elodie

you had met the most wonderful people this year: shoko, suguru, and satoru. as friends, they all fit together in a way that felt effortless, as if they’d been carved from the same place and just found each other.

when they took you in, their conversations flowed on as they always had. their inside jokes slipped past you, memories you weren’t part of surfacing without warning.

of course, they never shut you out—no, not once. never on purpose. they were all too kind for that. but sometimes knowing that fact made you feel even worse. it was as if they were constantly making space you hadn’t earned.

you laughed when you were supposed to, showed up when invited and told yourself that was enough. but every time they looked at you with that warmth and curiosity, something in your chest twisted.

kindness that unguarded had to be intentional. and if it was? then it had to be pity.

their texts started early that morning.

shoko greeting you with “merry chistmas!!” then asking what time you’d be over for the christmas party.

an hour passed. when you didn’t answer, suguru’s concern slipped through—gentle at first, then heavier when you still hadn’t shown up like you’d promised the day before.

satoru followed, loud and insistent, demanding you get over there already because he was “dying to see you.”

you sincerely doubted that last bit.

your phone buzzed again and again until your hands started to shake and sweat—and then you just muted their contacts altogether because answering meant stepping back into space you were already afraid of taking up.

you imagined them sitting together, warm, laughing, wondering why you weren’t there… but not wondering for too long.

they must’ve been relieved when you didn’t reply. one less obligation. less pity. more fun. less faking now that they didn’t have to go out of their way to include you.

so you stayed quiet like you always did.

it wasn’t like you contributed much anyway. they wouldn’t miss you—you were sure of that.

you knew you were boring. you knew you were painfully awkward. every word felt wrong the second you considered saying it. you’d been this way for all you’ve known.

all your friends came into your life the same way. they noticed you because you were alone and because they felt bad for you at first. they stayed just long enough to make you hope, then left when the silence became uncomfortable—when you were somehow too much and too little at the same time.

“no wonder she doesn’t have any friends. she’s so boring!”

“right? she doesn’t even try!”

that’s what they’d all say.

you got used to it.

conversations always seemed to stall when you spoke. every bumbling word felt like something you had to apologize for. you felt like you were taking up air meant for someone louder, easier, and more interesting.

with the three of them, you were always hyperaware of yourself. well, scratch that—you were hyperaware with everyone.

you laughed a second too late, every time. one-on-one conversations stretched thin, filled with pauses you didn’t know how to fix. silence settled in your chest and stayed there, heavy and accusing.

shoko and suguru could sit together without speaking and they still felt comfortable. when the same happened to you, it was like a dead weight and as if something had gone wrong and it was all your fault.

satoru tried the hardest to pull you in—too bright, too loud, always reaching. it felt even more wrong, as if he was overcompensating, smoothing over the rough edges you couldn’t hide.

the thing was, nobody had ever tried this hard before. no friends, no supposed friend group. the most they’d let you do was tag along like a lost puppy. smile politely. blend in just enough to not be a nuisance until you were.

but that never happened with them. not yet.

shoko asked you about the little things—your favorite books, what music you liked, the way you liked to spend a lazy afternoon.

suguru remembered every answer and brought it up later, as if your words mattered, as if they had weight.

satoru teased you relentlessly, yes, but he also asked, really asked, what you thought, what you wanted, noticed what made you laugh—really laugh. not just for show, but because he wanted to know.

they were curious about you. maybe out of genuine care.

so that was why you knew it would hurt so much more when they’d eventually leave you like everyone else always did.

and that was why you stayed in bed all christmas day, cocooned in blankets.

the world outside your apartment and even outside your room felt too loud and too full of happy people who didn’t understand how much effort it took just to breathe.

you only got up once, drawn by the rumble of your empty stomach. the kitchen was cold, at your feet, even in fuzzy socks—an early christmas present satoru got you, their blue color that reminded you of his eyes. they mocked you now.

even the act of making tea felt like climbing a mountain.

you moved on autopilot, filling a mug, heating water, staring blankly at the counter as if it might answer all the questions swirling in your head.

the quiet felt accusing. it always did when you were alone. every shadow seemed to whisper that maybe this was exactly where you belonged.

alone. forgotten. left behind.

the tea steamed in your hands, warm and meaningless, while your phone lay ignored on the table.

you wanted to tell yourself it was okay. that hiding like you always did was easier and that retreating under blankets, pretending the world had forgotten you was safer.

if you expected nothing there was nothing to loose.

you set the mug down untouched. it’s steam curled up and vanished into the cold air, like all the warmth in the world that couldn’t reach you. your hands trembled slightly, and for a moment you just stared at the mug, wishing it could carry your burdens.

finally, you give up.

you trudge back to your room and crawl beneath the blankets, pulling them over your head like they might muffle everything you’re feeling. you curl into yourself, arms tight around your middle, jaw clenched so hard it aches. you tell yourself not to cry. just breathe. just don’t.

your eyes burn. your throat closes up.

one tear slips, traitorous, soaking into your pillow before you can wipe it away. you swallow hard, trying to force it down, but your chest aches and a quiet sound escapes you.

then another tear follows. and another.

after that, there’s no stopping it.

the tears come silent, pressed into fabric, shaking out of you like something you’ve been holding hostage all day. they spill freely, hot and relentless, streaking your cheeks, blurring everything. your breathing turns uneven, chest heaving as if it can’t quite remember how to work, shoulders trembling with the effort of keeping it quiet.

you cry until it hurts—until your ribs ache, until your throat feels raw and scraped bare, until the hiccups rip through you in soft, humiliating bursts.

there’s nobody to comfort you. not now. not ever.

the blankets twist around your body, heavy and useless, offering nothing but warmth without comfort. your room stays still—dark and indifferent, watching you fall apart.

when the tears slow eventually, thinning into shaky breaths, your body sags in on itself. emptied out and exhausted.

your eyes throb, swollen and sore, lashes clumped together with dried tears. the last broken cry slips from your chest, barely more than a breath.

sleep takes you then—not gentle, not kind—but restless and thin, pulling you under while the ache still lingers in your bones.

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

you hadn’t even remembered falling asleep but banging on your door jolts you awake.

panic hits you immediately. the knocks are impatient. almost angry…? for a split second, your half asleep mind spirals.

were you about to be robbed?

your heart slams against your ribs as you scramble upright, sheets tangling around your legs. you reach for your phone, fingers shaking, only to remember you had left it on the kitchen table.

the banging comes again, louder this time, rattling the door in its frame. you swallow hard.

clutching your blanket around your shoulders like armor, you slip out of your room on shaky feet, every step careful, silent.

you grab your phone just as the knocking turns more frantic.

then a voice cuts through it—urgent, rough around the edges, painfully familiar.

“y/n? i’m really fucking worried now. open the door please! i swear to—”

your breathing stills just as he cuts himself off.

it’s satoru.

softer now stripped of all his loud confidence, “please y/n… open the door.”

the way he says your name, like he’s been pacing and trying not to panic, makes your heart twist. the teasing lilt you know so well is gone. the bravado is gone. it’s just worry. real, naked worry.

you stand there frozen, blanket clutched tight, blinking against the sting building behind your eyes, throat closing up.

he came.

he actually came.

nevertheless, panic swarms you all over again. what were you supposed to do? would he be angry? were the others with him? god—you were a mess. your hair tangled with sleep, eyes swollen, face still tight from crying. you couldn’t let anyone see you like this. you couldn’t let him see you like this.

every instinct screams at you to disappear back under the covers and pretend none of this is happening.

but you can’t. he’s right outside your door.

you’re stuck there, suspended between panic and disbelief, feet rooted to the floor.

but then his voice breaks through again—sharper now, threaded with something dangerously close to desperation.

“c’mon— y/n? please. open the door. i need to know if you’re okay… i- i’ll break it down if i have to!”

you flinch.

before fear can talk you out of it you’re moving.

your hands shake so badly as you fumble with the lock, breath coming in shallow, uneven pulls. the door swings open just a crack, and for one terrifying second, you don’t know if you’re ready to meet his eyes.

but there he is.

satoru’s hand is mid knock and he almost stumbles forward when the door opens.

his usual grin is nowhere to be found. instead, there’s worry carved into every line of his face, raw and unguarded—and it hits you harder than anything else tonight.

he exhales your name the second he sees you, relief flooding his voice like it’s been trapped there.

“are you okay?”

the simple question catches you so off guard. it’s not a where where you? or why have you been ignoring us?

he’s asking if you’re okay.

your throat tightens painfully. you can’t answer. you can’t make yourself look at him.

he says your name again, softer this time, almost a plea, but the sound barely reaches you over the storm building in your chest.

everything caves in at once—every wall you put up. every breath you forced to stay steady.

before you can stop it, the dam breaks.

and when it does? his arms are around you.

they’re warm and solid, making your body collapse into him like instinct.

he holds you like he’s afraid to let go, like he’s anchoring you in place when you’re falling apart. his palm cups the back of your head, careful, reverent, like you’re something fragile and worth protecting.

the real sobs that have been clawing at your chest finally spill free.

satoru doesn’t even even pull away or flinch. if anything he settles closer like this is what he was made for.

he murmurs your name again and again, letting you cry it out against him. you cling to him, face buried in his chest, shoulders trembling so hard they ache.

your hair is damp where tears have soaked through, breath hitching in uneven pulls. the scent of him—clean soap, warmth, him—fills your lungs, grounding in a way nothing else has been all day.

for the first time, the crushing weight on your chest eases. just a little. maybe more.

his hand moves through your hair in slow, soothing circles, patient and unhurried. then his fingers catch the edge of the blanket you’re still clutching uselessly between you, and without another word, he tugs it higher around your shoulders. snug and protective.

the gesture is so gentle—so considerate—that your breath stutters all over again.

the words repeat like a mantra, quiet but insistent, making your chest ache. “it’s okay, baby,” he murmurs. “it’s okay… i’ve got you. you’re not alone. you’re not alone, okay?”

the word baby lands like a shock straight to your chest.

nobody had ever called you that. nobody had called you that in a way that felt like this—care and tenderness instead of something you had to earn. your fingers curl tighter in his shirt, knuckles whitening as if your body is afraid that if you let go, even a little, he’ll vanish.

a broken sound tears out of your throat, sharper than the sobs before it, like something inside you has finally split open. your face presses harder into his chest, tears soaking through as your body trembles.

you want to stop—you really do, it’s embarrassing to be like this in front of him, but each sob is pulled from somewhere deep and bruised, all your fear spilling out at once.

you’d been so sure—so sure—that being held like this was never meant for you.

but now… satoru is giving it to you.

his arms tighten, firm and grounding when your knees threaten to buckle, keeping you upright because he won’t let you collapse completely. one hand stays cradled at the back of your head while the other rubs slow, reassuring circles into your back.

“hey,” he murmurs, voice thick now, like he feels it too. “it’s okay. you don’t have to hold back anymore. cry if you need to. i’m right here.”

you gasp, trying to speak, but all that comes out is a choked, broken sound—your words dissolving into sobs as soon as they reach your throat. you shake your head against his chest like you’re arguing and trying to deny everything spilling out of you.

when you sob against him again, you don’t feel so alone doing it.

he still doesn’t let go, only holding you closer, resting his cheek against the top of your head, breathing slow and deliberately until your body starts to follow his lead.

“i’m not going anywhere,” he whispers, a promise meant only for you. “not tonight. okay?”

your chest still hurts. the tears still come. but somewhere between the steady thump of his heart and the quiet certainty in his voice, the pain shifts—no longer sharp, just heavy. something you can carry.

you nod against him.

the next thing you know, satoru is lifting you effortlessly into his arms. he carries you across the room like you’re the most fragile thing in the world.

your apartment feels too big and too empty as he walks, but the space between the two of you feels impossibly small. impossibly safe.

he sits down on the couch without letting you go, keeping you tucked against his chest, your arms still looped around his waist. his hand never leaves the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair like they belong there.

you can feel his warmth seeping into you.

he hums softly under his breath, repeating those reassurances that wrap around you like a warm hug.

“i’ve got you,” he murmurs again, “you don’t have to be brave right now. not for anyone. just be here with me.”

and you try to do just that.

you let the tears fall, let yourself shudder against him, let yourself finally rest against someone who refuses to let you crumble alone.

you’ve never felt so seen—so heard without even saying a word.

slowly but surely, the cries eventually fade, replacing themselves with slow, heavy breathing.

he shifts slightly, cradling you closer, and you feel the gentle press of his chin atop your heat. he waits, patient, giving you a long moment to breathe.

when you’ve calmed down more he speaks, breaking the quiet.

“hi, pretty girl… can i see you?”

your chest tightens at his words. your brain scrambles. pretty? me?

it hits you all at once how big this is for you and your face heats like fire. you feel your cheeks burn, your lips parting, unsure what to say. flustered, vulnerable, and entirely unguarded, you nod slightly, still buried against his chest.

his fingers tilts your chin up gently, the other hand brushing your damp hair from your face.

your eyes meet his blue ones that you adore so much and he smiles. it makes your chest ache in a new way. not with pain, but with the strange, overwhelming relief of being noticed.

“there you are,” he whispers, almost to himself.

you blink, still caught somewhere between disbelief and a growing warmth. he leans in just slightly, close enough that you can feel his warm breath without pressure, close enough that you know he’s not going anywhere.

his thumb brushes along your cheek, tracing the damp tracks of your tears, and a shiver runs through you. not from fear or from the cold, from the way he’s holding you making you feel safe.

“it’s okay,” he says again, softer this time, “you don’t have to hide. not from me. not ever.”

you swallow the lump in your throat.

when you finally talk, your voice is hoarse.

“thank you,” you whisper, the words barely making it past your lips.

it feels small compared to everything he’s done—showing up, holding you, staying—but it’s all you can offer. your fingers curl into his shirt again, not quite ready to let go, your heart fluttering in a way that feels dangerous.

he exhales softly, something warm and fond in the sound, and dips his forehead to rest against yours. “hey,” he murmurs, gentle, “you don’t have to thank me for anything. i actually should’ve come much earlier…”

“huh?” you murmur.

your chest tightens with something tender and aching. you’ve always felt it for him, even before today. his presence made everything feel a little lighter, a little safer. you’d told yourself it was nothing. but right now, wrapped up in his arms, it feels impossible to deny.

he pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes soft, unguarded in a way you don’t see often. one of his hands stays firm at your waist, grounding, now like he’s afraid you might slip away if he lets go.

“yeah,” he says quietly. “i was so worried when you didn’t answer us. i kept hoping you’d show up…”

“i should’ve noticed sooner… you’ve been trying so hard to be okay, and i let you do it alone.” his thumb brushes absentmindedly over your side, slow and soothing. “that’s on me. i’m sorry…”

your chest tightens further with the overwhelming weight of being seen. you know now that he doesn't pity you. he cares enough for you to regret missing the signs.

you shake your head quickly, instinctively. “i didn’t want to bother anyone,” you admit, voice small. “especially you.”

his brows knit together, and for the first time there’s something fierce under the softness. “you could never bother me,” he says immediately, like it’s obvious. like it’s always been obvious. “i just… i thought you knew that.”

your heart stutters. you swallow, eyes dropping to his chest, suddenly shy. “i didn’t,” you confess.

there’s a beat of silence. not awkward—heavy. meaningful.

then he tilts his head, smiling faintly, something vulnerable flickering across his face. “guess i should be clearer, then.”

you think—oh. maybe he’s going to say something else. maybe he’s just close because he always is.

but then his lips brush your cheek.

it’s so light you almost miss it.

but how could you?

you freeze instantly, breath catching sharp in your chest, eyes widening in pure surprise. before your mind can catch up, he presses another kiss just beneath your eye—right where your tears had fallen. then another, careful and unhurried, like he’s testing something fragile.

your heart stumbles violently. he’s not teasing. not rushing. he’s kissing your face—like it means something. like you mean something.

“satoru—” you breathe, startled, his name slipping out on instinct alone.

he pauses instantly, forehead resting against yours again, thumb still warm against your cheek.

he searches your face. “is this okay?”

you nod before you can think, cheeks burning, pulse racing, still stunned.

“mhm,” you whisper.

something soft breaks across his face at that—relief, affection, something dangerously sincere. he presses one last kiss to your cheek, lingering just a second longer this time, like he’s memorizing the feeling of you here, alive and real in his arms.

“i’ve always wanted to do that,” he admits quietly.

your chest tightens, breath shallow. you don’t know what to say. you’d never imagined this—not really. never let yourself believe he’d want to kiss you like this. but now, held gently, kissed so carefully, you realize how long you’ve been aching for it too.

he doesn’t push. doesn’t take more.

“merry christmas,” he says with a small, almost shy smile.

you let out a breathless, disbelieving huff of a laugh.

“merry christmas,” you echo, just as softly.

his smile widens at that, eyes crinkling in a way that makes your stomach flutter. he squeezes you just a little tighter, like he’s grounding himself too, like this means as much to him as it does to you.

and then he’s pulling something out of this pocket.

“i have this for you.”

your heart stutters. “wait- you didn’t have to—”

“I know,” he says gently. “but i wanted to.”

he opens his palm, revealing a small box. your hands shake as you take it.

when you lift the lid, your breath catches in a gasp.

inside is a necklace. it’s so delicate and it’s in the jewelry color you always wear. the small charm makes your chest ache instantly. it’s a tiny origami crane.

he remembered. he really remembered.

weeks ago, you’d mentioned in passing, how much you loved origami—how a single crane could hold a wish, a hope, or a secret meaning. it hadn’t even been a full conversation. you’d never imagined he was really listening—let alone care enough to turn it into something like this.

“you remembered?” you whisper.

he shrugs, almost shy, a small grin tugging at his lips. “of course i did.” then, softer, “it reminded me of you.”

your eyes sting. again. you laugh softly, pressing the tiny crane to your chest like like it might hold every little ache and joy you’ve been carrying. no one had ever paid attention like this—not enough to remember, not enough to choose something that spoke to you.

“can i?” he asks, already reaching.

you nod. he inches closer, fingers brushing your hair aside as he fastens it around your neck. his touch lingers at the nape for half a second too long.

when he pulls back, his gaze softens. “it looks perfect on you,” he says quietly.

your heart feels like it might burst.

“wait,” you blurt suddenly, panic and courage colliding. “i- i have something for you too.”

his brows lift in surprise. “yeah?”

you pull away reluctantly and hurry to your room, heart racing. the gift had been tucked away in your closet for weeks—a stupid, impulsive thing you bought because it made you think of him immediately. you never thought you’d actually get the chance to give it to him.

you come back clutching it behind your back, suddenly painfully shy. “it’s not… i mean, it’s kind of silly,” you mumble, holding it out.

he blinks when he sees it—then a smile envelops his entire face.

it’s a plushie of a white cat with blue eyes. soft and ridiculous.

he takes it from you carefully, eyes flicking from the plushie to you, a slow smile spreading across his face.

you stumble over your words to fill the gap, “it’s… it’s stupid, i mean—i just saw it and it reminded me of you and i didn’t think i’d ever actually get the chance to give it to you—”

instead of replying, he’s tugging you onto his lap.

instead, he’s tugging you gently onto his lap.

the soft plushie gets tucked between you, pressed to his chest as his arms come around you, laughter bubbling out of him like he can’t help it.

“oh my god,” he laughs softly, voice fond and warm, “you’re so cute.”

then he leans in—and suddenly his lips are on your face again.

“it’s perfect, baby,” he murmurs into your hair, squeezing the plushie again like he needs to make the point stick.

the kisses start soft. then teasing. then faster, lighter—pressed everywhere without warning. your cheeks, your temples, the tip of your nose. he laughs between them, breath warm against your skin, eyes bright and sparkling like he’s having the time of his life.

your hands clutch at his shirt, breath going shallow as you whine in embarrassment, but he doesn’t let you go. he cradles you easily, the plushie snug between you while his arms hold you close.

“i’m so happy,” he says, smiling in a dopey way that makes your chest ache—and makes you want to kiss him back properly, except you can barely think straight. his forehead rests against yours, close enough that you can feel his breath. “i’m so happy you’re here… and that you got me this little thing…”

all you can do is laugh, breathless, cheeks burning, head spinning from the way he’s holding you, kissing you, making you feel.

you manage a small, breathless laugh, voice trembling. “you really like it, huh?”

he looks down at the plushie, then back at you, eyes sparkling. “like it? i love it,” he says, squeezing it gently before glancing at you again, smile wide and unrestrained. “thank you for thinking of me.”

your cheeks burn hotter, heart hammering. “i… i should be the one saying that…” you murmur, fingers fidgeting.

he laughs softly, a warm, light sound that makes your stomach flutter, then leans in and presses a quick kiss to your forehead and you can’t help but laugh and squirm a little on his lap, trying to catch your breath.

and the way he looks at you after that—soft, fond, unmistakably pleased—makes your chest feel too full.

you feel like you’re the grinch and your heart has grown three sizes.

he’s still smiling at you like that—soft, pleased, a little stunned—when something beyond you catches his eye.

the laughter in his chest slows. his gaze drifts past your shoulder, toward the window.

“…wait,” he says, squinting slightly.

you follow his line of sight just as his eyes widen, excitement lighting up his face all at once.

“wait—look!”

thick snowflakes are falling outside.

his whole demeanor changes instantly—like a switch has flipped. he practically bounces in place, and you knew he actually would’ve if your weren’t sitting on his lap. he grips you just a little tighter in his excitement.

“it’s christmas snow! actual christmas snow! do you see this?!”

you laugh, covering your mouth with your hands, gaze stuck between the window and him. “it’s beautiful.”

you don’t know which is better.

he looks back at you, eyes sparkling. there’s something boyish and unfiltered about him this way that makes you feel the same.

“hey,” he says suddenly, leaning closer like he’s about to share a secret. “have you ever made a snow angel?”

you shake your head slowly. “no… my parents never let me. they were always worried i’d get sick.”

his expression shifts instantly—mock offense, dramatic disbelief.

“no way!” he groans. “that’s unacceptable. today, we make snow angels. non-negotiable.”

before you can even respond, he’s already moving—hands on your waist, lifting you easily off his lap and tugging you toward the door. you stumble after him, laughing, heart racing.

“wait—wait!” you protest, breathless. “i need to get dressed first!”

he freezes mid-step, blinks, then laughs at himself. “oh my god—yeah. okay. wow. what am i doing?” he steps back, holding his hands up dramatically. “bundle up. i’ll wait. promise.”

the way he says it—easy, unhurried, like he truly had nowhere else to be even when he had been so excited—makes something in you soften even more.

you retreat into your room, heart still pounding, movements a little clumsy from leftover adrenaline and excitement. you pull on your jacket quickly, then a knit hat, gloves, and a scarf. just as you’re about to head back out, you pause. you hadn’t seen satoru bring anything with him except a jacket.

without really thinking, you grab an extra scarf and another pair of gloves, folding them over your arm before leaving the room.

when you step back out, he looks up from where he’s waiting by the door. his eyes flick over you—and then down.

“…aww,” he grins, pointing. “those are the socks i got you.”

you glance down, suddenly aware of the fuzzy fabric peeking out beneath your pants. your face warms. “oh. yeah,” you admit quietly. “i wore them all day.”

something in his expression shifts, fond and gentle all at once. he grins in his boyish way, “i like that,”

you hold out the extra gloves and scarf, shy. “i… grabbed these for you. just in case. i didn’t have an extra hat though…”

his eyebrows lift, surprised—and then he smiles wider. “you’re really sweet, you know that?”

“says you,” you mumble, ducking your head.

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

outside, the cold hits you immediately. thick flakes drift down like the world has softened just for christmas. there had already been snow on the ground from last week, but now a fresh layer was settling over everything making it all untouched.

satoru drops down first, landing flat on his back with a dramatic oof.

“okay! like this,” he announces, already spreading his arms and legs wide against the snow as if he was demonstrating something very serious.

you hesitate for half a second—just long enough for the cold to feel real—before lowering yourself down beside him. you sit, then lie back, the snow immediately seeping through your coat, cold enough to pull a sharp gasp from your chest before it turns into laughter. you start moving your arms and legs, copying him, the rhythm awkward at first.

“you’re doing it!” he says, turning his head toward you, grin bright and uncontained. “your first snow angel!”

you turn toward him too, cheeks flushed both from the cold and from him. snow clings to your lashes, almost like you’re trying to match his naturally white ones. “i can’t believe i’ve never done this before,” you admit, breath fogging the air.

“well, it only matters you’re doing it now!” he grins, stretching his arms wider, deliberately exaggerating his movements. “and you gotta commit,” he says. “bigger wings. like this.”

“that’s not fair! my arms aren’t as long as yours!”

you try to follow, laughing harder now—and then your glove slips, accidentally flinging snow straight into his hair.

he freezes.

dramatically, he gasps. “hey! was that an attack?!”

you sit up immediately, laughing so hard your sides ache. “i didn’t mean to!”

“oh, it’s on!” he says, already scooping up a handful of snow. he lobs it at you with zero aim, the clump falling apart midair and barely dusting your sleeve.

“that doesn’t even count!” you tease, scrambling to your feet.

your boots crunch loudly against the snow. he chases after you, laughing, long strides intentionally slowing just enough for you to stay ahead. you can tell he’s letting you win—and it makes you giggle even more.

but then your foot slips.

before you can panic, he’s there, catching you around the waist. the two of you tumble down together in a messy heap, snow puffing up around you as you land.

you end up tangled together, his arm braced beside your head, your hands gripping his jacket. for a moment, neither of you move.

your faces are close, too close—breaths fogging the space between you as the laughter fades into something quieter. you feel so warm inside despite the cold snow biting at you.

the world feels still, like it’s waiting for the two of you.

snow keeps drifting down lazily, catching in his bright hair and melting against his pinkened cheeks.

you’re suddenly aware of how close you are—too close to pretend this is still just an accident—but neither of you pull away.

you huff the way your stomach is fluttering with a soft laugh, eyes flicking up to his hair. “you’re matching the snow.”

he pouts immediately, exaggerated and offended, and it makes you want to kiss it right off his face.

“rude.”

you shake your head quickly, flustered, fingers tightening in his jacket. “no- i meant like- in a good way. you’re like a real snow angel.”

he blinks. once. then again. the tips of his ears turn pink almost instantly.

“…hey,” he mutters, suddenly looking anywhere but at you. “that’s not fair.”

“huh?”

“you can’t just say things like that,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, flustered.

“oh…”

when he finally looks back at you, there’s something nervous and earnest there, something softer than you’ve ever seen.

his gaze slips down to your lips.

it’s almost like he can’t seem to help it. he exhales slowly, steadying himself.

you gulp.

the realization hits you all at once—what’s about to happen. what you want to happen. your hands tighten in his jacket, knuckles brushing the fabric as your heart stumbles, caught somewhere between nerves and longing.

was this how your first kiss is going to happen?

he wets his lips without thinking, then looks at your own. really looks.

“i… can i…?” he murmurs, voice low, almost breaking.

you nod, barely able to breathe. “mhm….”

he leans in slowly, like he’s afraid of breaking the moment. each inch feels deliberate and suspended, the space between you stretching thin with anticipation. you don’t pull away. not even a little. and your lips part on instinct.

he notices. his breath catches, eyes flicking to your mouth before lifting to meet yours again, searching, making sure you’re still with him.

the world narrows.

he closes the distance carefully. the brush of his nose against yours sends a quiet spark through you, your pulse roaring in your ears as the last sliver of space lingers—just long enough to feel unbearable.

then it’s gone.

his lips meet yours… soft as a promise. warmth blooms instantly like fireworks, chasing away the cold that clings to your skin.

his hand stays at your jaw, thumb tracing slow arcs that make your breath hitch against him.

you register distantly that his gloves are gone, that his skin is warm against yours despite the cold somehow, but the thought drifts away before it can settle.

your fingers are already knotted in his jacket, unsure and clumsy, so you cling harder, grounding yourself in the familiar weight of him, the fabric wrinkling beneath your grip.

he notices. the kiss lingers as if he’s reassuring you without words. he doesn’t rush you, only leaning in just a touch more.

you feel the curve of a smile against your lips before it fades into something deeper.

the kiss deepens and you exhale into him without meaning to, and he hums low in his chest, pleased. like he’d been waiting for that.

the sound sends a small shiver through you and your grip tightens again, knuckles brushing the warmth of his chest beneath the layers.

his thumb stills at your jaw when you finally pull back a fraction, just enough to breathe, your foreheads resting together.

you breaths fog between you, uneven, and he lets out a soft laugh under his breath, something shy and disbelieving.

“wow,” he murmurs, like he’s afraid to break the spell.

you look at him in awe, as if you’re seeing him for the first time but somehow have always known him. his white lashes are dusted with snow, cheeks flushed pink, blue eyes soft and a little stunned like he can’t quite believe this is real either.

for a second, you forget everything else. the pain you’d felt for your whole life? he’s taking it away, little by little until there’s just him, this close, breathing the same air as you.

your lips still tingle where they had met his so intimately, warmth blooming low in your chest, spreading slow and sweet.

“…hi,” you whisper. you don’t know what else to say. the word is barely there, more breath than sound.

his mouth curves into a small, crooked smile, shy in a way you’ve never seen before. “hi pretty girl,” he echoes, quieter, like he’s matching you on purpose.

he leans his forehead against yours again and your fingers relax just a little in his jacket. not because you’re ready to let go—only because you don’t feel like you have to hold on so tightly anymore.

snow keeps falling around you, soft and steady, and for once, it feels like the world got something right.

but then a startled gasp breaks the quiet.

“ugh—! you guys are alive!”

the sound makes both of you jump. you and satoru jerk upright at the same time, scrambling out of your tangled sprawl in the snow, hearts leaping into your throats as you turn toward the voice.

shoko stands a few steps away, one hand pressed to her chest like she’s catching her breath, the other already pointing accusingly at satoru. suguru lingers beside her, calmer, but his posture eases the second he sees you both.

“we’ve been worried sick,” shoko says, relief tumbling out on top of her irritation. “satoru, you said you were just checking on her and then you disappear without letting us know she’s fine! no texts, no calls, nothing!”

satoru winces, rubbing the back of his neck. “oh… sorry about that.”

but then she stops.

actually looks at the two of you.

at how close you’re still sitting despite jumping apart. at the way his knee is almost touching yours, his arm hovering awkwardly like he’s not sure where to put it now. at your embarrassed face, snow clinging to your lashes, hands still half curled like they’d only just let go of his jacket.

“…wait,” she says slowly.

her eyes widen. “oh my gosh. you two—?”

your face heats instantly. “we—”

satoru lets out a small, caught laugh. “uhh…”

there’s a beat of silence—then shoko’s expression flips completely. her mouth drops open, then curls into a grin so wide it’s almost blinding.

“are you serious?” she whispers, delighted. “is this happening right now?”

suguru exhales, something like a chuckle slipping free. “uh huh. it was about time,” he says, easy and knowing.

shoko lets out a sound that’s simply delighted, and before either of you can react, she drops straight down into the snow, arms flinging wide around both of you.

“oh my god,” she laughs, pressing her cold cheek against yours. “i’m actually going to cry. this is so overdue.”

you freeze for a moment, flustered by how close she’s pressed against you. an unrestrained giggle escapes your lips and satoru groans, trying to push her the two of you.

“okay! okay, shoko! get off!”

“what? i’m celebrating!” she protests, holding on tighter. “i’ve been waiting forever for this moment!”

satoru huffs, mock exasperated, gently trying to pry her off. “hey! hands off my girl, jeez! she’s mine!”

my girl.

you laugh through your blush, squirming a little as shoko giggles, clearly unbothered by satoru’s mock jealousy.

from the side, suguru stands with his arms crossed, snow crunching under his boots as he watches, outwardly begrudging, but the faintest crease of a smile betrays him.

“unbelievable,” he mutters, voice dry, and then, with a resigned huff, he kneels down and lets himself join the tangle of limbs on the snow.

he rests his weight next to you and whispers, “glad you’re okay.”

your bashful ‘thank you’ is swallowed by shoko squealing as she wiggles happily between you and satoru.“this is a christmas miracle!” she laughs, pressing her cheek closer to yours and tightening her grip. “i’ve been waiting forever for this!”

satoru groans, exasperated but laughing at the same time. “shoko! seriously! you’re going to crush us!”

you can’t stop the laugh that escapes you, breathless and shaky, cheeks warm, heart hammering. over shoko’s shoulder, your eyes meet satoru’s—bright, steady, and impossibly blue. for a moment, the rest of the world disappears and even shoko’s excited giggles fade into the background.

his hands reach out to intertwine with yours behind shoko’s back and your fingers tighten instinctively around him when they meet.

suguru sits nearby, looking like he’s enduring the chaos, but that small invisible smile is always there to show he’s truly happy too.

snow drifts down around you, soft and quiet, and everything feels right—tangled in the snow, pressed together, hearts still racing from laughter and relief, you realize why this moment will linger in your memory.

and somehow, in the midst of it all, your world had changed to a different kind of blue than the one you’d known before.

now, it was only the blue of his eyes that mattered.

masterlist | series masterlist

You wake up in a room that isn’t yours, feeling the weed hangover already kicking your ass.

The first thing you register is the familiar ceiling, the faint smell of the remains of weed and that  fresh citrus and vanilla Luke smells like. Your brain lags behind your body, hazy, still floating, until you shift and feel warm skin beside you.

Oh, well right !!

Luke’s arm is slung around your waist. His hoodie is tossed over the back of a chair, his sheets tangled around your legs. He’s still asleep, mouth slightly open, hair flattened on one side since he hasn’t moved in hours.

The worst part isn’t waking up in Luke’s bed or atleast that's what you tell yourself over and over again.

For a second, you let yourself pretend this is normal. Pretending you woke up here because you’re together or the way his thumb rests just above your hip doesn’t mean anything more than comfort from your best friend.

You move so you can see his face, but your stomach twists at the sight of him.

Because you know those non-said rules. The unspoken agreement you’ve both been clinging to like cowards: This only happens when we’re high, so it doesn't count.

It doesn’t mean anything.

It’s been weeks of that. Late nights just you two, joints burned down to the filters, your clothes abandoned, hands everywhere, mouths everywhere while you gasp small moans with his name on them and then morning comes and you both laugh it off. You go back to being “best friends.” Luke makes a joke and you swallow the lump in your throat trying not to feel your stomach twist every time he kisses someone else at a party.

Like the night you watched him talk to a girl from his stats class at a party— blonde, pretty, laughing hard at things that weren’t even funny. You were high enough that the room felt muted, but not high enough to miss the way Luke leaned in closer to her, or how his hand brushed her lower back; almost grabbing her ass when he moved past.

Your chest had gone tight and sour all at once.

Later that same night, he kissed you like he was trying to make you forget about it.

“Just when we’re high,” he’d murmured against your mouth and you were so into him that you let it be.

You carefully slide out from under his arm and sit up, pulling the sheet around your chest even though it’s pointless because behind you, the mattress shifts.

“Hey,” Luke murmurs sleepily, he’s blinking awake, his eyes soft when they land on you. The look alone makes you feel sick. “Morning,” he adds.

“Hey.” Your voice comes out thin.

He props himself up on an elbow, studying you like something’s off. “You okay?”

You nod. “Yeah, just sore.”

And that's how you spend your days after you guys decided to fuck everything up; lying to your best friend's face wasn't your favorite thing, but you feared what might happen if you were honest about the feelings blooming.

Spending the days in his room or yours, like right now.

His room feels exactly the same as it always does, so dim, slightly messy, smelling like laundry detergent and his own scent. The window is cracked open despite the cold, the curtain stirring every so often. You’re sitting on his bed, legs crossed, phone forgotten in your hand as he talks to you.

Luke is leaning against his desk, watching you in that way he’s started doing more often lately. You tell yourself you’ll be normal, you can keep your hands to yourself !!

But oh, he ruins that by reaching up and tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, fingers staying at your jaw like he forgot where they were supposed to go.

You look at his lips.

Sadly, that’s all it takes for both of you.

He kisses you like he’s been holding himself back for days though he did kiss you last night after a party from his fraternity. It’s slow at first, his mouth warm and careful against yours, as he does always, giving you time to change your mind even if neither of you will.

Your hands find his hoodie, bunching the fabric in your fists, you think about getting it off of him already. Luke exhales softly into your mouth, the sound almost a laugh, almost a groan, and the kiss deepens, your tongues finding.

He shifts closer, bodies lining up as familiarity does the work words refuse to do. You climb into his lap without thinking, knees settling on either side of his thighs. His hands slide to your waist immediately, firm and sure, like they’ve missed this.

For a while, there’s nothing but mouths and breath and the soft creak of the mattress beneath you as your hands explore a body you've been getting too much lately.

You like him.

You really like him.

Your lips part, swollen, and you can see Luke watching you intently as your chest rises and falls in search of much-needed air. His fingers track the movement, mesmeraized. He leans in again, not to kiss your mouth this time, but your jaw, your cheek, the soft place just beneath your ear.

“You're so soft,” he murmurs, barely audible.

You don’t answer. You’re too aware of the way his mouth drifts down your neck slowly. His lips press there, then again, firm to make you shiver. He sucks lightly, affectionate more than hungry.

Normally, that would be it. Normally you’d melt, tilt your head back and let yourself disappear into him. Instead, something tightens behind your eyes.

Luke doesn’t notice at first. He presses another kiss below your collarbone, biting this time. Your breath stutters— not from want, but from the sudden, overwhelming weight inside your chest.

“Luke,” you whisper, voice breaking.

His head lifts, concern snapping into place the second he sees your face. Your eyes are glossy, lashes clumped slightly, your lower lip trembling even as you try to keep it together.

“Hey,” he says again, softer now. “What’s wrong?”

You swallow hard. The words pile up in your throat, heavy and overdue.

“I can’t—” Your voice cracks. You squeeze your eyes shut for a second, then open them again because you don’t want to hide. “I can’t keep doing this.”

Luke’s hands loosen on your waist, not leaving, just easing like he’s suddenly afraid to hurt you and he doesn't talk, letting you talk.

“This,” you say helplessly, gesturing between you, to his mouth, his hands, everything at the same time as you feel the anxiety eat you up. “Us. Kissing like this and then joking around it.”

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” he asks.

You laugh weakly through the tears that are starting to come out. “Because I was scared you’d pull away or laugh or decide this was too much.”

Luke exhales slowly, pressing a kiss firmly to your cheek. “I should’ve asked.”

You nod, wiping at your face with the back of your hand. “I like you, Luke. And pretending I don’t or that it’s only the weed it’s making me feel sick.”

He’s quiet for a long moment, letting you cry your feelings out as he caresses your hands with so much care you wish he—.

“I like you too.”

Your breath catches.

“I think I’ve been lying to myself about it,” he continues, honest in a way that makes your chest ache all over again. “Because liking you for real feels scarier than just...Well, letting things happen.”

You sniff. “So what now?”

Luke pulls back just enough to look at you properly, his hands still warm and steady on your trembling ones. “Now we stop acting like little kids that don't talk things out. Or if you need space, I’ll give it to you. I just don’t want to keep hurting you without knowing.”

You take a shaky breath. “I don’t want to stop seeing you,” you admit. “I just want it to mean something, as daiting being the something.”

His mouth curves into a small, relieved smile. “Okay,” he says. “Then let’s let it mean something.”

He leans in not to kiss you this time but to rest his forehead against your chest, holding you there while your breathing evens out, while the tears dry.

“Hey,” he murmurs again, quieter than before.

You hum softly in response, eyes still a little glassy, still pressed close enough to feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm.

“Come here,” he says, gentle, not pulling—just guiding.

You let him ease you back onto the bed, both of you shifting until you’re lying on your sides facing each other, knees tucked together, his arm sliding around your shoulders. He brushes your hair back from your face, slow and careful.

“I love you,” he says suddenly.

It's so honest, like it’s been sitting in his chest waiting for the right moment to be said.

“And I love your body,” he adds quickly, a little smug now, thumb tracing a small, absent-minded circle against your arm. “Not just like— physically. I mean… I love that this is you. That I get to be close to you like this.”

Your throat tightens again, but this time the feeling is warm instead of heavy and all consuming.

“Hey,” he says softly, tilting his head so he can see your face again. “We don’t have to do anything else tonight. Seriously.”

You look up at him, searching, and don’t find a single trace of expectation there.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” he asks. “We can also just lie here and talk about what else we've been feeling... Or not talk at all.”

You let out a quiet laugh, the sound shaky but real.

“I’d like a movie,” you say. “Something dumb.”

“Perfect,” he says immediately. “I excel at dumb movies.”

He shifts so you’re more comfortable, tugging the blanket up around you both, one arm snug around your waist while his other hand fumbles for his laptop. He pauses, though, before opening it, eyes flicking back to you with that same careful seriousness.

“And—” he adds, a little awkward, a little nervous, “I want to take you on a real date. Like, sober.. Doing this right.”

Your heart does something traitorous in your chest.

“Yeah?” you ask quietly.

“Yeah,” he says, smiling wider now. “Dinner maybe? Whatever you want. I just want it to be intentional.”

You nod, curling closer into his side, your cheek resting against his chest where you can hear his heartbeat, steady and calm and finally not something you have to pretend doesn’t matter.

“Okay,” you whisper.

Luke presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, lingering there for a second longer than necessary.

“Okay,” he echoes.

★ eiris 2025 mostly proofreaded ! ❩

(( 𝑟𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝒽𝑒𝑟𝑒 )) 𝓂𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⸝⸝ 𝑙𝑢𝑘𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑎𝑛 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘𝑠