basil

well, it's not exactly your clinic- though, it might as well be. it's on the blue lock site, and run by an older woman who's never really there. on the rare occasions she actually showed up to work, she could usually be found in a deep slumber on one of the beds, snoozing peacefully as if there weren't injured athletes coming in every hour.

you basically ran the thing, even though you were only meant to be an apprentice. it was never a bother, though- the players of blue lock were generally not weird and not too annoying. actually, you had been having a pretty lovely day- some of the contestants you'd befriended had visited you and hung around for an hour or so, keeping you company as you tidied the small space.

it's safe to say your good mood was soured the instant a certain individual walked through the doors. the bell jingles and you snap upright from where you were sweeping debris from the floor, eyes narrowing as you saw who it was.

rin looked less than happy to be there. his arms were crossed over his chest, and his expression was flat and annoyed. his figure contrasted the blank, dark sky. past him, you could see snowdrifts lining the floor outside the clinic. you'd forgotten how cold it had been recently. if rin felt the bitter chill, he didn't show it.

he's wearing his practice attire with a navy crewneck thrown over top, and a pair of thin gloves. and he doesn't seem the slightest bit cold. you wonder if he's used to the snow- was it common where he was from?

"what're you here for?" you sound unfriendly and you don't think you'd have it any other way. his nostrils flare and he shuts the door behind him.

(as he moved, you notice a slight, strange shifting in his steps- a limp.)

"it’s not by choice, trust me,” he mutters. unceremoniously, he plops onto one of the open beds and kicks up his feet. his shoes are still on. you think he does this just to spite you.

you check the time. 5 minutes until 9 pm, until you’d finally be free to take the bus back to your apartment. you sigh and make a mental note to look up when the next bus would come.

“your leg?”

“yeah.”

you’re a bit surprised he hasn’t had anything bitter to say yet, as you examine his injury- a dark bruise forming above an undeniably sprained ankle. your fingers flutter over the darkened skin- an expanse that surpasses the main injury, spreading past his knee to his outer thigh.

you put on a poker face to hide your grimace- this must’ve hurt. and you notice that rin, too, stills under your touch. his skin burns hot and you’re not even touching him.

“do you.. have a fever?”

rin scoffs and jerks his head away so he’s not looking at you. “are you stupid? you’re the medical professional here.”

his words drip with venom and your brow furrows. you reach across him to place the back of your palm against his warm face. “you’re burning up.”

he swats your hand away with a scowl. you don’t miss the slight pink tinge to his cheeks, and your eyes widen in surprise. a smile tugs at your lips.

“looks like a nasty sprain.” you’re already back behind your desk, leaving rin alone. you busy yourself with continuing to tidy up and the force of his gaze burns into you like fire.

“okay? what do you want me to do with that information, you piece of shit pediatrician?”

your head pops out from behind the desk. “i’m not a pediatrician.”

“you seem like the kind of person who can only get along with children and not people your own age.”

a huff of air escapes you. “i get along fine with people who aren't... y'know."

he swings his legs off the bed and you give him a look. "you've gotta rest. keep that leg elevated, and put ice or pressure on it. that might hurt, though, with the bruising."

your words brought rin back to the memory of your hands ghosting his skin and he loses the steel tone to his voice. "am i free to go?"

you shrug. you would like to be meaner but you're too tired at the moment. "sure. just come back in like, a week, so i can check on you."

"you're a horrible doctor."

"i'm not a doctor."

"then you're just horrible."

something tells you that rin is too tired to argue, as well, because he's all bark and no bite. his attempts make you laugh and you think you're either going crazy or can see a ghost of a smile creasing his face. you blink and it's gone- but he's still there.

"are you gonna go?"

"i will," he starts defensively, "just waiting for you."

he blinks like his words surprised even himself. you tilt your head. "how very polite."

"of course. wouldn't want anyone to catch a glimpse of your face and then wither away and die."

"oh. nevermind."

he stands up and tries to hide how he winces when his injured leg hits the floor. you watch him slide on his gloves warily. "you done cleaning or what?"

"i'm done."

"come on, then."

you're not sure what changed. maybe the snow that had been falling earlier that day had gotten inhaled and stuck in between his neurons. he hadn't stopped staring at you since he'd entered the clinic, either. he's never been so normal around you. you glance at him as he opens the door for you and there's a heaviness under his eyes- he's tired.

oh. that explains it. itoshi rin does hate you- he's just too exhausted to be bitchy about it. something in you wilts, but you hate him too so you pay it no mind.

the both of you walk in silence until you're about halfway through the property, your negativity brewing like tea in a kettle. it's close to indescribable, how you feel. you want to talk to rin. but he wouldn't want to talk to you. and you shouldn't, you really shouldn't want to like this annoying, insufferable, arrogant piece of human garbage.

"where's your apartment?" he asks.

(your kettle boils over.)

"not far. 10 minutes out."

he nods. you expect the walk to continue in silence until he speaks again. (you hate to admit that you are so, so happy it doesn't.)

"i didn't mean to make you miss your bus."

you snort a laugh and he glances over at you. "is that an apology?"

and suddenly, he can't meet your eyes. oh. it was. you shift your gaze and he suddenly looks very small and uncomfortable, walking next to you. "i'd rather you see me than just go home for that. it's my job. i don't mind."

"i thought you said you weren't a doctor."

"i'm definitely not."

an air of tension shattered with that brief conversation. the ice in the air had melted, and you weren't too sure what to make of it. you pretended to not see the way rin's eyes never left your figure as he continued walking in silence beside you.

‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° ｡˚𓆛˚｡ °.𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊

the bus station is quiet and empty. the whisper of the wind forces a shiver out of you as the icy air licks your skin. rin's gaze flits over you the way it has so many times that day, as you take a seat on the bench.

checking the time on your phone, you see that it's a good 10 minutes until the bus' arrival. you bite the inside of your cheek. "thank you for walking me."

"mhm."

rin remains standing, arms crossed.

"especially with your fucked up leg."

"it's not fucked up."

at this, you laugh again. he half-glares at you but there's something softer lingering in his expression- something you don't recognize. "i'm a doctor. you can't lie to me about these things."

"so now you're a doctor?"

"i'm more of one than you."

his brow furrows and he sits on your left. "that doesn't make any sense. of course you are."

"my point exactly."

he sighs but you think he might be fighting a smile. and you're hit with a strange feeling because there's no way that this is the same boy that you've held a grudge against since the day you met him.

he's easy to talk to, even if he doesn't have the most creative replies. he'd caring, even if he doesn't outright show it. you wonder what else you could learn about the enigma that is itoshi rin tonight.

and then you feel even stranger, because he hates you. there's no way around it. he glares at you at any given chance, he calls you demeaning things, he hasn't said a kind word to you, he's never even spared you a glance until tonight.

you wonder what changed, as you look at him. he turns his gaze to you and electricity sparks as your eyes meet. he opens his mouth. he closes it. and then he speaks.

"are you cold?"

you blink in surprise, because you were cold, to the bone, shivering like a leaf in the wind. you're fully dressed and wearing the warmest sweater you could find, but your hands are still reddened with frost. you're kind of impressed by how rin seems unaffected.

"a little," you lie. he sighs and you watch in silence as he peels off his right glove and hands it to you.

"here."

you blink down at the worn, black glove before sliding it onto your right hand. "thanks."

and your heart stutters, and then stops, because he reaches down without looking and holds your bare hand with his. his skin is warm to the touch and you swear you can hear his heartbeat lurch in his wrist. you look at him and he keeps staring straight ahead.

he runs hot, you realize, which is probably why he was able to bear the temperatures outside. did he even need gloves? why was he wearing this?

and then, it hits you: did he plan this?

you hate itoshi rin, but you let him hold your hand as you walk through the snow-covered paths. you hate itoshi rin, but you're holding hands and wearing his glove, alone together as you wait for your bus.

you hate itoshi rin and he hates you, but he shifts closer to you and you feel the fight leaving your body.

you bite your lip before you speak, hesitantly addressing the situation: "you're holding my hand."

as soon as the words leave your mouth you want to hit yourself. rin raises an eyebrow. "yeah."

"why?"

you see how rin's face flushes pink in the night and how his ears are practically emitting smoke. he doesn't reply, but you feel his grip loosening in yours- you tighten your hold. he doesn't pull away.

"i thought you hated me."

at this, rin blanches. "what?"

you shrug. "yeah."

he blinks at you, and then he looks away. "no."

"you don't hate me?"

"no."

you purse your lips. "you suck at talking to people."

he glares at you. "i don't hate you."

the eye contact makes you shiver. "then why are you... like that?"

"like what?"

"you're... like, mean."

at this, your companion looks away. embarrassment colours his features and you're upset because he looks cute. "i don't mean to be."

"oh?"

it's silent for a beat until he continues. "you're just.. i dunno."

a sly smile crosses your face as you try to ease the tension. "what, don't tell me i make you nervous, rin!"

but he doesn't reply, opting to stare straight into the distance. oh.

oh.

"you don't hate me," you say slowly, like you're contemplating it, before grinning. "wonderful. i was getting sick of disliking you back."

he's still holding your hand, and you give it a squeeze. rin's eyes widen and you could almost laugh at how out of character all this was.

"cool."

"yep. awesome."

a bright light appears, and your bus is here. the both of you stand, neither willing to disconnect your hands. you eventually pull out of his grasp, and he looks a bit like a lost dog.

with a short laugh, you plant your hands on his jaw and place a short, sweet kiss on the apple of his cheek, leaving him redder than he was to begin with.

he opens his mouth for a few seconds before finally finding his words as you step towards the open bus doors. "text me when you're home?"

"yeah. yeah, i will. goodnight, rin."

"goodnight", he says back, but you're already gone. the bus drives away and he is left reeling, head spinning, heart roaring, absolutely, positively infatuated.

it's not until the cold night winds strike his bare hand does rin realize- you still have his glove.

he’s holding a black bag in one hand, a plastic hamper in the other. you watch him walk to one of the laundry machines, fishing around in the pockets of his basketball shorts for change. while he slowly inserts the required amount, you admire his side profile. 

everything about him is sharp, from the slope of his nose, the cut of his jaw, the subtle frown he wears. even his haircut is sharp, or maybe it just feels that way. he’s got emo hair, you notice as he leans forward to read the settings on the machine.

it crosses your mind that, perhaps, you should go over there and offer your help. but it doesn’t seem like this guy wants to be bothered, even if you’d only be offering help. you realize that you’ve never seen him before, and that the likelihood of him coming back after this visit is close to none.

if he’s not a regular, he’s probably just visiting. you find yourself slightly disappointed, but you shake the feeling off. he’s just a stranger—a very pretty stranger—but a stranger nonetheless. 

this intriguing stranger loads up the machine with his clothes, and leans against one of the others next to it as it runs, a bored expression on his face as he runs a hand through his hair. you follow the movement of his arm, his hand as it cards through strands of his hair before resting against his side.

it occurs to you that you must be staring pretty hard, especially when the boy looks over at you. you bristle at his gaze, embarrassment creeping up your neck from having been caught. he seems entirely unbothered, staring unblinking until you tear your eyes away. 

you fiddle with your fingers, vaguely aware of his figure shuffling around, pacing in front of the machine washing his clothes. you have the urge to say something to him, incite some kind of conversation despite the part of you that’s convinced he hates you already. 

there’s an awkwardness in the air and you pray for someone else to walk in, save you from being stuck behind a counter with this guy standing not too far from you. your grandmother saves the day, sending you to the back to double-check the collections list for her. 

you’ve never been more grateful for dry-cleaning. 

.・゜-: ✧ :-

you begin seeing this boy every single week, coming in to do his laundry. it’s like he appeared out of thin air, you figure he must have moved recently. 

with every single visit, you only become more intrigued by him, enamored by his beauty and confused by his aloofness. you haven’t learned anything from the first time he caught you, continuing to stare at him, and consequently, continuing to get caught. 

you constantly have to remind yourself that this boy is an utter stranger to you, you don’t even know his name. yet, on occasion, you find yourself wondering what he’s up to. 

you also wonder if he thinks of you. 

at first, it seemed as though this boy only caught your stare after you looked over at him first. six visits in and you’re beginning to feel like he’s waiting for you to look over, so he can meet your gaze.

it makes you feel some kind of way, a mixture of anticipation and confusion. the former, you don’t know what for. it’s not like he’s said a single word to you, and it doesn’t seem like he has any plans to. and you definitely aren’t going to be the one to say anything, no matter how many times you’ve thought about it.

so, instead, you both settle into a game of staring, lying in wait for the other to do something.

you’ve basically concluded that you’ve got tendencies to be seriously delusional about every aspect of your life, even the ones that involve strangers getting their laundry done.

it’s on his eighth visit that he approaches you, for the first time ever. you panic when you see him veer from his usual path towards the laundry machines, and walk towards you instead. you almost forget your rehearsed pleasantry when you see him up close.

fall has transitioned into winter and rin’s wearing a navy blue scarf around his neck, along with black coat. he’s so much prettier when you can actually see him clearly, see the speckles of blue and green in his teal eyes, and his long lashes.

“hi, how can i help you?” you congratulate yourself silently for not tripping over your words.

he speaks monotonously, dead-panning, “i need this cleaned.” in his hand, he’s holding a jersey. a large number ten is emblazoned onto it. 

“i see,” you say, apologetically. he pushes the piece of clothing towards you. “what seems to be the problem?”

“it’s dirty. i need it to be cleaned.”

you blink a few times, wondering if you weren’t clear enough when you asked. “well, i figured, this is a laundromat and dry-cleaning shop.”

he sighs, “it’s stained.”

you flip the jersey around in your hands, spotting the large, burgundy stain on the left. normally, people hand over clothing in garment bags—this guy clearly doesn’t do that.

your grandmother ends up taking over the conversation, promising him a clean jersey when he gets back. she brings it to the back, placing a pale yellow sticky note, his name scribbled onto it.

itoshi rin.

itoshi rin is a sharp name for the sharp stranger who walked into your mind eight visits ago. you can’t justify the way you feel about him, despite not knowing anything about him. it’s obviously shallow attraction, for all you know, he could be a massive asshole.

still, you think about itoshi rin and his blue-ish, green-ish, teal eyes as you double check the collections list for your grandmother, as you do most days. 

he comes back to get his jersey an hour before closing. you try to make yourself look busy so that you won’t have to be the one to hand it over, but your grandmother sends you off with the jersey anyway.

steeling your nerves, you peer around the edge of the doorframe, into the main part of the store. it’s hard to miss rin, leaning against the laundry machines once more, clearly waiting for his clothes to finish washing. 

he finds you standing strangely behind the door frame and squints his eyes. you straighten up, clearing your throat as you walk over to him. “your jersey is ready.”

“thanks,” he mumbles and that’s that. 

you realize if you don’t say anything now, you’ll be stuck wondering about him, this time with the added detail of his name. who knows if he’ll speak to you again—the worst that can happen is he never returns after today. you can deal with that if you know you tried talking to him.

“so, you play a sport?”

it’s a shitty question, you think, as soon as the words leave your mouth. he looks over at you instead of looking at his jersey. “yeah.”

“um…what sport?”

“football.”

“oh. cool.”

you don’t know anything about football, and you don’t know where to take it from here.

“what about you?” he asks, and it nearly makes you jump.

you feel irrationally giddy that he’s trying to keep this incredibly dry conversation alive. “what about me?”

rin stills, looking away from you to stare right past you. you wonder if he thinks you can’t notice his blatant attempt to avoid eye contact.

“do you play a sport?”

“oh i– no. i don’t play anything,” you laugh, awkwardly. “i just kind of hang around here.”

“you spend your time here?”

now he must think you’re a loser with nowhere to be and no one to see. “no! not always…i’m only here over the weekends ‘cause that’s when i work.”

“my name is itoshi rin,” he kind of blurts out. the flow of this entire conversation is choppy, stunted, obviously one happening between two teenagers who are incapable of being social.

you nod, and before you can stop yourself, you’re blurting out, “i know.”

rin simply stares at you, compelling you to explain and you do, trying your best to convince him you aren’t some kind of creep. in the end, you introduce yourself too. when he bids you goodbye, using your name, you try your best to ignore the butterflies in the pit of your stomach. 

.・゜-: ✧ :-

your minimal interactions with itoshi rin have gotten a lot more amicable since your awkward conversation a few days ago. when he walks in, you welcome him in. when he leaves, he never forgets to say goodbye. you want him to say something more, ask you about literally anything. 

you would ask him, but you don’t want to upset this delicate balance the both of you have built up. going out of line runs the risk of pushing him away from where you’re currently at. as sad as it might be, you’d rather have this barely-anything interaction over none at all.

“are you and this 'itoshi rin' friends?” your grandmother asks one early morning. you try not to choke on the tea you’re sipping on.

“not really, we just greet each other, that’s it.”

“well, he seems like a good guy. get to know him, will you? you spend all your time here or at home, you need some friends.”

you watch her walk into the back with your jaw dropped, tea growing cold in your hands.

“i thought you didn’t spend all your time here?” rin asks, and his presence makes you fly out of your seat. he almost makes you spill your drink.

“rin, you’re…early today,” you mumble, realizing he’s broken his usual pattern of coming in during the evening.

he looks away from you, lifting up a few bags, “i have a lot of laundry, this time.”

you watch him load up a few machines full of the clothes, feeding change into them and taking a seat as they hum to life. you wonder if he heard your grandmother urging you to become friends with him. you wonder if he’s bothered by it.

you wish you could read itoshi rin’s mind. maybe you could, if he wasn’t hiding behind that fucking fringe of his.

he’s watching you work, you can feel his eyes on you as you check lists and count change. you can feel his eyes on you as you sort out the pieces of clothing that have already been dry-cleaned. 

you’ve gotten to a point where his blatant staring is only irritating you. if he can stare, why can’t he say something to you? what’s stopping him form starting a conversation with you–

“what’s wrong with the window covers here?” rin asks, pointing at one of the shutters still pulled shut. bright rays of sun break through the rips, spilling onto the tile floor.

you sigh deeply, “they need to be replaced. i’ve been trying to get my grandmother to do it, but she always forgets.

“i haven’t had the time to fix them myself.”

he gets up then, barely sparing a glance at the clothes spinning inside the washing machine. “i’ll help.”

“are you sure? you don’t have to?”

“i’m sure.”

you eye him for a moment or two, then disappear into the back to grab the replacement shutters. the news ones are sturdier, hopefully they’ll last longer. rin doesn’t need a ladder, fully capable of reaching the window easily with his height. 

he does the first one easily, barely breaking a sweat when he has to pull off the original shutters. if only you had an athlete to do your handiwork for you everyday.

rin takes a few steps back, to assess if it’s been placed evenly, and then asks, “you need to replace all of them?”

“yeah, but if you don’t want to do all of them then–”

“it’s fine. i can do them.”

you watch him work, much like he’s done to you. he doesn’t seem fazed by your stare in the slightest. the washing machines with his clothes hum to a stop, but rin keeps going, fixing all the shutters before pulling his clothes out. 

he puts them in to dry, then he walks all the way over to your desk, leaning against it instead of on one of the machines. you try not to give away your nervousness, fumbling with the change in your hands. 

rin merely peers at you from the corner of his eye, watching you clumsily mess around with the stacks of coins in your hands. a piece of paper is pinned to your left. he cracks a small smile.

“the red lingerie belongs to the old woman who comes in on wednesdays. do NOT ask about it just tell her to check the lost and found!!!!!!”

you stop fiddling with the change in your hands, a foreboding feeling washing over you. you turn slightly towards rin, realizing that he’s staring at the note you tacked up as a reminder to yourself.

one of your regulars is a sweet, old woman who comes in every wednesday. she usually gets her laundry done and then leaves, but never without asking you about your day. she was very much the physical manifestation of those old ladies in books that hand out butterscotch candies. 

you weren’t expecting her to have left behind lacy, red lingerie. you weren’t even sure if you could call it lingerie, it was barely anything substantial, just a bunch of red straps and an alarming lack of fabric.

your grandmother let you know two days ago that she had left it behind, you stuck up a note, not expecting anyone to come close enough to read the note. 

of course the one person that does come up to the desk is none other than itoshi rin. 

he looks away from the note and at you, amusement making his features look less dark. you’re hardly in the mood to admire him, however, as embarrassment creeps up your neck and warms up your cheeks.

you’re caught between explaining (and possibly digging yourself further into a hole) and leaving it a secret (and risking rin to draw his own conclusion about you and this facility). 

“you must meet some interesting people working here,” he muses, propping up his chin with his hand. the action pushes him closer to you and you instinctively take a step back.

you can smell the cologne he uses and that’s enough to make you decide to create some space between the both of you. “yeah, way more interesting than you.”

as soon as the words leave your mouth, you panic. that wasn’t what you intended to say at all. truthfully, you didn’t know what you were going to say, but insulting him was definitely not it.

rin frowns, straightening up and looking to the side. he’s crossed his arms over his chest, letting out a puff of air like some temperamental child. you grit your teeth, the awkwardness from the first time you spoke begins to set in once again. in an effort to save this situation, you decide to change the subject.

“so…any plans for the rest of tonight?”

slowly, rin turns back to look at you, thinking for a moment. “i’m gonna watch a movie, probably.”

“oh, what movie?”

“a horror movie.”

looking at him, you’re not surprised at all that this guy is watching horror movies in his free time. 

“other than that, i’m probably just gonna play video games. maybe read some manga, nothing special,” he continues, tugging on the sleeve of his shirt. 

you smile, “maybe not, but it sounds fun. what kind of video games do you like?”

“horror.”

your smile falters a bit. “cool…um…what manga are you reading?”

“something horror.”

well. he definitely knows what he likes. 

“you’re very consistent,” you nod, clearing your throat. 

rin parrots you, clearing his throat as well. “the manga is called dragon head, if you were wondering.”

he turns away on the short beeps from the machines signifying that his clothes are finished drying. 

meanwhile, you create a note to join the embarrassing one tacked onto the wall:

“read dragon head !!!!!!!!!!!!!”

.・゜-: ✧ :-

with every passing week, rin shows up with an even bigger bag of clothes. his absolutely massive load of laundry keeps him inside the laundromat for longer periods of time, just hanging around and talking to you about anything and nothing. he’s also started coming earlier, ditching the evenings for afternoons.

oftentimes, he’ll talk about football, leaving you to nod along mindlessly as he throws sport jargon you can’t be bothered to decipher with the little context clues he gives you.

on the 16th sunday, rin walks into the shop with two large bags overflowing with clothes. 

“jesus, how many clothes do you go through in a week?” you ask, utterly bewildered at the sheer size of the bags, stuffed to the brim. 

you watch him lug the bags into the store, shooting you a glare. “don’t fucking judge me.”

you’re about to mention how this can’t be an efficient way of living, when the words get caught in your throat. a shirt sitting at the top of the pile inside one of the bags tumbles unceremoniously to the ground.

you weren’t prepared for what it said.

by some god-given miracle, it’s managed to land face-up, revealing the words printed onto it. it’s a crop top, and in bold, it reads “I ❤️ BALLS.” as if that isn’t terrible enough, there are two soccer balls placed suspiciously close together, paired with a bleached spot. it’s wonky and curved and it clearly mimics a dick. you almost can’t believe your eyes. 

rin almost can’t believe his eyes either.

he should’ve known better than to take bachira’s laundry. that was his mistake and this is his cross to bear. it seems like the world is moving in slow motion as he looks up from this abomination of a shirt to your shocked figure.

you feel the corner of your mouth twitch and it takes everything in you to not break into a fit of laughter. 

rin, on the other hand, had never felt such horror in his entire life. he’s certain that his ears are as red as the giant heart on bachira’s devil shirt. he’s already committed to calling both bags his laundry, which means this shirt is included. 

you watch in awe as rin huffs rather dramatically, swiping the shirt off the ground and hugging it to his chest in an effort to hide the words. it’s no use, the same text is printed on the back as well. 

at this point, it seems like a great disservice to whatever entity has put together this series of events if you didn’t laugh. the sound bubbles up from your chest while rin stomps over to the washing machines.

“nice shirt!” you call out to him between laughs.

he simply flips you off, shoving a handful of his laundry into the washing machine. “shut the fuck up.”

you watch him angrily pay for the laundry, stepping back from the machines. when he walks over to you, he doesn’t meet your eyes. 

he bends down and rests his head on the desk, arms covering his head in defeat. it really only makes you laugh harder. “hey, i won’t judge your taste in clothes.”

“oh sure, i believe you. it’s definitely not like you’re laughing at me,” he grumbles, peeking at you through a small gap he’s made between his arms. “fuck off.”

you watch him bury himself further under the weight of his arms, clearly from the sheer humiliation of everything that just went down. his ears are tinged red (you’re willing to bet the rest of his face is too) and he digs his hand into his hair, ruffling it. you fight the urge to reach over and fix the messed up strands.

“listen—stop whining on my desk. i pinky-promise to never bring this up again, okay?” you say, poking his shoulder softly. you’ve held up your pinky as if to prove your point. 

he scoffs, lifting his head up, “i don’t make pinky-promises.” rin reaches over and pushes your pinky out of the way.

rolling your eyes, you simply shrug, “okay, whatever.”

“you’re reading dragon head?”

you freeze, having completely forgotten about the first volume of the series sitting on your desk, in plain sight. you went and got it after he mentioned it, curious about it and also hoping to get something to talk to him about. the last thing you wanted, though, was for him to find out.

snatching it up, you tuck it behind your back, “yeah, i am. it’s pretty good so far.”

he looks like he wants to say something in response, but instead he decides to stay silent, looking around the shop as the laundry hums quietly in the back. you’re reminded of when rin fixed the shutters, something your grandmother failed to notice until you brought it up. 

“what? looking for something to fix?” you joke, shoving the manga in some corner, away from him. 

rin just nods, dead serious. “yeah, i am.” 

you can’t figure him out. you don’t understand his motivations for helping you fix up the shop, especially when he looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. furrowing your brows, you try your best to get a read on him. 

you fail. 

if only he pushed that fringe out of the way. 

so you just ask him instead: “why do you want to help me around the shop? like– what’s in it for you?”

“it’s not like i have anything better to do while i wait for my clothes,” he replies, but you’re not convinced. normal people just fuck around on their phone while waiting for their laundry to finish, some of them even leave and come back later.

raising a brow, you fix him with a suspicious stare, “lots of people have to wait for their clothes rin, but you’re the only one offering to do my work for me.”

“normally, people don’t turn down others when they offer to help. ‘don’t look a gift horse in the mouth’—ever heard of that, dimwit?”

“sorry, i don’t understand what you’re trying to do here!” 

he takes a deep breath, eyes shut to display his clear irritation with you. “i’m just being a nice person. maybe, i just like spending time–”

your grandmother shows up with your tea, barely glancing over at rin, who’s shot a few feet away from you upon seeing her. he’s also abandoned what he was about to say, leaving you to wonder. she wordlessly leaves the tray on the desk and leaves. you grab your cup, confused as to why there’s another.

there’s a note next to it: 

“for rin”

“rin, do you want some tea my grandma made? it’s really good.”

you contemplate telling him about the fact that your grandma stores the tea bags, and most of her tea supplies, suspiciously close to the cleaning chemicals. instead of bringing up first, you decide to just wait and see if he notices first. 

in your mind, you don’t think the tea tastes like anything but tea, but maybe you’re too used to it. that being said, if rin ever insulted your grandma or anything she made, you’d kick him out and ban him from the shop. 

he gently takes the cup off the tray, bringing it to his mouth, taking a small sip of the steaming hot liquid. 

“it’s really good,” he answers, keeping his eyes on you. your heart crawls up your throat, and you force it back down with a gulp. 

rin doesn’t say anything else, continuing to drink the tea. silence blankets you both, broken only by the laundry going in the background. for once, you don’t mind the lack of conversation between the two of you. you find that you can exist in quiet with him without feeling the need to fill it with pointless conversation. 

he finishes first, waits for you to do the same, then asks you about renovations once again. 

“well, i’ve been meaning to replace this,” you say, pointing at the small shelving unit (it’s just a few planks of wood nailed to the wall) behind you. it’s not sturdy in the slightest, everyday you live in fear that everything on it will come crashing down. 

lord knows how long your grandma’s had it anyway, she has a bit of a hoarding problem. 

“i can replace it.”

“you don’t have to if you don’t want.” you feel a little guilty using him but not paying him. this boy confuses you beyond belief. 

“why do i have to keep repeating myself? i do want to, that’s why i asked in the first place.”

scoffing, you make your way to the back, grumbling about how he didn’t have to be so rude. you don’t think he heard you. 

you come back out with what you’ve bought for it’s replacement—a mahogany shelf—along with a toolbox you’re pretty sure your grandma stole from a hardware store. “what do you think? isn’t it so pretty?”

“it’s wood.”

“you’re miserable. open your eyes and see the beauty in the small things, itoshi rin.”

“die.”

you hand over the shelf and the toolbox to rin, and he walks around the desk, towards the shelf. he hesitates as he enters the space and you realize then that you’ve made a huge lapse in judgment. 

your desk space is pretty small, it didn’t need to be any bigger since only one person would be using it at a time. the shelf behind you didn’t bother you because it was just you, even if it did make the space a little smaller.

but now, rin’s in this space as well, and he’s too close. close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off of him as he settles everything down and gets to work. close enough that you can see him clench his jaw in concentration, see his arms flex as he moves things around.

you should just get out, create distance because you can’t be around him. not when he continuously brushes up next to you, mumbling a soft apology every single time. 

you can’t, though, you have work to do. work which you’ve been procrastinating all day, and maybe if you hadn’t done that, you wouldn’t be in this situation right now. curse your past self.

coins keep slipping from your hands and you struggle to pick them up from off the place, not able to catch the edge to lift them up. neither of you speak, focused on your work (rin is focused, you’re trying not to explode). 

the tension in the air is palpable, it presses down on your chest, making it hard to breathe. you feel like your heart is beating so loud, he must be able to hear it. you feel pathetic, staring at him out of the corner of your eye. he’s completely zeroed in on his task, it’s cute.

your mind begins moving a mile a minute, you’re seriously overwhelmed by your own thoughts. it’s been 16 weeks and you barely know anything about rin, but he takes up a large portion of your thoughts. 

“you’re like…bob the builder,” you laugh. it’s a weak attempt at trying to pull yourself out of your own head.

rin snaps his head to the side, scowling at you, “i wish murder was legal.”

he’s finally gotten to the top shelf. the others mainly contained random books, an old bottle of perfume, and a few other decorative pieces. the top shelf, you remember, contains several picture frames with photos of you.

he grabs a gold framed one, the worst one, and turns to you, “is this you?”

it is. you’ve scrunched up your nose in discontent, the embarrassing picture staring back at you. you were six, grinning widely as children often do. the only problem was that you were missing your two front teeth, along with your two front bottom teeth as well. 

“yeah, it is,” you mumble, just loud enough for him to hear. you want a bolt of lightning to strike you down—at least then, you wouldn’t have to deal with this. 

you miss the way he smiles fondly at your smiling face in the picture, cheeks squishing your eyes. rin turns his head towards ever so slightly, just enough to let him really look at you. feeling his eyes on you, you meet his gaze, catching his soft smile for a split second before he drops it.

“you were an ugly kid,” he blurts out, putting the picture onto the desk and clearing off the rest of them.

he’s right, you agree, but that doesn't mean he gets the right to say that to you. “what the hell? let me see what you looked like then. can’t be any worse than what you look like now, you fucking ogre.”

you turn away from him, arms crossed and offended. unfortunately, you don’t have a lot of room and the both of you are close enough that you can still see him. you’re expecting another insult but it never comes.

rin just smiles instead, shaking his head and going back to his work. 

you’ve given up on yours. how are you even meant to work when rin is right there? and how are you meant to work now that you’ve seen him genuinely smile? it’s the first time he’s looked anything but indifferent; you wish you could tell him that his smile looks good on him.

it’s as though everything he does only endears him further to you. even when he’s insulting you, or sending glares your way. 

you pick at your nails, waiting for him to finish up his work. the laundry is still humming but you’re sure it’ll go off sometime soon. then, he’ll be here while the clothes dry.

"i'm done–" he says abruptly, turning too fast. he cuts himself off, face to face with you, too close.

he's too close, the warmth of his breath softly fanning across your face. you don't move away. 

the speckles of blue and green in his eyes have never been clearer, his eyelashes resting against his cheek. rin really is beautiful, nothing you could say could truly encompass how true that is. his eyes are so vivid, aquamarine a striking contrast to his dark hair—they draw you in. 

you try to shift your attention away from his eyes, which only leads you to flicker your gaze down to his lips.

you find yourself wondering what it would be like to lean forward, close the sliver of space that remains. the feeling of his hands cupping your cheeks, pulling you in, closer and closer. you want to be right up against him, feel his heart beating. your own heart is thundering against your ribcage, the sound roaring inside your ears.

rin clenches his jaw, parting his lips lightly and it draws a soft breath out of you.

it feels like an eternity has passed, neither of you moving away, neither of you breaking the silence. 

the washing machine beeps behind you, but the sound seems so far away. rin is the first to move away, jerking back and nearly losing his footing. you tear your gaze away from him, staring down at the ground. 

you feel him brush against you as he walks out to grab his clothes. it’s hard to breathe, the anticipation building in the pit of your stomach falls through. 

you don’t like itoshi rin. you can’t like itoshi rin.

not when you can’t be sure if he likes you.

.・゜-: ✧ :-

it’s been two weeks since rin helped you fix the shelf behind you at your desk. which marks two weeks since the incident. he still showed up last week, and you’re positive he’ll be here this week as well. 

he continued to bring in more and more laundry with him, making you wonder if he’s got a spending problem, and he still talked to you while waiting. but neither of you spoke about what happened. 

it’s not like there’s anything to talk about anyway, right? you and rin just happened to be super close to each other and that’s all that happened. it definitely didn’t make your chest feel tight and it didn’t make your heart flutter and you definitely do not have a crush on him.

you don’t. 

you don’t like him and you absolutely aren’t considering getting him something for valentine’s day (the sunday after valentine’s day). that would be ridiculous—but you mull it over anyway, wondering if you’d be stepping too far out of your depth.

you think about how much you don’t have a crush on rin as you write up your report on owls. it’s a strange project to be assigned to a second-year but you’re not complaining. you screw around on canva, making your slides look aesthetically pleasing.

“what’re you doing?” rin’s voice accompanies his shadow looming over your laptop. you motion for him to move over, turning the laptop around to show him your screen.

“it’s a presentation about owls,” you explain, before turning it back to you. “don’t ask why, i couldn’t tell you.”

it’s hard to miss the way he lights up at the mention of owls, leaning a bit closer to you. ever since the incident two days ago, rin seems a lot more comfortable invading your space. 

you wouldn’t mind it if his face didn’t make your cognitive thinking skills vanish into thin air. 

“a group of owls is called a parliament,” he says, looking at the feather motifs you’ve used to decorate your slides. 

he watches you pull up an empty google doc, typing in what he just said. “they also have three eyelids.”

rin continues listing owl facts off the top of his head, and you note them down, blindly trusting him. something tells you he wouldn’t be wrong and you’re too lazy to fact-check. 

“i didn’t realize you liked owls so much,” you mutter, adding more details to your presentation. it’s the final touch before you have to start actually typing in your information. 

he simply shrugs, “they’re my favorite animal.”

it’s quiet as you type away, then rin breaks it. “do you have a favorite animal?”

you hum, thinking for a moment as you search through all the animals you find seriously adorable. “i like chinchillas.”

“...you look like one.”

looking up from your work, you fix him with an incredulous stare, “what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

maybe, he doesn’t deserve anything for valentine’s day.

he doesn’t answer, staying silent with an annoyingly attractive smile on his face. if you didn’t have an ounce of dignity left in you, you’d break into tears. he will never know how he’s running circles around your mind.

you should’ve been thinking of owls instead of rin, your fingers accidentally typing out his name onto your slides instead of whatever fact you meant to explain. 

he notices, you know he does because his eyes flicker over to you momentarily, but he chooses not to say anything. you try not to read into it, he could be saving you from embarrassment. but from what you’ve gleaned of his character, it doesn’t seem very rin-like to let an opportunity like this pass.

worrying your bottom lip between your teeth, you try to focus on your project, even though your mind continues to wander. 

would he care if you got him something? would he think you were weird? 

for the third time since you’ve met him, you find yourself wishing you could read his mind. the fringe is obviously not the problem, this is a skill issue on your part. 

“how come you never wear that shirt? the balls one,” you ask, knowing the question would piss him off. truthfully, you just wanted to distract yourself from your racing thoughts, your mind going a mile a minute. 

“i thought you promised you wouldn’t bring that up.”

“you didn’t make the pinky promise so it’s fair game.”

“it died. i took it through a shredder,” he deadpans, placing both his hands onto the desk to lean forward menacingly. knowing him, he probably would shred a shirt he didn’t like. you think it’s a shame.

like every other sunday before this one, you and rin spend your time together talking about anything you can think of. you finish up your project and make sure you didn’t accidentally mention rin when you meant to type something else. 

when his laundry’s done with both washing and drying, he packs it back into his bags and leaves. you watch him until he disappears from your view, turning around a corner of the shop.

you think about what’s holding you back from being honest with yourself and being honest with him. this tentative friendship that you’ve formed with him could cease to exist with just a few words—it’s a risk you’re not willing to take. 

at the same time, you think about how much longer things will go on like this, words left unsaid between you and rin. you can’t continue to pretend like things are normal, you’ve noticed the weird atmosphere between you both and you hope that he has too.

how much longer are you willing to lie to yourself and act like you don’t like him? act like he’s just a friend? 

you’ve made up your mind: you’re going to get him something for valentine’s day. 

sure, it might be a few days late, and it might be nothing special, but it might be enough to make it clear to rin where you stand with him. and if he never comes back? then you’ll just have to forget him.

even if his memory surrounds you, on the windows and with the shelf, on your desk and in your school work. you’re not sure you ever could forget him, now that you think about it.

.・゜-: ✧ :-

it’s the sunday after valentine’s day, the nineteenth sunday. 

you haven’t quite known peace since you decided to get rin something for valentine’s day. it’s nothing grand in fact it barely cost you anything.

you saw it on display inside of a store full of knick-knacks. you always pass it on your way home from school, and this particular wednesday, you saw the keychain and temporary tattoos and only one person came to mind.

rin.

the keychain was a wooden owl with intricate swirls drawn onto it’s wings and belly. the tattoos matched the designs on the owl, in several colors and sizes. you didn’t even hesitate, buying it instantly.

now that it was time to give it to him, you were having second thoughts.

giving someone something for valentine’s day is an inherently intimate gesture, let alone something that is obviously catered towards them. nothing about this seems purely platonic and you know that rin is going to pick up on it.

anxiety swirls inside your gut, clawing it’s way up to your chest and around your lungs, making it harder to breathe. every few seconds, you look over at the door, waiting for rin to walk through with his unusually large bags of laundry. 

you’re met with an empty spot every single time. 

realizing that you’re being a bit pathetic, you direct your attention elsewhere, looking over the list of collections before your grandma even mentions it to you. it’s then that rin finally walks in.

as soon as the door opens, you snap your head up, looking over and feeling your heartbeat quicken at his figure dragging in his bags. he looks over at you briefly, greeting you with a nod. your chest fills with a sickening premonition, mouth twisting into a frown.

he didn’t say hi like he usually did, he didn’t even give you a barely-there smile. 

“happy late valentine’s day!” you call out half-heartedly, watching him aggressively shove clothes into the washing machine.

“valentine’s day is so lukewarm,” he grumbles loud enough for you to hear. “it’s a useless day that’s only a bother.”

oh.

you stare down at the keychain and temporary tattoos in your hand, poorly hidden underneath the desk. clearly you chose the wrong thing to do. you consider keeping it to yourself, never revealing that you got him something.

but maybe he’s just bitter because he didn’t get a valentine or something–

“i don’t even remember how many valentines,” he says, disgust lacing his words, “i got today. i spent all day rejecting them.

“i have better things to do.”

your heart drops to your stomach, you feel crushed. 

even more than that, you feel like a fool. obviously rin would hate the concept of valentine’s day and valentines—you’re an idiot for thinking anything else. you fiddle with the key ring of the owl keychain, wondering what to do with your gifts.

you look up at him, still stuffing clothes, into a different washing machine this time. taking a deep breath, you decide that you’ll give it to him anyway.

this is a risk you have to take.

“this is…kind of awkward,” you breathe out, a disingenuous laugh following it. rin’s finally walked up to your desk, looking over at you expectantly. “i got you something…for valentine’s day.”

“oh.”

his response isn’t reassuring in the slightest. in fact, it only makes you feel worse as you hand over the keychain and temporary tattoos. “i know it’s kind of a strange gift, but i saw them and thought of you so i bought it. you don’t have to keep them–”

he shakes his head, turning the keychain over in his hand, “no i’ll keep it. thank you, i’ll…keep it.”

you’re not entirely convinced, especially after what he said mere moments ago about valentine’s day. you feel as though he’s trying to spare your feelings but you look past it, happy that he didn’t reject you.

but now that you’ve come this far, you don’t have anything else prepared to say. you don’t have a confession planned (not that you’re ready to confess), you don’t have a joke to lighten the mood, you don’t have an insult to throw at him. 

rin’s still fixated on what you’ve given him, running his thumb over the carved designs on the owl. 

eventually, he stores it away in his pockets, leaning against your desk. you can’t help but notice that he seems to be in a better mood—you want to believe it’s because of you. 

conversation flows naturally, both of you moving on from the gift. you wish he hadn’t, you wish he had asked about it, said anything aside from a simple thanks. on the brightside, it didn’t end in an absolute disaster. maybe you should count your blessings.

“hey, how’d you get into football anyway?” you ask, tilting your head to the side. 

he stares at you silently for a few moments before replying, “because of my brother. he actually came back from spain today.”

“oh, that’s cute,” you sigh with a soft smile. “you can hang out with your brother!”

“it’s not cute. i hate him.”

“oh…”

you swiftly move the conversation along, leaving the topic of his brother behind. there’s obviously some unresolved issues plaguing the itoshi household, but you’re not going to be the one to resolve them.

rin leaves the shop waving you goodbye, twirling the owl keychain around his index finger.

(somehow he managed to drag both his bags in one hand).

.・゜-: ✧ :-

the next time you see him is nothing special. the only difference is that the time you’ve spent without him around you has made you fall even harder for him. 

he’s started appearing in your dreams, becoming a constant in your daydreams. rin has managed to infiltrate almost every aspect of your life. even your grandma has started asking about rin—wondering if you were keeping in touch with him throughout the week.

you’re not. despite the fact that it’s been so long, neither of you have exchanged numbers. he’s never brought it up and you’re not about to ask first. 

your eyes follow rin’s movements as he loads up his laundry. you’ve seen it several times before, him doing this mundane task. that doesn’t change how you continue to watch him so closely. 

you’re drawn to his arm, when he goes to close the machine. on the side of his right arm is one of the temporary owl tattoos, a bright purple against his pale skin. you gasp softly, barely able to contain your smile as you point it out.

“you put on the tattoo!”

instinctively, he looks over at it on his arm, confirming that the purple splotch on him is in fact the temporary tattoo you gifted him. he brings his arm down to his side, hiding it even though you’ve already seen it.

“why are you looking at my arm?” he asks instead, ignoring what you said about the tattoo. 

“i just happened to look over and saw it,” you reply, defending yourself from his accusatory tone. “i wasn’t deliberately ogling at your arm.”

he lets it go but not before squinting at you, like you’re being suspicious.

the longer you spend around rin, the longer you spend knowing him, the harder it is for you to keep your feelings to yourself. you have to talk yourself out of blurting them out and possibly ruining your friendship with him.

rin is none the wiser to your turmoil, complaining about his teammates, complaining about school. 

there’s a part of you that refuses to settle until you find out where you stand with him. you want to know how he feels about you. you want to know why he decided to keep your valentine’s day gift, even going as far as to use the temporary tattoo. you want to know why he willingly spends so much of his time at this laundromat. 

you want to unravel itoshi rin, understand every part of him, and even then you doubt you’ll be satisfied. 

he comes over to stand closer to you, hand resting on the edge of your desk. you can see the tattoo much clearer now, a cute purple owl on his arm. it’s pretty hilarious to think about rin wearing a temporary tattoo of an owl.

you look up at him only to find him staring back at you. a bit surprised to find him there, you smile, not quite knowing what else to do. he returns the gesture, though something about his smile is softer, more meaningful. 

as if he’s urging you to read between the lines, figure him out like you’ve been wanting to since he first walked into this laundromat. 

you recall when you caught him staring, smiling, at you a few weeks back. it was the day he fixed the shelf for you. you remember how quickly he let his smile fall, like you seeing this side of him was illegal. 

now, here you are, seeing him smile down at you so fondly. it makes your heart ache. 

“rin…?” you softly say, his name turning into more of a question. rin turns away from you then, and you swear you can hear the gears turning in his head. you’re proud of yourself for figuring out that he’s deep in his thoughts—turns out you can read him on occasion. 

and the fringe didn’t even have to go.

he relaxes against the desk, leaning all his weight on the arm propping him up. you scoot your chair closer, searching for his eyes on your once again. you had gotten used to feeling like you were the center of his attention.

for some reason, he seems completely opposed to it. in a split second, rin decided he can’t look at you anymore.

you stare at him, confused as to why he refuses to meet your gaze. his mouth is pressed into a line, eyes shifting around the room.

“why do you look like that?”

finally, he looks over at you again. “like what?”

“like you’re…constipated or something,” you say carefully, feeling like you’re on thin ice.

“i have to tell you something.”

you choke on air, eyes widening, “that you’re constipated?”

“what the fuck? no. who said– no,” he says firmly, as confused as you are. “what i wanted to tell you was about the clothes i bring every week—they’re not all mine.”

he was expecting you to be surprised, perhaps laugh in his face at the utter ridiculousness. but you don’t do either of those things. instead, you just grin, “yeah, i figured. no normal person has that much laundry.”

rin just blinks a few times at you, clearing his throat indignantly, “it gives me an excuse to stay here longer.”

as soon as the words leave his mouth, you grin, a mirthful look in your eyes. “you know…you don’t have to waste all of your change on laundry just to talk to me.” your heart swells in your chest, you feel flattered by his admission. 

“i’m not wasting change, how else am i supposed to get rid of it?”

“oh. okay.”

maybe he feels bad at your utterly crestfallen expression, because he quickly adds, “i also like…talking to you.”

it’s an unexpected confession from him and it’s enough to fully erase the disappointment you had felt mere moments ago. a smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. rin refuses to meet your eyes, choosing instead to look at his hand resting close to yours.

he’s turned around to face you head on, resting both his hands on the desk, mindlessly tapping his fingers against its wooden surface. your hands are less than an inch apart, and if you weren’t so scared, you might have taken his hand in yours.

you wish he would take yours in his.

he extends his fingers, reaching them out until they brushed yours every so lightly. your fingertips feel like they’re on fire, a tingling emerging beneath your skin. you can hear rin taking a breath, and then he’s moving his hand forward until his fingers are laced with yours.

the smile on your face only grows wider—this feels right, like this is what was meant to happen. 

silence envelops you both like a warm blanket on a cold night, the two of you staring at each other with matching dopey smiles. you’ve never seen rin like this before, somehow you feel like this side of him is reserved only for you.

the chime from the door opening pops the little bubble the both of you were in, your heads turning to look at the intruders in tandem, malice in your eyes. 

it’s two boys you don’t recognize, their wide eyes meeting yours before flickering to rin, then down to where your hand is still in his. rin does a poor job of hiding his shock, brows raised as he tears away from you, creating as much distance between you as he can.

the boy with yellow eyes runs up to you and you instinctively shrink away, a little wary of your new guests. his friend follows close behind, giving you a small wave which you hesitantly return. 

“you must be the person rin is obsessed with,” the shorter of the two says, raising his hand up to wave frantically. “hello, i’m bachira meguru and this is isagi yoichi, and we’re rin’s bestest friends!”

the boy introduced as isagi gives you a boxy grin. you don’t really pay much attention to anything else either of them are saying because you’re utterly fixated on the part where bachira mentioned rin is “obsessed” with you.

“shut up,” rin snaps, looking like he’s seconds away from turning this laundromat into a boxing ring. “why the hell are you both here?”

bachira simply points at the empty bags on the ground, “my phone…was in the pocket of my sweats…”

“i think you’ll have to get a new phone,” isagi mumbles, placing a comforting hand on bachira’s shoulder. at rin’s stern expression, he explains, “we used the ‘find my phone’ feature to track it down and it led us here.”

you make rin end the current wash cycle so that bachira can hunt through the wet clothes for his phone, which is most definitely useless now. in the meantime, you have a pressing matter to attend to.

“you talk about me?” you ask, poking rin’s arm to bring his attention back to you. his gaze softens from the glare he had pointed at bachira and isagi when he looks to you. despite his warm stare, his words are cold:

“fuck no.”

you’re about to retort back with something about how you don’t believe he’s being honest with you, when bachira interrupts, his voice echoing from how he’s facing into the washing machine.

“yes he does. all the time. i remember when he literally scoured out rooms for dirty laundry talking about how he needed to spend more time with you. he is obsessed—its super unhealthy rin, get a hobby.”

rin just stares at bachira, eyes blown wide, mouth agape. he looks utterly petrified at the fact that the boy has just aired out all his dirty laundry. you don’t know whether to look at rin’s mean snarl or bachira’s shit eating grin.

eventually, isagi breaks the tension by announcing that the phone has been found, clearly waterlogged and unusable. you don’t why they bothered looking for it in the first place, but you can respect all the hard work they put into it.

the both of them walk up to the desk where rin stands somewhat protectively in front of you. bachira looks like he’s about to say something that could possibly lead to rin finally snapping, but isagi is one step ahead and covers the boy’s mouth, pushing him out of the shop.

“so sorry to have troubled you!” isagi calls out, giving you an apologetic smile. “hope you guys figure things out!”

and with that, they’re both gone. 

rin has always been seriously confusing to you, but you don’t know if you’ve ever been more confused about him than you are now. you hate the way both of you have been talking in circles, avoiding your true feelings and simply saying something almost akin to them instead.

“are you gonna explain?” you ask rather meekly, still somewhat worried that he might reject you.

“do i have to?”

“yes.”

rin stands a bit taller, like he’s preparing himself for all the terrible ways this conversation could go. in your eyes, he suddenly seems very intimidating. that is, until his eyes meet yours and there’s something similar to adoration there. 

“i started taking everyone’s laundry so that i could spend more time around you, and i asked about helping you around the shop to spend more time around you.”

this is something you knew, or at least you inferred, but that doesn’t change the way your heart skips a beat when he finally says it outright. just these few words manage to lift some of the heavy anxiety that presses against your chest.

“because i like spending time with you. because i…” he trails off, as if he’s reconsidering his words. you can hardly breathe, waiting for him to say what you so desperately want him to say.

“because you’re obsessed with me?” you tease, grinning at him which only earns you an eyeroll.

“i’m not obsessed, that makes me sound like a creep,” he grumbles, blowing a few strands of hair away from his eyes. “it’s because i like you. a normal amount.”

a pleasant laugh bubbles up out of you as you take in the frown on his face. “aww really? i was hoping you’d be obsessed with me.”

rin just scoffs, clearly tired of the teasing he’s had to endure ever since he stepped foot into the laundromat. but there’s also something more he wants to say and he stays quiet for a moment, before saying:

“you’re not gonna say it back.”

it only makes you laugh harder, the way his scowl has deepend. you know you should say something, but you feel like keeping him on edge for a little, just as a payback for leaving you in turmoil for weeks while you tried to navigate the impossible maze that is itoshi rin’s feelings for you.

rin doesn’t think anything about this situation is amusing. he stays huffing and puffing, waiting for you to quit laughing so you can answer to him.

“i like you too,” you reply, wearing a near blinding smile. “a normal amount.”

he turns towards the door, his laundry still running in the background. then, rin looks back at you, really drinking you in, and you do the same. it feels different looking at him now, knowing that he feels the same way about you that you feel for him. 

your eyes follow the rise of his cheekbones, down the bridge of his nose, to his lips. they jump up to his eyes, staring at you so tenderly.

“well, i have to get going,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets, with no real agency behind his words. he’s dwindling around, clearly hesitant to leave.

you furrow your brows, “you’re leaving early? why?”

“i haven’t had dinner yet—i’m going to go eat.” his stomach rumbles loudly as if to emphasize his words. he tries to move past it, but you can tell he’s embarrassed by his gradually reddening face. “i have to take care of my body…as a future pro-athlete.”

holding back your laughter, you ask, “and where do future pro-athletes eat?”

rin’s already taking a few steps toward the door when you speak, coming to a rather abrupt stop. he shoves his hands in his pockets, opening his mouth and then closing it. he inches a bit closer to the desk, clearing debating something with himself. 

in a split second, he’s made up his mind, walking all the way back to your wooden desk.

“i’ll show you—come with me?”

.・゜-: ✧ :-

you and rin walk out of the udon place, side by side, full of delicious food. 

the late winter chill nips at your cheeks and you can see your breath as you walk back to the laundromat. if you grandma found out you  left the desk to go eat with some boy, she wouldn't let you hear the end of it.

rin's hand brushes up against your own as you both take slow steps, wanting to prolong this time you have together before he has to leave. 

you're going on about something rin doesn't really understand, but he tries to because he cares and he wants to be a good not-quite-yet boyfriend to you.

he curls his pinky around yours, waiting momentarily before taking your hand in his. his hand is cold in yours, his thumb brushing against your skin. rin doesn't even acknowledge, continuing to nod along to your words even though you keep tripping over them.

your heart feels as though it'll burst out of your chest. 

the small sign of the laundromat comes into view as you get closer, signifying the end of your first date with rin. you stand in front of the shop, looking up at rin. he's still holding your hand.

"thanks for taking me out," you mutter, suddenly wanting to shrink away. his undivided attention is a lot to handle, you look at the ground. "i had a lot of fun."

when you look up again, he's gotten closer, leaning into the space that was once between you. his breath fogs up in front of you, his fingers tight around yours.

"i had fun too," he says, voice just above a whisper, like anything louder would break you. 

an unsteady hand reaches up to touch his cheek, the skin cold under your fingers. his ears are red, whether from the cold or embarrassment, and the color begins to spread to his cheeks. 

rin reaches up his free hand, grabbing yours touching his face. 

you both stay that way for a while, your hands in his, looking at one another as if you haven't memorized everything little thing you could possibly see. there's something addicting about looking at him—you just can't turn away. 

not when you can feel his heartbeat in his palms where they're pressed to yours, not when the pupils of his eyes reflect your face back to you.

rin makes a quick decision: taking your hand closest to his face and leaving the quickest of kisses where your palm meet your wrist.

he seems just as shocked about it as you are, pulling away from you (but he still doesn't let go of the hand he's been holding since you left the udon shop).

"you should go in, i have to leave for practice," he says quickly, ushering you inside the shop before you can say anything in response. 

by the time you turn around, he's already walking away, shoulders raised so the collar of his coat can cover his ears. 

twenty sundays later marks the start of something new.

you can't deny that you miss him too, and it's been less than 24 hours since you saw him last.

in fact, you literally saw him this morning when sending him off to practice with a grumbled 'have a good practice' after he kissed over your forehead with a lightness rivalling a feather. a gentleness typically unseen from him.

really, the blond setter was just terrified of irritating you further.

then when you got up half an hour later, you're not pleased to see how atsumu was spamming you with messages, all conveying the messages he was scared of saying earlier. things like 'i love you', 'can't wait to go home to you', or 'did you see the photo of osamu's cat i sent'.

it's sweet, really; he is, but when you're still a little hurt from the harsh exchange you had last night, you didn't want him blowing up your phone this early in the morning.

so your only solution for a peaceful morning was to block him apparently.

something that clearly did not sit well with him because he then started spamming your socials and your emails with protests. did he not have practice to get to? where was all this time coming from?

you blocked him on those platforms too from the goodness of your heart because you had a feeling that he was skipping warmup in order to text you. if he pulled a muscle during practice, you don't want to begin imagining what a pain he'd be to look after.

glancing around the park you were currently strolling through to clear your mind, you only get a second to breathe when your phone starts buzzing again. this time, with a call notification from bokuto.

picking up, you immediately assume that it's atsumu who is bothering you after suffering the blows of how hard you've been ghosting him.

"atsumu for the love of-"

you're cut off of your own sentence when you hear somewhat muffled voices in the background.

"damn you messed up big time!" comes hinata's bubbly voice. you can indistinctly hear someone agreeing in the background- bokuto?

"stop rubbing it in!" atsumu exclaims, whining. you can picture him in your head right now, slouching against the wall as he deflates with each reminder of his mistake.

bokuto must have pocket-dialed you. you're about to hang up until you hear:

"how about you stop being miserable? your relationship with y/n will be fine as long as you apologise, this isn't the end of the world," lectures sakusa.

"for you maybe! ah already feel like y/n's slipping away from my grasp," cries your boyfriend. "and y/n is my world. so really, it does feel like the end of the world."

"you know what they say. love kills," mutters bokuto.

"literally no one has ever said that," sakusa deadpans.

"someone's probably said it."

"well if love does kill can it hurry up with atsumu?"

the dark-haired's simple statement makes you laugh, one that bursts suddenly before you have to cover your mouth from shame, hoping that it didn't disturb anyone.

"hey!" atsumu huffs before you can hear him groan dramatically again. except something's telling you that this isn't for show. "can't ya show a little sympathy to the guy who is having the worst time of his life? my partner doesn't even want to talk to me! i might as well rot right here and now."

"don't do that!" protests bokuto. "i'm sure y/n isn't as mad as you think. just talk to-"

"-what do you think i've been doing this whole time? i've been grovelling-"

"-no, you've been a bitch. i don't think telling y/n to 'text you back' counts as a proper apology."

the setter 'hmphs' and you can imagine the way he's crossing his arms. atsumu never did lose that immature side of him, but he tries, and you adore him for it. "is proclaiming my love not enough?"

"you can say 'i love you' to everyone, idiot, and you can confess your undying adoration for y/n any time. you do it on a regular basis anyways, atsumu, you don't need to double down on it just because you had an argument-"

"-but i'm scared that y/n will forget!"

the blond's outburst stuns everyone into silence. you hear a sniffle.

"what if i'm not worth the time? sometimes i get really scared that y/n might pack up and leave me because there's someone better out there. someone more patient and less of a hassle?"

it's so painfully silent, but each word that atsumu mutters is like a knife to your heart. how long has he felt this way?

hinata is the first to break the awkwardness. "c'mon man, you're literally high school sweethearts. i don't think you have anything to worry about."

"yeah, you're being silly right now, tsum-tsum!" bokuto agrees. "after all this time together, i think y/n has a reason to stay with you!"

"apart from my dashing good looks?"

"stupidity is temporary. get better soon," sakusa grumbles.

"omi-omi you're so mean!"

you hang up the call when you hear atsumu's chirpy tone again, unable to stop a smile from appearing on your own face. so long as he was happy, you were too.

that's what happens when you're soulmates, you suppose.

it's the same soulmate bond responsible for the fact that you were currently waiting outside the gym where msby practices were held, impatiently leaning against a small pole as you pass time on your phone.

then, just as you look up to check if anyone has left the building, your heart stops at the sight of a familiar faux-blond, animatedly chatting to one of his teammates. but when he meets your gaze, it takes him less than a fraction of a second to charge towards you.

instead of bracing for impact, you open your arms for him to tackle into, an offer he takes immediately.

as you both stumble backwards from the momentum, atsumu revels in your laughter and cherishes the feeling he gets knowing that everything is okay between you two. you chose to greet him after practice, you chose to go the somewhat inconvenient route all the way to his gym, you chose him and he hopes you never consider another option again.

and you won't. atsumu loves too hard and too well, warming you from the inside out to defrost any pain the coldness of life might leave you with. although he sometimes gets insecure about this overbearing trait of his, you get to show him each time just how beautiful it is; to wear your heart on your sleeve and love the world for what it is.

to love you for who you are.

"i'm sorry," he begins. "for what ah said last night, i was a real dick."

you smile. "well if you're really sorry, you'd let me take you out for some food, right?"

"only if it's your favourite."

"okay, sap. let's go then."

the realization alone scared him, wondering what he was meant to do with his growing feelings for you. what scared him more was the thought of navigating all that is you, now that he’s able to put a reason behind his racing heartbeat and sweaty palms. 

seeing you became the highlight of his day. he went out of his way to visit your bakery (which also doubled as a cafe), even if most of the things on the menu were far too sweet for his liking. after a while, he began ordering the weekly special, even if most of them were sure to put him into a coma. 

you would go into extensive detail, explaining everything in the coffee concoction put together for the week, and megumi understood nothing of it. hearing your voice made up for the absolute hell he’d have to go through while he drank it.

he would regularly walk into antique stores and thrift stores, simply because he remembered how you collect enamel pins. he hoped that maybe you’d understand how much he loved you when he’d hand you the bag containing the pins. you never did (because you can’t read his mind—he knows this); maybe, you’d see it in his eyes one day.

eventually his escapades to meet you were noticed by yuji, and once yuji finds out about something, it’s only a matter of time before it reaches nobara. 

the two of them sat him down and told him exactly how to ask you out, when to do it. megumi had no idea if he even wanted to at all. 

but then he thought about being in your life, simply on the sidelines, and he couldn’t stand the thought. if he doesn’t do something now, soon enough you’ll find someone else to do everything he wants to do with you. 

so, he asked you out. he still remembers how silent you were, and how he was debating running away, moving cities to avoid the embarrassment. after a while, you laughed, threw your arms around him and said yes.

nothing in the world could have prepared him for how hard he fell for you. megumi thought he was as hopelessly in love with you as he could be, but as he began to learn all the little things about you he didn’t know before, he only fell further.

he found out you had a dog, named snorkel. snorkel didn’t really like him at first, but after the eighth movie night he had at your place, it seemed like snorkel was willing to tolerate him. 

megumi learned about the little garden you have on your balcony, too small to call a garden, but so obviously loved and cared for. he learned about how crocheting is your favorite way to destress; he’s gotten a few crocheted stuffed animals from you. 

megumi was always the first to try any new recipes you considered bringing up to your boss, though he wasn’t certain his approval was worth anything. he liked anything you made—you gave him a sweet tooth.

he often found himself daydreaming about you: the way you always smelled like vanilla, how your eyes crinkle when you laugh. he thought about coming home to you and it would make his heart yearn for it to be true. 

megumi wanted to marry you.

so when things soured, it came as a shock. 

sometimes, these things are inevitable. it wasn’t his fault he had to work overtime nearly every night, and it wasn’t your fault you missed him. it wasn’t his fault that he could only visit you during work once or twice a week, and it wasn’t your fault that those times always seemed to be during rush hour for you.

but megumi was determined to make it work, because he still loved you, because he couldn’t imagine his life without you. you had ingrained yourself into his everyday routine. you were in his thoughts and you were the only thing he talked about.

he began to miss the sickly sweet weekly specials, and the days when he’d surprise you with simple enamel pins. nowadays, it seemed like everyone got the pins before he could.

things went from bad to worse. he could tell you were growing tired, unhappy in this relationship that didn’t feel like one anymore. 

when was the last time you both watched a movie together, bickering about the characters? when was the last time he even saw you?

megumi knew things were beyond saving when he thought of you and, instead of feeling a wave of comfort, he grew anxious. 

the two of you never fought that much, but recently it was like everything had begun to irritate you both. the little things he might have found endearing, were beginning to grate on him. he didn’t want to fight with you, it wasn’t in him anymore. 

he was expecting it, but that didn’t make it hurt less. the both of you decided to break up a year and three months into your relationship. 

it had hurt to watch you leave with tears gathering in your eyes. he knew you didn’t let them fall because you wanted to pretend this was a clean break; he knew you well. you wanted to stay friends and he agreed. 

what hurt the most was watching the mark you left in his apartment disappear in a day. 

your sweater that used to hang off his couch: gone and replaced with this sickening emptiness. the extra toothbrush you used when you stayed over thrown away in the trash. the stack of books you lent him missing from their place on his nightstand. 

though, for better or for worse, you stayed in his memories.

megumi was honestly lost without you. it was hard adjusting to life alone, even if that was how he spent most of it. it had become a foreign concept—one he simply couldn’t understand anymore. 

the breakup was a mutual one, you both agreed to do it. you both agreed. so why is he still hurting? instead of lifting a burden off his shoulders, why does it feel as though there’s something dragging him down?

he’s just going through the motions of life. waking up, eating breakfast alone, going to work, eating lunch alone, working some more, going home, eating dinner alone. falling asleep alone in a bed that felt too cold even in the middle of summer. 

he found himself rewatching all the movies you bribed him into sitting through during movie nights, remembering all the things that made you laugh, the scenes that made you cry. 

fresh out of the breakup, megumi considered getting rid of the stuffed animals you made him. they only made his heart ache, worsening his sleep instead of helping him. in the end, he decided against it. it felt like he was betraying you.

the breakup was taking a toll on him, he could see it. his friends suggested he take a few days off, ‘get back on his feet.’ he had lied and said he was fine. the breakup was mutual, he reminded them. he agreed to it, he reminded himself.

in reality, he knew he’d go crazy from spending his time off completely alone, in the silence of his apartment.

megumi had never been unhappy with you, he doesn’t think it’s possible for him to be unhappy with you. frustratingly, he had no idea if you shared the same sentiment. neither of you explained why you wanted to breakup; there was no argument. 

maybe if you had talked it out. maybe, if he hadn’t agreed. he should have fought it, he should have told you he loves you too much to let you go. 

maybe then, he wouldn’t be seated in an uncomfortable metal chair at this work party, waiting for yuji to come back with drinks. alone.

megumi missed you. he missed the sound of your laugh, melodic like a song. he missed your blinding smile and the crinkle of your eyes. he missed your sweet words after bad days. he missed your garden, your dog. 

“i’m back! hopefully, you didn’t miss me too much,” yuji grins, handing him a cup of eggnog. holiday parties always served eggnog. he wonders when people will grow up and realize the drink is a crime against humanity.

you thought so, anyway. naturally, he agrees.

megumi sets his drink down onto the table in front of them, not bothering to take even a sip. he’s not particularly thirsty, or hungry. he wants to go home, but the thought of home makes his insides churn.

this party sucks: it’s loud and smells like cinnamon spice. his home is worse, dead silent and smelling of the citrus scented cleaner he used on the tiles earlier. vanilla is far better than both those scents; megumi misses you.

yuji had started talking as soon as he sat down, not that megumi was paying attention. he’s lost in his thoughts, not entirely there as yuji goes on and on. at some point, his friend pulls out his phone and shows him a picture of what looks like a cake.

“i made it for my mom, i’m taking it home this christmas,” yuji smiles, clearly proud of his work. “do you like it?”

the frosting is sliding off the cake in the picture, and there was obviously an attempt at writing something on it (whatever it is, it’s illegible).

“looks good,” megumi lies. yuji grins in response, thanking him and setting his phone down.

the cake reminds him of you. everything reminds him of you, but cakes especially. they were kind of your thing, after all. you were insanely good at making them, and it never failed to surprise megumi how much he liked them, despite him claiming he wasn’t a fan of sweet things.

yuji would never stand a chance against you, but he’s sure that you would have said something undeniably sweet about yuji’s cake anyway. 

you always had plenty of kindness to go around.

yuji’s phone lights up from a text notification, and he opens it up on the table, not thinking twice about it. megumi tries not to be nosy, but he can’t help himself. so, he peers over to read the message, who it’s from. 

as soon as he makes out the name, his mind goes blank. 

it’s from you.

it’s been two months since you both broke up. every single day that passed without you, megumi wondered what you were up to. 

now, here you are, texting yuji while he’s wondering about you once again.

next to him, yuji realizes the fact that megumi’s seen your contact name. he stutters over his words while trying to explain himself. megumi knows he should say something. his mouth feels dry as he gathers his thoughts. 

“oh…you guys are still friends?” megumi doesn’t recognize the sound of his own voice—quiet and meek as he stares at the text message. pictures of you and your dog are sent right after, your smile is blinding as always.

it hurts. his question is stupid and he’s hurting and he misses you. yuji turns off his phone and megumi almost asks for him to leave it open, let him see your face again. 

yuji rubs the back of his neck, avoiding megumi’s eyes, “yeah, we are. i hope you don’t mind it’s just—we were friends before you both–”

megumi waves off his concern, ripping his gaze away from his best friend’s phone. you’re just another memory now, tucked away in the back of his mind for him to revisit when he feels lonely. he sees you in his dreams every night.

“it’s fine, i don’t care about you both being friends.”

it’s true, he doesn’t care. why would he? why should he? 

the break-up was mutual, he tells himself once more. neither of you had done some unspeakable thing to the other which led to the end of your relationship. megumi would never expect yuji to cut off contact with you. he’s not an asshole (he doesn’t think so anyway).

yuji nods, somewhat surprised and poorly hiding it. he grabs his phone off the table and quickly types out a response. 

megumi can’t shake the sinking feeling in his chest. there’s a bitter taste in his mouth and he swears it’s not because of what he’s just found out. yuji’s fingers fly across the keyboard; he’s obviously invested in whatever conversation he’s having with you. there’s a smile tugging at the corner of his lips which eventually shows itself as a grin.

megumi resorts to fidgeting with his fingers, trying to look busy. the minutes tick by slowly and it seems like the christmas music playing in the background is growing louder by the second. he cracks his knuckles, tugs at the sleeves of his dress shirt. 

everyone around him is embroiled in their own conversations, joyous laughter coloring their expressions. his cup of eggnog that yuji got for him sits untouched to his left—he hates the taste of it anyway. it’s a horrendous creation that his best friend seems to enjoy.

speaking of: yuji finally puts his phone down, and his eyes find megumi’s. 

“dude, i’m so sorry! she was talking about the gag gifts she got her friends–” he cuts himself off suddenly, deflating as he shrinks into his seat. “nevermind, you probably don’t want to know, right?”

the problem is he does want to know. megumi wants to know everything there is to know about you. he wants to know how you’ve been, how snorkel has been. he wants to know if you finally caved and agreed to go back home for the holidays, even if you can’t stand your aunt and her unwanted comments. he wants to know if you’ve bought yourself a new pair of fluffy socks this christmas, since he’s not around anymore to do it for you. 

“i want to know,” he says. it’s only four words, but it must be enough for yuji to see just how desperate megumi truly is. he might be the only one who’s miserable at this holiday party.

yuji sighs, his brows are furrowed but he’s still got a smile on his face. it takes megumi a second to realize his friend is looking at him with pity. 

“you should just call her.”

bitter laughter escapes him, “she wouldn’t want that.”

he thinks about the months of silence that have transpired between you both, neither of you making an effort to call the other, or even send a text. so much for staying friends. megumi knew from day one that he was agreeing to something he wasn’t planning on upholding. he can’t go back to calling you his friend after he’s had a glimpse of what it’s like with you as his world.

“how do you know? maybe she’s waiting for you to do something,” yuji suggests, taking a swig of his eggnog. 

he knows yuji’s always been like this: willing to look on the bright side even at the worst of times. megumi doesn’t think he has it in himself to hold out hope for the both of you. he feels like your time has already passed, even if he’s still thinking of you at every waking moment.

with a shake of his head, he stares at his cup of eggnog. he downs the whole thing. “it’s fine, i’m just wondering about her.”

the drink tastes awful. he thinks of what you would say if you saw him right now, chugging eggnog at a holiday party with his coworkers. you’d probably laugh, ask him if he’s enjoying himself with that teasing lilt in your voice, and lean over to wipe away remaining bits of eggnog from his lips.

yuji doesn’t look convinced, but he drops it anyway on account of the fact that he just watched megumi drink his entire glass of eggnog. 

the party only ramps up from here, someone suggests karaoke, and suddenly everyone is gathered around in a circle singing. megumi watches it happen. he contemplates joining but he’s not the best at singing, plus he’s not feeling it.

the holly jolly mood is lost on him.

yuji leaves his side for good, joining everyone in karaoke, and since he hasn’t seen nobara in thirty minutes, megumi decides to leave. there’s nothing keeping him here anyway. you used to like his work parties, telling him all the things you learned about his coworkers on the way home.

after shooting a quick text to yuji, megumi makes his way out of the building. 

the winter season greets him in all its glory, snow falling softly onto the pavement. the roads are marked with dirty slush, cars wheezing past, people rushing to make it home for christmas in a week’s time.

megumi will probably spend it alone this year. he’s not exactly on the best terms with his dad, and his sister lives too far for him to impulsively come visit. he knows he always has an invite with yuji or nobara, but he doesn’t want to intrude. 

it used to be you and him, wrapped up in blankets on the couch, baking together. you’d exchange gifts in front of the fireplace and end the night in each other’s arms. he wonders if you went back home.

the cold air sweeps across his cheeks, making his ears and the tip of his nose feel slightly numb. if you were here, you’d pressed your mitten covered hands to his face, attempting to warm him up. megumi misses you.

he sniffles, from the cold, but then he feels the unmistakable burn of tears gathering in his eyes. he can’t remember the last time he cried. he didn’t when you left. megumi tries to blink them away, clenching his jaw as if that’ll do anything to solve the loneliness gathering in his chest.

the tears fall anyway, hot as they slide down his cheeks before the chilly air turns them cold. tonight, he’s thinking of you. he thinks of you all the time. megumi wipes away his tears and turns the corner, eyes trained on the sidewalk.

he doesn’t realize it until he’s there: his feet have led him to the bakery you work at. the lights are off, it doesn't look like anyone’s inside. he hadn’t intended to see you, but now that he’s here, he’s realizing he wanted to.

megumi was too late, it seems. you must’ve left a while ago. 

“megumi?”

you voice startles him, the last sound he expected to hear. he wonders if you can tell he just cried when he turns to face you. 

“are you okay?”

so, you can.

megumi clears his throat, not knowing what to say. he could lie, tell you he’s fine, and ask how you are. that’s what’s expected of conversations like this one. 

he wants to tell you the truth. he wants to tell you that he hasn’t been fine since you left two months ago, that he wants you back. he wants to tell you he hasn’t felt normal without you by his side. 

he wants to tell you he misses you.

he settles on the lie instead. “yeah, i’m fine. just– cold. how have you been?”

you don’t believe him, but you choose not to say anything. instead, you avoid his gaze, a slight smile on your face though it's not all that genuine. “i’ve been okay, could be better.”

megumi fights the urge to pry. he wants to know if you’ve been the same as him, but he doesn’t think he could handle it if you haven’t. 

the silence between you both is awkward, to say the least. he doesn’t know what to say and it doesn’t seem like you’re ready to leave either.

“so, any plans for christmas?”

he asks because it's the only thing he can ask. a formality. he also asks because he’s bitter—he wants to know if you’ll be alone too. 

you let out something of a laugh, “yeah, i’m going home for christmas. leaving tomorrow actually.”

megumi fondly remembers all the nights you sat with him, complaining about having to deal with your extended family at gatherings. you joked about how they seem to be more invested in your life than they are in their own. you promised to take him with you sometime so he could meet them too. 

“what about you?” you ask. he knows the question would come around to him eventually. he contemplates being honest.

he swallows down his pride, “i’ll be celebrating alone.”

“really?” surprise is evident in your voice and for a second, megumi wonders if you thought he had moved onto someone new. 

“yeah, you know about my dad, and my sister lives too far.”

you bite down on your lip as you think something over, he can practically see the gears turning in your head. megumi misses kissing you. he wonders if he can still recall the feeling of kissing you.

you clear your throat, seemingly done with thinking over whatever it is you wanted to say. “do you want to come with me?”

megumi feels like he’s hallucinating, this must be some kind of dream.

“we usually have an extra room, you could use that.”

“are you sure?” megumi hesitates. as much as he wants to say yes, allow himself to maybe forget the reality of you and him, he can’t.

you nod your head, “i’m sure. we’re friends, right? it’s fine.”

it takes him a lot of willpower to not flinch when you call him a friend. that’s what he is now—reduced to something platonic. 

“i’d love to be there,” he sighs out, still bewildered from the situation and the fact that this is even real.

“great, okay, i’ll…” you trail off, fishing for something in your pockets before thinking better of it. “i’ll text you the details, but i have to go now.”

megumi waves you goodbye and watches your back as you leave. you end up texting him a few minutes after he gets home; it’s the first text you’ve sent him in two months.

god, megumi misses you.

⋆·˚ ༘ *

your text arrives as soon as he gets home, explaining that he doesn’t need to worry about presents.

he doesn’t exactly feel obligated to get any, especially considering he has no idea how many people will be in attendance. but he wants to get you something. unfortunately for him, you’re leaving tomorrow and he doesn’t have time to leave today to get something for you.

the two of you meet up in front of your apartment too early in the morning. sleep still clings to megumi’s eyes, but he offers to drive first anyway, knowing how you’re not the biggest fan of it. but you refuse and he curls up in the passenger seat for the first three hours of the trip, falling asleep as soon as he sits down. 

he wakes up and you make a pitstop for coffee, then switch over. megumi tries to keep his eyes on the road, but they stray over to you every once in a while. he watches you sleep and he feels like a creep.

the two of you make one more stop to get something to eat. it’s the last one you’ll need to make before reaching your childhood home, you tell him. you also remind him of the empty guest room.

like you don't want him around you at all.

“so you can have your own space, don’t worry,” you smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes.

he remembers the days when it wouldn’t have been strange for you both to share the same room, sleep in the same bed. he didn’t need his own space then, and neither did you. to be honest, he still doesn’t. he just needs you.

your home is decorated like something out of a hallmark christmas movie, and he can already hear the shouts and laughter of children when you pull up into the driveway. you grimace, mumbling a quick apology for the noise and the flashiness of the decor. 

megumi doesn’t mind: the noise could be a nice distraction from his thoughts for the next few days. maybe the lights, wreaths, and reindeer statues could force him into the christmas spirit. 

you begin pulling out the luggage first, but he intercepts, urging you to go inside and greet everyone. you hesitate, but eventually you run inside and he watches you leave. under different circumstances, this moment wouldn’t have hurt as much as it did. 

he had no idea how he was meant to make it through the week you’re staying with your family. he could leave early, he knew you would let him. but he didn’t want to chicken out and lose the opportunity to see you again, be around you again.

“megumi, i’m so sorry, but i think we’ll have to share.” you’ve come up behind him, your voice startling him into almost dropping the bag in his hand. you reach over and grab it from him, wearing an apologetic smile.

megumi turns to you slowly, not quite understanding what you were getting at. you explain some more. “the guest room is being used by one of my uncles who never shows up, but of course he makes an appearance this year.”

there’s an irritation in your voice that doesn’t match the way megumi’s heart skips a beat.

“so, we’ll have to share my room. i’m sorry.”

“it’s okay, i don’t mind at all.”

he feels like he answered too quickly, but you don’t seem to think of it as weird. the two of you grab your things and make it all the way to the front porch. 

suddenly, he realizes this is his first time meeting your family. first ever time. and it’s after you’ve both broken up. he tenses up as he begins to think about all the things that could go wrong, mainly the possibility of them not liking him.

it wouldn’t matter much anymore, but what if he screws something up? what if he says something wrong, and they don’t think he’s right for you anymore? what if-

“and who are you?” your mom asks gently, waiting for him to respond. he wasn’t expecting to have to say something so soon. he can see you about to speak for him.

megumi knows he should wait for you to say something, but he doesn’t.

“i’m her boyfriend,” he says, surprising himself and you. “megumi.”

“megumi! i’ve heard so much about you!” you mom says. she’s beaming and she pulls megumi into a hug that he isn’t all that prepared for. he’s still processing the fact that he just introduced himself as your boyfriend. 

he’s not. 

he’s not your boyfriend anymore. how is he supposed to get the two of you out of this situation? 

“we’ve been excited to see everyone,” your hand slips into his like it used to. your palm fits against his like it’s meant to be there. “but we’re tired after the drive, so we’re gonna go up.”

you drag him inside and up the stairs, giving short greetings to the family members that stand between you and getting inside of your room. he hopes you're not upset, even though you have every right to be.

as soon as you shut the door, megumi launches into his apology. “i’m sorry, i panicked and just said something. i should’ve waited for you to speak.”

you shake your head with a laugh, it doesn’t seem like you’re upset about it at all. “it’s okay, it hasn’t been that long since–” you don’t let yourself finish the sentence. the reality of you both hangs in the air.

“we can just…pretend?” you offer. he knows he should turn you down, it wouldn’t be right. but he’s selfish. if he can just go back to the way things used to be, even if it’s for a short while, even if it’s not real, he’s going to do it. 

it’ll be easy to pretend—he hasn’t stopped thinking about you like he’s yours. he knows he’ll hate himself when the week is over and the illusion will have to break, you’ll go your separate ways. 

until then, he’ll pretend.

the day ends faster than he would have liked. megumi spent most of his time trailing after you, his hand in yours. several conversations and introductions later, his hand had moved up to your waist and your head rested on his shoulder.

megumi tried not to miss your warmth when you pulled away.

he’s sitting on the edge of your bed, scrolling through the millions of texts yuji has sent him. every other one is asking him if he’s enjoying the holidays. he doesn’t really know if he is.

“you can take the bed, i have some blankets and stuff for the floor.” you look like you’re about to topple over from the sheer size of the blankets in your hand. megumi rushes over to take some of them out of your hands.

he drops them onto your bed, “no, i’ll take the floor. this is your room, you should take the bed.”

“you’re the guest here, megumi,” you frown.

“i don’t want to steal the bed from you. i can handle the floor.”

it’s obvious you’re both tired from the drive, tired from talking to people. he just wants to sleep, and you probably want the same. you’re staring at him like there’s something you want to say.

“let’s just…” you walk away, pretending to straighten things on top of your dresser. “let’s just share. we’ve done it before, it can’t be too bad.”

he has nothing against sharing with you. you’re right, the two of you have slept in the same bed several times before.

this is different, though. he used to be able to pull you into his chest, rest his cheek against your shoulder blade as he drifts off to sleep.

megumi agrees anyway. he almost offers to place a pillow between you both, but decides against it. 

you turn off the lights. you climb into bed. he gets in after you and it’s like all exhaustion has left him. megumi closes his eyes and wills himself to fall asleep, but it doesn’t happen. he knows it's because he’s nervous—anxious about the way tonight and the rest of the week might transpire. 

he cycles through the same memories he always goes through before bed: the time you tried to make japanese cheesecake with him, when he took you to an aquarium and bought you overpriced trinkets from the gift store, when you told him you loved him for the first time. 

he realizes now that these are special to him because you always looked the happiest in them. like you didn’t have a care in the world. 

your smile sits in the back of his mind as he finally drifts off to sleep. 

he wakes up to the soft scent of vanilla, like someone’s baking cake downstairs. it reminds him of you (as most things do) and he instinctively tightens his hold, as if he’s trying to stop the memory of you from floating away.

he blinks himself awake, the remaining tendrils of sleep disappearing. he opens his eyes and he’s impossibly close to you, face mere inches away from your hair. you’re still asleep, chest rising and falling under the weight of his arm. 

megumi pushes himself back, attempting to pull his arm away from you without waking you up. you trap his arm with your own, tugging his hand up to your face and he’s lost all hope of escaping this situation. 

not that he’s complaining, but he feels as though he’s exploiting you. you’re not together anymore, he shouldn’t be clinging to you, holding you close like he wants to. it’s not right and when you wake up, he’ll have to pretend like he was asleep too, so you don’t realize how pathetic he is for not pulling away.

before he knows it, it's dinner time. the days seem to pass quickly. he doesn't know if it's because for most of it, he's lost in his thoughts. you didn’t say anything about his arm when you woke up, he wishes you had. 

tonight, the both of you are meeting more of your extended family at a restaurant. you tell him that it’ll be fine, he has nothing to worry about. he’s worried anyways—he’s not good at being social or charismatic. 

megumi knows your family’s image of him closely resembles that of a recluse. they probably wonder how he ended up with someone as amazing as you.

several of your aunts and uncles sit around a large table, conversating, telling jokes. megumi’s basically tuned them out, taking quick glances at you seated to his right. you’re talking to a cousin of yours, something about how work has been good and asking about theirs. 

your conversation gets cut short by an older woman—an aunt—sitting across from you. she reaches out her wrinkled hand and taps your wrist, smiling a bit too wide. the dark berry color lipstick she’s wearing is smeared on her teeth. she’s making his skin crawl. 

you frown as soon as she reaches out to you. 

“so, have you gotten a boyfriend yet? you’re not getting any younger.”

the question makes your expression sour. the audacity of this old hag makes megumi want to throw some expletive words at her synthetic smile. she looks like she’s a breath away from dropping dead, and she’s talking about you?

you look over at him, clearing your throat. he knows you're formulating your response, but he wants to say something instead.

“yeah, she has. it’s me,” he deadpans, mouth formed into a thin line. he doesn’t bother attempting to smile. “my name is megumi. nice to meet you.”

“oh! wow…so you have,” your aunt says to you, before turning her attention to him. megumi feels like this woman has to have aged poorly, even if he hasn’t seen her before all her wrinkles and snarky attitude.

she quiets down for the rest of the dinner, occasionally commenting here and there, but mainly just eyeing him suspiciously. he can tell she doesn’t believe him but he doesn’t really care. he might not be dating you right now, but he had you once, not that long ago.

dinner moves slowly. at some point, megumi can’t remember when, you slipped your hand into his. he holds onto you for the rest of the night.

⋆·˚ ༘ *

megumi hates the way you both haven’t been talking. 

well, you have been, but it’s not about the things that matter. like the way you woke up tucked into his arms, or the way he held your hand under the dinner table last night. 

instead, you’ve been asking him about how he prefers his coffee, even though you already know. you’ve been letting him know when the bathroom is free for him to shower, you’ve been telling him about which family members to stay away from.

nothing that really matters. nothing he wants to actually hear from you. 

in the morning, you woke him up and told him, in his half-asleep state, that you were going to be gone the whole day. he didn’t really understand at the time, too tired and eager to fall back asleep to really make sense of your words.

he woke up again to you being gone, and no clue what to do with himself until you got back. 

fortunately, your mom had plans for him. 

he walks downstairs, as quietly as possible because he doesn’t want to attract unwanted attention from any of your family members. most of them have been nothing but nice, it's just that if he has to engage in small talk one more time, he thinks he’ll burst into flames.

“oh! megumi, you’re awake,” your mom ushers him into the kitchen, where she’s joined by several other older women. he hasn’t seen any of them yet, so he figures they must be her friends. “would you like to decorate cupcakes with us?”

megumi knows better than to say no.

and so, he finds himself awkwardly standing near the fridge while he waits for one of them to hand him a cupcake to decorate. soon enough, he gets handed a small, chocolate cupcake, waiting to be frosted and sprinkled.

“i’m not really good at this,” he admits, moving over to the dining table where several piping bags full of frosting are waiting to be used. your mom has also kindly set out several containers of candy and chocolate as well.

she comes up behind him, handing him a spatula he’s seen you use before. he doesn’t know what it’s for. she laughs, “that okay! this is just for fun, don’t worry about it.

“loosen up! we won’t kill you,” she says as she walks back into the kitchen, leaving megumi alone to decorate. 

he stares blankly at the piping bags, before squeezing a generous amount of red frosting onto the cupcake. megumi spreads it around as neatly as he can, but he ends up getting it all over his hands. it looks nothing like one of your cupcakes, he wants to give it to you anyway. 

your mom comes over as he reaches for the smaller piping bag filled with white frosting; he wants to draw a heart. 

she watches him as he attempts, a soft smile on her face but her gaze makes him nervous. “megumi, you’re a good guy. treat my daughter well, okay? she– she really loves you. she talks about you all the time.”

he pauses, not believing what she’s saying. your mom has no reason to lie, however. as far as she’s aware, the both of you are together in a happy relationship: no breakup ever happened. 

“oh.” 

he doesn’t know what to say, but he definitely doesn't want to seem like that’s all he has to say either. he just can’t verbalize how much he loves you, how you meant everything to him. how you still mean everything to him.

“well,” your mom says, dusting off her apron, “i’ve got lots of cupcakes left to decorate. you keep…decorating that one you have. don’t worry about doing the rest.”

he appreciates that she’s being nice about it. in short: his cupcake looks like ass. megumi was not gifted with the skills to decorate baked goods and make them look good. he hopes you’ll find it endearing because that’s the only thing he has going for him.

megumi waits until the kitchen clears out to shove his cupcake in the very back of the fridge, hidden away from everyone else. he has to make sure it stays untouched for you. he doesn’t want to risk having one of the kids grabbing it and eating it. 

you get back pretty late, tired from all the last minute shopping you did with your cousins. he waits for you in your room, wanting to avoid unnecessary interaction with your family.

when you both were still together, megumi would run you a warm bath after long days, making you dinner while you washed up. obviously he can’t do the latter now, but he can still do the former. 

“megumi?” you call out, one foot in your room but not quite fully inside.

“in here!” he responds, his voice echoing in the empty bathroom. there’s a long period of silence and megumi wonders if you think he’s showering, but you show up eventually.

“what’re you doing?” you ask, tilting your head in confusion. 

he pulls his hand back from the running water, satisfied with it’s warmth. he might have gone a bit overboard on the bubbles, but you like bubbles so hopefully you won’t mind. 

drying his hands, he turns to you, “it’s a bath. for you.” when you don’t say anything, he speaks again, “i know you had a long day so–”

you cut him off in the best way, pulling him into a hug. he can smell your signature perfume, the unmistakable scent of vanilla that he adores so much. you’re still cold from being outside. megumi wants to tell you that he wants to hold you like this for the rest of his life. 

“thank you,” you whisper, so soft he almost misses it under the roar of his thundering heartbeat ringing in his ears. he wonders if you can feel it. “you’re too good to me.”

“no, i’m giving you exactly what you deserve.” he doesn’t want to let go of you, but he knows he must. you have your bath waiting for you. 

reluctantly he lets go, leaving you to your own devices. 

when you make it back, he’s already in bed. sleep evades him yet again, at this point he’s sure his dark circles have become infinitely worse. his eyes are closed, but he can hear you moving around the room, probably organizing the things you bought into their rightful places.

he feels the bed dip under your weight as you crawl under the covers. megumi holds his breath. what for, he doesn’t know.

you shuffle around, and then he feels your breath hit his cheek and he realizes you’re leaning over him. he tries not to give away the fact that he’s very much awake and aware of what you’re doing. 

your fingers graze his cheek. megumi feels like he’s about to explode. 

gently, you brush the hair away from his eyes. he remembers the very first night he stayed over at your place—after your second movie night. he had fallen asleep in the middle of howl’s moving castle (the movie is good, he was just exhausted from work). 

he was pulled away from his dreams because of your touch against his forehead. you were brushing his hair away. it was the very first time you ever called him pretty, a compliment he hadn’t heard much before he met you.

he ruined the moment by being too obvious; you realized he was awake and pulled away all too quickly. megumi never fails to fluster when you call him pretty, it carries more weight when it comes from you.

you sigh, taking your hand away. he clenches his into a fist to stop himself from reaching out and bringing your hand back to his face.

“goodnight, megumi,” you sigh. “sleep well.”

he feels your back press up against his, he thinks about how tomorrow is christmas. he’ll be leaving with you soon, and after that, who knows if he’ll ever see you again. he doesn’t want to lose you, that much he knows for sure.

megumi has a lot on his mind as he drifts off.

christmas morning doesn’t feel all that special. he’s never been the type to get excited over things like christmas. 

growing up, megumi never really celebrated it. his dad used to get him and tsumiki a box of chocolates and call it a day. tsumiki was the one who usually went out of her way to get him something, whether it be a new book or a fancy pen, or something else along those lines.

and aside from gift-giving, his family was never together for dinner. his dad was always out, doing god knows what, and tsumiki would try her best to make him something. when he was old enough, he would help her and the two of them would pretend everything was fine.

the magic of christmas was something that never really applied to him, never touched him. 

it wasn’t until he moved out that he began to give christmas more thought. yuji was big on things like secret santa and white elephant. when he was in college, his group of friends was big enough for things like that.

in recent years, he only has to worry about yuji and nobara. when you grow old, your gifts mainly end up being practical things. christmas loses its luster because of aging and all the other things that come with it.

things changed for him once he met you. you were always so excited about christmas, happy to give and give and give. you liked baking cookies for your neighbors, and spending hours writing personalized cards for your friends. you adored spending time picking out the perfect gifts.

you were always so thoughtful with your gifts. everything he got you always paled in comparison to things you have him.

for megumi, this christmas was possibly the worst one yet. 

it’s not that anything happened. everyone was still the same, your family was still nosy as ever, he still trailed after you like he’s useless unless you tell him what to do. but it was hard when the questions about your relationship came up.

eager aunts and uncles asking what his plans were for a future with you. your grandparents wondering if he was planning to propose soon.

“when’s the wedding?” they’d laugh. megumi didn’t think he could feel worse about this whole thing, but he stands corrected as he watches you just across the room.

you look so normal, unbothered, like the questions they throw at you about him aren’t making you feel horrible inside. like they aren’t twisting the knife further into the wound that is your breakup. you look like you aren’t wounded at all and that’s what gets him.

the thought that he might be the only one yearning to have you back. 

megumi’s hit with a sudden wave of nausea and he steps out onto the front porch. it’s colder than it’s ever been, snow is falling pretty heavily. the sight in front of him is one that looks like what christmas should be, the kind shown on tv shows. 

“are you okay?” you startle him, but he doesn’t turn around to look at you, afraid that seeing you might trigger something in him to truly open up. 

he takes a moment to gather his words, trying to appear as unbothered as you seem to be. “yeah, just tired. parties are a lot of work.”

you chuckle in agreement, “yeah. especially, the ones where everyone keeps asking you the same damn questions.”

his mouth twists to the side in confusion. for a moment, it sounded like you were annoyed and megumi can’t decipher if you’re annoyed at the people asking the questions, or the questions themselves. 

for his own sake, he tells himself it’s the former. but he can’t shake the thought of you, irritated at having to keep up the charade that you’re excited for a future with him. he feels like he’s subjecting you to some kind of torture, even if you’re the one who asked him to join you.

you let him know he’s free to leave and go upstairs if he wants to, and head back inside. megumi stays outside for a while longer, watching his breath as he sighs into the cold air.

when he heads back inside, dinner is being served.

you sit close to him. the sheer amount of people crammed into your home forces everyone to take up unusual spots for dinner. neither you, nor him, were quick enough to grab a spot at the dining table so you’re both squished together on the couch, arm to arm. 

megumi feels like this party is one massive fire hazard, but he keeps his mouth shut.

you finish before he does, clearly tired from all the socializing. 

“you both look good together; meant to be,” someone says, well-intentioned but the comment makes his heart ache more than anything. beside him, you bristle, before quietly thanking them.

he wants to tell you how much he agrees with them, shout at you about how you are meant to be. promise you that he’ll treat you better this time around, if you let him. beg for you to let him. please let him.

megumi keeps his mouth shut. he’s pathetic. 

frustration burns his cheeks and nose, his eyes sting. your mom serves him a cupcake and he shoves the whole thing in his mouth.

the day winds down eventually, megumi couldn’t be happier. being with family is hard, even if it’s not your own family.

it’s 10 pm when you both stumble into your childhood bedroom.

neither of you say a word—neither of you have said anything since the comment you got during dinner. the weight of those unfortunate words sits on top of the tense silence between you, urging a conversation, one that doesn’t come.

but you both brush your teeth together, standing side by side, for the first time in a long while. and megumi’s the one to tuck your hair behind your ears when you go to wash your face. and you linger outside the bathroom, waiting for him so you can both return to your bedroom together.

he’s fixing the sheets when you leave the room, coming back with a beautifully wrapped box.

megumi knows instantly that it’s a gift for him. he can't accept this. 

not that he doesn’t want it, he will gladly take anything and everything you give him, but he feels guilty. you got him something, even though you weren’t expecting him to be here with you. he got you a poorly decorated cupcake, hidden away in the back of the fridge. 

once again, you’ve shown up his efforts with your own. he can’t say he’s surprised. 

“merry christmas,” you whisper, handing the gift over to him. your hands brush, his fingers ache to wrap around yours. 

inside the box is a pair of fluffy socks, bright green with an obnoxious christmas pattern all over them. along with that, a crocheted elephant, small and big-eyed. 

“i know it’s kind of a lame present,” you start, but he thinks you couldn’t be more wrong. there’s something about this gift that’s making it hard for him to not tear up. megumi doesn’t want to cry in front of you.

maybe it’s the fact that you’re suddenly gifting him a pair of fluffy socks, instead of him getting you a pair. it started because you used to complain about how winter disproportionately affected your extremities (your hands and feet). he got you fluffy socks, telling you he picked them up on his way home from work.

in truth, he went out and looked around for a pair he thought you would like. and he knew that you knew he was trying to take care of you, without having to say it. that was what mattered with the socks. it was just another way he cared for you silently. 

now, here you are, doing the same to him.

“i didn’t– i wasn’t going to get you something,” you admit, chewing on your bottom lip. “but you’re here now and i wanted to give you something so…”

you trail off. you’re obviously nervous about him not liking it. megumi thinks it’s sweet. he thinks it’s so sweet. he knows he’s in love with you.

he still hasn’t said anything. you take a deep breath.

“you don’t have to keep it! we’re not…you know…together,” you avoid his eyes when as you say it, fiddling with your fingers. “i’d understand if you didn’t want it.”

he carefully sets the box down onto the bed. you watch him leave. he makes a beeline for the fridge, ignoring the people who ask him where he’s going. megumi grabs the cupcake he made for you. somehow, it’s gotten uglier. 

he runs all the way back to you, handing the cupcake over. turns out the fridge didn't fix anything: the frosting is still poorly done, the drawn on heart is still shaky.

you take it from him, your crinkling exactly the way he remembers as you laugh. for the first time on this trip, your smile feels genuine. your eyes shine as you stare down at this cupcake, like you’re looking at the most beautiful thing.

he can’t hold himself back. megumi knows that once you both return back to the city, he’ll have to give you up. right now, as you stand in front of him, is his only chance to do something. to let you know how he truly feels.

“i miss you.”

saying it out loud feels like a breath of fresh air, a burden lifted from his shoulders. 

you don’t hesitate, not even a second. “i miss you too.”

you gently set the cupcake down onto your desk. in the meantime, megumi’s working up the courage to say something more. telling you that he missed you was hard enough, but he doesn’t want this conversation to end before it’s even properly begun.

he’s made it this far. you’re here with him now, you miss him too. you miss him. 

“i regret not telling you sooner,” he eventually says. “truthfully, i started missing you the moment you left.

“the second you walked out my door, and all your things left with you—that’s when i started missing you.”

you bite the inside of your cheek, “i’m sorry. i should’ve—i don’t know—tried harder? i shouldn’t have decided to walk away when things got hard. i still love you, you know?”

megumi suddenly feels silly for ever wondering if you were wishing him back as much as he was with you. every shooting star, every fallen eyelash, every 11:11 spent wishing for the courage to say something to you.

he takes your hand in his, thumb moving over your knuckles. “i should’ve tried harder too. i shouldn’t have let you walk away when i knew it wasn’t what i wanted.”

“guess we both didn't think things through.”

a comfortable blanket of silence falls on you both, though he’s acutely aware of all the things left unsaid. megumi wants to ask the question that’s on both of your minds, but it feels like he should be the one answering.

so you ask it for him. “what’s going to happen to us? what’s next?”

he thinks back to the nights he spent regretting all the things he didn’t do when he had you. all the times he went around his apartment, wondering if maybe you left something behind so he’d have an excuse to come see. he thinks of him at that awful holiday party, seated in a metal chair, thinking about you. 

“i will gladly be yours again if you’d have me,” he really looks at you then, noticing the tears cresting your lash line. “if you’d let me be yours.”

your hands rest against his cheeks and you kiss him. you’re kissing him and, god, megumi’s missed you. he pulls you closer, pouring out every ounce of love he has for you because he needs you to know that he never stopped thinking of you.

“you know there’s no one else i would ever want,” you speak against his lips. 

you pull away but you stay in his arms. there’s a flutter in a megumi’s chest, the kind that makes your heart feel lighter.

you grab the cupcake he decorated for you, breaking it in half. he wants to make a comment about how you’re ‘breaking his heart’ but he thinks better of it. you hand him a half, fingers covered in frosting.

“i love you. i never stopped,” you mumble, just loud enough for him to hear. “ever.”

megumi doesn’t know how the two of you ever parted ways the way you did, how you both concluded that you’d be better off apart.

he wraps his frosting covered pinky around yours, “i love you too. always.”

—

the next morning, megumi takes you out for breakfast. he takes you to a quaint little diner fifteen minutes away from your home. 

he orders you a stack of pancakes and gets himself a black coffee. you let him know you think he needs to stop being bitter and emo and start enjoying the sweet things in life. he ends up having to help you finish your pancake stack.

you tell him all about the new weekly special you’re introducing when you get back. he calls it a shortcut to getting diabetes and you promise him that he’ll be the first to try it. megumi says he can’t wait—he means it.

it’s funny how life has reverted back to the way it used to be. 

you force him into taking a picture together, then one of you, then one of him and his coffee. he tries to crack a smile in the last one, on account of you practically begging him too. once he does, you very kindly let him know that he looks constipated.

“it’s okay, some of us are just meant to scowl through fun moments,” you reassure him, patting his shoulder like you didn’t just insult him to his face. 

“i should really leave you here,” megumi hums, side-eyeing you. you push his face in the opposite direction with a scoff.

“you would never. you’re obsessed with me.” “am not.”

you cross your arms over your chest. “you are. there’s no shame in admitting it.” megumi watches you send one of the pictures of you both together to yuji.

“i look bad in that one,” he grumbles, leaning in closer to stare harder at the picture. “also: there’s nothing to admit. i’m not obsessed with you.”

“stop pretending, i know what you’re like.”

your phone keeps going off, presumably because of yuji. megumi calmly grabs it from you and turns it on silent mode.

you both go back home and megumi helps you pack up your things. you’re leaving later tonight. until the time comes, you and megumi waste the day watching random tv shows neither of you really want to watch. 

you mom forces several containers full of leftovers onto you both to take home. she also suggests that you teach megumi how to decorate better. he tries not to take it to heart.

the wrinkly aunt from before asks if you’ll be married by the time christmas rolls around again next year. you deeply sigh, megumi answers for you:

“perhaps.”

somewhere six hours away, yuji and nobara are still freaking out over the picture.