has had to spend hours going over the material.” 

She’d claimed with near certainty that a potion recipe called for a specific ingredient; Remus, very gently might he add, told her that she was completely wrong. Not in an unkind way, not entirely. More teasing, if anything. To be fair, the potion in question was one they had to study and perfect in their first year. But, in all fairness Remus himself likely would have forgotten the specifics of it if he wasn’t tutoring a handful of first years. 

“Yeah yeah,” she murmurs with a flippancy that Remus knows is for show. 

She returns her attention back to her studies and Remus takes it as an opportunity to gaze at her. The longing in his eyes is palpable. She was… the most beautiful person he’d ever seen, he was sure of that. Not just in physicality but in every way a person could be. He was biased, sure, but he would argue that it was an objective fact. 

She had this way about her—an ease, a quiet confidence that made everything she did seem effortless. Even now, hunched over her parchment, hair falling over one shoulder as she chewed absently on the tip of her quill, she was captivating.

Remus let himself watch, just for a moment. Let himself revel in the fact that she was here, that she chose to sit with him, argue with him over potion ingredients, humor him when he was being insufferable. That she spoke his name in that way that made his pulse quicken and sent warmth curling through his chest.

He could never tell her any of it, of course.

Could never put into words how deeply he felt, how utterly wrecked he was by the simple fact of her existence. Because there were things he wanted that he couldn’t have, things he knew better than to reach for.

But in moments like this—when the moon was creeping closer and the weight of it pressed heavy against his skin—she made him feel human. Made him feel like something more than the thing clawing at the edges of his control.

He let out a quiet breath, dragging a hand down his face as if that would somehow help rein himself in.

“Staring is rude, you know,” she says without sparing a glance up at him and Remus feels his heart stutter. 

“I was not staring,” he defends poorly. He wills the heat creeping up his neck to stop. 

She hums, “Sure you weren’t.” 

He huffs a soft laugh and forces himself to turn his eyes back to the book in his hands. 

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Remus decided to skip dinner that night. He knew himself well enough to know that even with her there the cacophony of voices would have him on edge. So, he would stay in the solace that was his dorm. The fact that Sirius, James, and Peter would be out was an added plus. He loved his friends, but sometimes they were a bit… much. 

The quiet was a welcome relief. No clattering silverware, no overlapping voices grating against his already frayed nerves. Just the low hum of the castle settling for the night and the occasional creak of the four-poster bed as he shifted.

He exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders in an attempt to shake the tension from them. The full moon wasn’t quite close enough to make his bones ache, but the restlessness was there, coiling under his skin.

The dorm was empty, just as he’d hoped. Sirius, James, and Peter would be down at dinner, likely causing some kind of scene that would earn them glares from McGonagall and cheers from the younger years. Normally, he’d roll his eyes and let himself be dragged into whatever chaos they concocted, but tonight, he couldn’t stomach the noise, the energy, the sheer presence of other people.

Except… there was one person he wouldn’t have minded.

The thought crept in before he could push it away.

If she were here, she’d probably sit at the foot of his bed, legs crossed, rambling about some bit of homework she’d been obsessing over or a book she thought he’d like. She had this way of filling the silence without overwhelming it, making it feel less like suffocating loneliness and more like something warm. Comforting.

But that was a dangerous train of thought.

He sighed, dragging a hand over his face before reaching for the book he’d left on his nightstand. He needed to distract himself. Because thinking about her—about how much he wanted her here—wasn’t going to help anything.

He’d managed to get through a chapter when there was a knock at the door. Odd. The boys wouldn’t knock, even though sometimes they really should, and Lily would be at dinner with them. For a brief, fleeting moment his mind jumped to her but… no she wouldn’t come by. Not that he didn’t want her to, just that it seemed a touch intimate to have her here. Ignoring the ache in his bones, he went to answer the door. 

​​When he pulled the door open, he froze.

It was her.

She stood just outside looking up at him with something soft in her eyes—concern, maybe, or curiosity. He wasn’t sure. He was too caught up in the fact that she was here, standing at his door, looking like she belonged in this quiet, dimly lit space with him.

“Hi,” she said, offering a small, hesitant smile.

Remus blinked, forcing himself to push past the shock. “Hi.” His voice was rougher than he meant it to be, throat dry from disuse. He cleared it quickly, shifting so he was half-blocking the doorway. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at dinner?”

She shrugged, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “I noticed you weren’t there.”

He swallowed. Of course, she noticed.

“It’s nothing,” he said, leaning against the doorframe, feigning nonchalance. “Just wasn’t feeling up for it.”

She nodded, “Figured. Thought you should at least have something.” 

Remus looked at the packaged food like he’d never seen anything like it before. It was silly the way his heart fluttered. Remus stared at the wrapped parcel in his hands like it was something sacred, something more than just a bit of dinner smuggled from the Great Hall. And maybe, in a way, it was.

He swallowed past the lump in his throat, willing himself to act like this wasn’t affecting him as much as it was. “You didn’t have to do that,” he said, voice quieter than before.

She shrugged, casual in a way that made it clear she didn’t see this as a big deal. “I know. But I wanted to.”

And that—that was what undid him.

Because she always did this. Slipped past his walls with such ease, knocked down his carefully built barriers without even trying. She made him feel seen, made him feel wanted in a way he wasn’t sure he could handle. All of it done like it was second nature to her, and maybe it was. Remnants of their past selves where being together was like breathing, but right now in this body that housed a monster that could wreck havoc. 

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before glancing at her. “You’re ridiculous,” he muttered, shaking his head, but there was no real bite to it, there never was when he spoke to her. 

She only smiled, “What a rude thing to say to someone who did something nice for you.” 

“Thank you,” he laughs. There’s a beat of silence before Remus, in all his awkward glory, asks, “Did you… do you want to come in?” 

To his surprise—and slight disappointment—she shakes her head, “No, that’s alright. I should head back down anyway.” 

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” he says with a nod of his head. He does his best to ignore the wolf’s petulant noise of displeasure. 

“Hope you feel better soon,” she says with a sincerity that makes his heart ache. She waves before she takes her leave. He knows that she likely only left because he had chosen to sequester himself in his dorm, but part of him wished she had said. 

The door’s shut with a soft click. Looking at the contents of the parcel Remus is come over with several emotions—gratitude, affection, and wistfulness. The contents were all things he enjoyed. Remus didn’t really have a large appetite, much to his mother’s and James’ chagrin.  He picked at his plates more often than not, eating habits resembling a bird pecking at its food than a man’s. 

Every time his mother had coaxed him to eat more, to hopefully fill out his thin frame he had rolled his eyes. Each time James did the same, though with slightly more success surprisingly, he had done so begrudgingly. But now, looking at the plate she had prepared he couldn’t bring himself to even feign annoyance. The image of her sitting there fixing a plate for him with things he liked has a warmth settle in his chest. The action itself was sweet, perhaps the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for him, but it wasn’t just that. It was clear and tangible evidence that she saw him—that she paid attention to him just as much as he did to her. 

Being seen by and being known by her was just like he thought it would be. It was frightening and exposing and wonderful all the same. 

He was so fucked. 

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

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