author’s notes: This has been rotting in my drafts for so long, omg. Ugh. Like, fly free, you stupid thing.

This is Jinu/Reader focused. The reader’s pronouns are he/him and his stylist name is Phantom; otherwise, no physical descriptors are used and race is ambiguous. I do my best to avoid naming the reader in my fics, but it was kind of necessary for this one. Plus, it’s a stage name anyway.

This will be canon divergent and non-compliant. No warnings I can think of, aside from allusions to the movie.

YouTube

sajaboys

Saja Boys (사자 보이즈) Soda Pop - Official MV

Most recent comments: robabyshipper: who’s in class rn → abbyshowabs: me → mysteryabbyagenda: meeeee → babypancakez: me me me meeeee

jinutoyou: guys… am i allowed to say something → maamchloeee: the outfits ? → abbyshowabs: girl YES thank you… they’re awful 😭

sajaboys2783924: stan saja boys!! 🥤🎉

pastelbarbie: let’s get this to 20m streams, guys!!! → mylilsodapopop: we’re more than halfway there and it’s only been a few days. WE GOT THIS.

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Twitter

Trending Saja Boys Related tags: SodaPop, SodaFlop

thekoreatimes K-Pop rookie Saja Boys rack up 25M Spotify streams on new single [link] → user29181: in less than two weeks is insane for a new group → kingkeonhee: wait ok where did these guys come from lol (and why is the song kinda catchy…) → ghostfacesgf: Soda Pop is all over my fyp → delululemon: i love them and im not sorry abt it → swimmingwithdafishes: they’re gonna make it big, i have a feeling. like really big. the song’s huge in the U.S. and South America rn too

sajaboys Soda Pop (사자 보이즈) is out now!

Most recent comments: stephenstrangely: y’all are gonna be so popular and i can’t wait → user91758: literally… WE WERE HEREEEE 

zoeywatersmycrops: i’m too busy with huntrix… huntrix keeps me too busy… busy… saja… → packinmybags: but that’s why bisexuality exists → zoeywatersmycrops: ur so right actually 

lunaluvs: SAJA BOYS 🦁💜

boiyoubetter: it’s pride month and not just for the gays 😏🏳️‍🌈🦁💜 → inthapride: omg true it’s double pride month atp

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Twitter

Trending Saja Boys Related tags: SodaPop, SodaFlop

babyabby9 lmfao i can’t believe #SodaFlop is a tag. y’all are funny. → househusbandw.othehouse: my little soda pop my little soda poppp → abbysrightpec: i have a feeling the tag was started by antis lol → babyabby9: ohhh i didn’t realize that. makes sense ig :( 

ergocoffeeb1tch #SodaPop sang this in my dreams last night supposedly (sorry, wifey) → ergofcku: sigh, i’ll allow it wifey

babysbonedrypacifier the only #SodaFlop about #SodaPop is the outfits → sjbysaao: yeah i think that’s what the tag is for tbh → s4j4b0y3: they’re so bad… looks like the easter bunny threw up all over them → mysterythevisual: plsssss 💀 → sportsboy178: ur username is crazy 😭 → babysbonedrypacifier: tyyy <3 → sportsboy178: wasn’t a compliment tbh but yw

abbysleftpec #SajaBoys new stylist when??? → mandywritesgarbage: do they even have one??? looks like they just raided an H&M → tralalaskippingsong: what H&M has clothing without stupid taglines??? where r u ???? can i come??? → abbysrightpec: LOLLL u right (also changed my user so we’re matching bestie) → abbysleftpec: reunited and it feels so gooood

hazbinahater#SajaBoyscharisma: 10 choreography: 10 vocals: 10 style: 

hannigrams: you forgot style → hazbinahater: that was the point → hannigrams: oh LMFAOOOO

gwimarmalade when are you going to feed us some good fucking food #SodaFlop → cabbytats: i mean they can look good in anything but damn 💀💀

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Twitter

Trending Met Gala Related tags: Sung-Min

vogue Sung-Min has arrived! ✨#MetGala[sungmin.jpg: A photo of the popular actor known by the moniker Sung-Min. He’s wearing a white-cream double-breasted suit that extends into a cape at the back, the fabric flowing down his shoulders, and wide black trousers. There’s a black flower-like decoration on the left lapel of the suit, and Sung-Min wears smokey eye shadow and green contacts.] → sumgninluvr: ARF ARFARF ARF RUH RUHRU ARF ARF → kpoppiephz: GIVE ME A CHANCE SIR PLEASEEEEE → user017952: omfg this outfit eats

g1rlfa1lure SUNG-MINNNN SIRRRRRR [sungminsmile.jpg: A candid photo of Sung-Min smiling on the red carpet.] → minsbeingsung: bro the designer/stylist did him so well holy shit

rahtahtahtah Who, who, WHO is sung-min’s stylist and how can i put him in my pocket #MetGala

flatlinedflop the #MetGala is my favorite time of year because i get to tell people about Phantom → lollipoppedoff: who is phantom → flatlinedflop: oh do i have something for you. pull up a chair, friend

scurvy New video out now!! 👇👇 [metgala.yt: A YouTube video with the title ‘Phantom: The Hidden Gem of the Met Gala’ with a thumbnail of the commentator with their eyes wide, overlaid on a snapshot of Sung-Min’s recent look.] → user88811: my favorite youtuber talking abt my favorite designer??? PINCH ME I MUST BE DREAMING 😩😩😩 → scurvyoranged: SCURVYYY thank god i was waiting for a vid from u abt this → orangeinstory: i may have to stan this phantom guy lowkey

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Twitter 

vogue You asked, we answered. Learn more about Phantom, the up-and-coming designer whose work has taken the entertainment industry by storm! [link]

Comments: phatazzz: the audacity to call him an up-and-coming designer 🤦 → wolvpool4eva: RIGHT he’s been in the game for years, y’all just hate to give queer artists credit🙄 → phatazzz: EXACTLYYY

kingkongkinggg: my boy finally getting some credit!!! → thurtytuwo: ok let’s not get too parasocial → user45111: no. get more parasocial. always. → kingkonginggg: feels like i have the angel on one shoulder and the devil on another lol

chchchcherry: ooooh the callout to upcoming projects…. i’m excited → trippedandstillserved: praying it’s another k-pop group, he always knows how to treat em 😩

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Twitter 

kingjinu JINU SPOTTED AT THE NY FASHION SHOW,,, I’M SCREAMING [jinufashion.jpg: A few pictures of Jinu sitting at the front row on one edge of the runway, one leg crossed over the other as he looks ahead in interest.]

Comments: abbyshowabs: why was he even there??? → kingjinu: for funsies, i guess! → babygotpancakes: isn’t that one designer in it?the one who styled sung-min for the met gala? I think he’s worked with kpop groups before too, maybe he was scouting him out or something → floptropica: i mean, i think that’s the agency’s job. maybe he just wanted to see. or he’s there for someone else, or he just likes fashion, idfk. 

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Instagram

jinu Great show. @phantom [runwaypic.jpg: A picture of the runway.]

Most recent comments: demoniajinuu: it’s nice that he’s tagging the designer 

pinterestbfaesthetic: did he really use the caption to shoot his shot 😭 → onmyputer584: i mean yeah → marksinsonoccasion: THAT SHOULD BE MEEEEE

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Instagram

You | phantom thank you! [bow.mp4: A short clip of you bowing at the end of the runway, as models wearing your work walk past and audience members applaud you enthusiastically.]

Most recent comments: xxevelynxx: thank YOU sir

trishamartelle: where was jinu sitting → freighttrainfall: uhhh it’s not in this pic i don’t think → trishamartelle: god dammit → freighttrainfall: lmfaooo

phantamsagore: killed it as always 🤘🤘

skiingenthusiast: i want the lavender outfit PLSSSSS → user19716: yeah i’m sure he’ll give a random fan a thousand dollar outfit → skiingenthusiast: stfu have some whimsy → user19716: my b i had a shit day → skiingenthusiast: aw hope it gets better → user19716: aw ty, ur too nice. sorry again, hope u have a good day too → trixiesbleachedwig: i love the internet sometimes

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YouTubesajaboys

Saja Boys (사자 보이즈) - Your Idol - Official MV

Most recent comments: sajatrixxx: who’s the stylist and does he have venmo → demonboyjinu: LOLLL → mysteryabbyagenda: he ATE → romancesu: assuming he’s a man??? → mysteryabbyagenda: nah his name’s listed in the caption → romancesu: ah my b! → mysteryabbyagenda: np

s4j4b0y3: FINALLY SOME GOOD FUCKING FOOD 

keepinuobsessed9: the boys look so goodddd 😭 this is all we wanted for them

user0120975: play me on repeat 끝없이 in your headddd → jinjinjniuuuu: anytime it hurts play another verse → kingromance3: i can be your sanctuaryyyyyy

gruhhhh: YOOO IT’S PHANTOM I FUCKING KNEW ITTTTTT → user94726: fellow phantom stan spotted!!

mothermothermother: yeah yeah the song is amazing but KEEP THE DESIGNER/STYLIST/wHOeVer the FUCK → love2deathx: FRRRRRR → phantasma: his name’s phantom! he has some great work :3 you may know him from Sung-Min’s recent met gala outfit → mothermothermother: o sht that was him??? Purrrrrr

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Twitter

Saja Boys Watch | sjwatch The Saja Boys are confirmed to be performing Your Idol at the Melon Music Awards!

Comments: romancesleftfoot: OH THANK GAWD

user14071: confirmed by who tho → parasocialityyyy: ur mom → flapjacked: wow ok then → user14071: i don’t think she knows kpop like that unfortunately

sajajajajajja: i wonder if phantom will be designing for them again → arsonist13: probably? i feel like he was a large part of the aesthetics of the MV, at least when it comes to their outfits :) → ajassajsa: seconded

jinusolosurfaves: if jinu has an open collar again i’m blowing up the capitol → thorgyustay: whoa now lollll → abbyssoakedabs: ok hunger games → babysgotraps: this is why normies don’t take us seriously lol

______

INTERIOR – Backstage at the Melon Music Awards. 

You’re once again styling the Saja Boys, after a great reception of their most recent music video. You’re somewhat used to the chaos of the prep, with the guys flitting about as they get into hair and makeup before you’re putting the finishing touches on their outfits. Once you’re finished, you leave them to their final preparations. 

As you’re heading down the hall, you occasionally pass a few artists or backstage crew members. As you turn the corner, you nearly crash into a few familiar figures. You recognize them instantly: Zoey, Mira, and Rumi from Huntr/x. You like their music a lot, actually; you’ve never had the chance to work with them, though you would like to. 

They’re wearing two piece white and black outfits with gold accents, evidently for their performance of their recent single, Golden. Rumi’s vibrant purple hair is braided behind her; Mira’s pink hair cascades down her back, with two small portions tied back and some strands escaping near her face; and Zoey’s black hair is arranged into two buns. 

It’s kind of crazy to see Huntr/x in person like this. They’re so popular, you’ve seen them on the Internet almost countless times. They’re one of the top-ranking K-pop groups in the country right now. And this is one of the moments where you have to remember yourself, remember that even if you know of them, they don’t know you. 

You (managing to recover your wits) Oh, uh, sorry.

Zoey My bad!

Mira (crossing her arms over her chest) No, it was definitely his fault. 

Rumi (chastising) Mira… 

You (amused) I mean, she’s kinda right. 

ZoeyWait, you look familiar!

You Oh, well… I’m a designer.

Zoey Holy shit, no way! I knew it. 

Rumi (blinking at her in confusion) What?

Zoey (excitedly) You’re Phantom, aren’t you?

You Uh, yeah. Why?

Mira Dude. Bobby’s been trying to bag you for months.

Zoey elbows her in the side. 

What? It’s true.

Zoey (huffing) Not bag him!

She turns to you. 

We’ve wanted to work with you for a while. But you’re always busy!

You Wait. Wait. What? You have?

Mira Duh.

YouI had no idea! I mean, I know your contracts can be a nightmare, but if I’d known you guys were interested… 

Rumi We’d love to work with you sometime!

You Yeah, that’d be great! Seriously. 

Mira and Zoey exchange nods. 

Rumi I’m Rumi. This is Mira and Zoey. 

Mira ‘Sup.

Zoey Hi!

You Nice to meet you guys. 

You introduce yourself in return, trying to fight off any nervousness. You’re actually talking to Huntr/x…! Crazy. 

Rumi So, what brings you here?

You Oh, I’m just helping the Saja Boys. 

Immediately, all three of their faces fall into grimaces. 

Zoey You work with those jerks?

You (frowning slightly) …Yeah. Why?

Mira Have they ever tried to take your soul?

You stare at her, waiting for a punchline. It never comes. She’s staring at you sincerely. 

You Uh. What?

Rumi Ohohoh—kay. (laughing awkwardly) She’s just kidding!

Mira (flatly) Ha-ha. 

There’s a dark look on her face as she stares at you. Rumi notices this too and grimaces, throwing a hand over her friend’s face. Mira calmly pushes it aside and continues to study you. 

Rumi (brightly) Anyways. It’s so good to meet you—!

Suddenly the air in the room almost seems to change. Rumi’s eyes widen a bit and she takes a wary step back from you. You blink and turn slightly to find Jinu, leader of the Saja Boys, heading over to you, eyebrows furrowed. 

Jinu Everything all right here?

Rumi (quickly) Yeah, yeah.

Mira (nonchalant as always) Totally. 

Zoey (a little too fast to be genuine) Definitely!

Jinu takes in the picture the three of them make, before turning back to you. His hand falls onto your shoulder. 

Jinu Abby ripped his shirt. And not in the normal way.

You Oh. 

The tone of Jinu’s voice suggests that this constitutes some sort of emergency, and that he expects you to fix it. You turn back to Huntr/x reluctantly. 

Sorry, guys, guess I have to go. But it was great to meet you.

Rumi You too. 

Mira and Zoey echo the sentiment. Before you can speak for any longer, Jinu is turning you around and steering you down the hall. You blink and sneak a glance back at Huntr/x, only to find them immersed in serious conversation. 

Jinu What did they want? 

You Oh, nothing really. 

They just introduced themselves. They were asking if I could work with them soon.

Jinu We keep you pretty busy.

You (frowning) Not that busy.

Jinu Still. Us first.

You scowl and keep quiet, not having the energy for argument.

______

Twitter

snorkula am i the only one who liked the soda pop era fits?

Comments: seokjinuwu: yes you’re the only one koalalala: yes bloopydoop: yes chicosdelsaja: yeah hcemburnspiralperm: def [Expand 71 more comments] snorkula: OKAY DAMN YALL I GET IT JESUS

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INT. – Backstage before a performance, a week later. The Saja Boys are singing Your Idol live on TV. You’re making small adjustments to their outfits before they go out on stage. 

You (watching as Abby teasingly backs away from you) Hey, get back here. I need to fix your collar.

Abby dodges you again. Eventually you lose your patience and just yank him back toward you. Abby obeys with a shit-eating grin on his face. 

You (slightly frustrated) Stay still. 

Abby (smirking) Yes, sir. 

You just roll your eyes and make some adjustments, ensuring that uneven wrinkle on his collar is smoothed out.

Romance (whispering to Mystery) I’ll have what he’s having. 

Mystery lets out an amused exhale. Abby hears him and grins. 

You’ve long grown used to tuning them out as you work, so that’s what you do. You don’t hear these remarks, nor do you notice the mischief gleaming in Romance’s eyes as he turns to you. 

Romance Hey, I think my collar’s messed up too.

Before you can head over, Jinu is interjecting.

Jinu It’s fine. 

______

INTERIOR – The dressing room at an idol variety show, a few minutes before the guys are scheduled to make an appearance. Abby, Mystery, Romance, and Baby are ready to go—and they just left the room to take a peek at the stage and set. Jinu is here with you now, as you make a few last-minute adjustments to his suit. The collar isn’t really cooperating, and you keep having to fix it every few seconds. 

Eventually, you give up on trying to be unobtrusive. The occasional brush of a hand shouldn’t kill Jinu. 

…At least, that’s what you think. But once you reach back and fix the collar at the nape of his neck, he flinches and fidgets a bit. You draw back and look at him expectantly, knowing he’s usually the last one to make things difficult. He has to go on with the group in a few minutes—you don’t have time for games.

Jinu Your hands are freezing. 

Oh. That makes a lot more sense. You would’ve been concerned if he were trying to make things harder for you. He’s not usually the type. As the leader of the Saja Boys, he’s typically the one to reign in everyone else’s chaos. 

You Sorry. I have health issues.

…

Actually, no, I’m not sorry. Deal with it. 

Jinu looks at the wall ahead of him as you finally get his collar looking how you want it. Then you back away, tilting your head and looking at his outfit.

Jinu …I’m sorry. I didn’t know.

You blink up at him, briefly distracted from your scrutiny. 

You It’s fine. 

You crouch down and readjust the taper of his pants, focusing on one awkward bend in the ankle. Jinu seems slightly more restless than usual, as if he’s uncomfortable with your proximity. You make your quick fixes before standing back up.

There. How’s that?

Jinu looks in the mirror, begrudgingly turning and looking at himself with multiple angles. 

Jinu It’s… good. 

You You sure? I can fix it if it’s not comfortable. 

Jinu No. It’s good. 

He looks at himself in the mirror for another moment, before making eye contact with you in the reflection. 

Not sure how we did this without you before. 

You don’t really know how to respond to that, so you shoot him a slight smile before reaching your arms over your head to stretch a bit. You can get pretty stiff when you’re fixated on your work, often ignoring muscle aches and pains. 

Jinu noticeably looks away. After a moment, he breaks the silence.

Jinu You have any siblings? 

You Uh… yeah. Why?

Jinu Younger? 

You Yeah. 

He nods as if he expected this. 

Jinu Thought as much. 

You kind of have an older brother aura about you. 

You (amused) Is that a good thing? 

Jinu Yes. 

Kind of a stickler, but… responsible. Like I should’ve been. 

You look over in confusion. He doesn’t give any explanation for this ominous remark, instead jumping down from the small platform and brushing his hands on his pants. 

Jinu Thanks. 

He’s already heading out of the dressing room before you can respond. 

______

Twitter

laterskhaters this dude did not just comment on a 5 month old post 💀 [comment.jpg: A screenshot of the comment section on your Instagram post from 5 months ago. It’s a mirror selfie; in the comments, Jinu commented: ‘Nice.’] → jajajaguar: come onnnn this is pathetic (THAT SHOULD BE MEEEEE) → babysgotback234: lolllll he’s whipped

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Instagram

huntr.x look who we found! @phantom [huntrx.jpg: A selfie with the idols and you. Rumi is smiling and holding the camera out in front of you all; Zoey is holding up a peace sign, her arm on your shoulder; Mira is on your other side, straight-faced as always; you’re in the middle, a smile on your face.]

Most recent comments: rumzoemir4eva: CUTEEEEE

hunterofthetrix: waittt i love his work, pls tell me yall are gonna collab 🤞🤞

jinussajaboyz: oh jinu’s gonna HATE this → saja5eva: wait why → jinussajaboyz: we think he has a thing for phantom → saja5eva: fr? → jinussajaboyz: yesssss → user19798: i can see it tbh → flirtingwfailure: yah have u seen all the bts content??? jinu seems much more relaxed when phantom’s around, he looks at him more often, literally went to the ny fashion show just to see him, gets quiet and pissy when phantom gets attention from the others, etc etc 

hntrxxxxx: MY GIRLS (and boy haha)

rbrtdispatch: this pic is so damn cuteeeeeee

You: :) → sajaboysforpresidents: quick quick, there are two platforms over lava. One w huntrix and one w saja boys. u can save one group and only one group w a lever. who are u saving → jokersdemons: this is oddly specific → zoeymirarumi3333: what makes u think he’d answer this question lol → sajatrix: i’d save both tbh → user11918: considering ur username is a mashup of both groups, yeah, not surprising

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Instagram 

sajaboys we had him first @phantom [sajaphantom.jpg: A backstage photo of you sprawled on a couch, looking at something on your phone. A baseball cap hides most of your face.]

Most recent comments: babyabby8: did he even knew this pic was taken… lmfao 

jinusovergrownbangs: wait full stop he’s cuteeeee → phantomforpres: i mean we been knew → jjjinuuu: tru 

huntrix: 🤨 → sajaboys:  🤷‍♂️ → plackbink: not the social media interns beefing → user93413: lolllll

sportsgirl179: the shade!!!

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Twitter 

Trending Phantom Related tags: Stylist, Jinu

sajajajajajajjaja are saja boys and huntr/x beefing over a stylist LMFAO #Phantom → 80085forhire: designer and yes

jinuunij jinu definitely wrote that caption i just know it #Stylist #Jinu → user190573: yeah right… they have social media people for that → jinuunij: SO???? you really think they’d write something that personal & friendly? → user190573: …u right 

freerealestate OFC JINU TOOK THE FUCKING PIC #Stylist[scrnshts.jpgs: A series of screenshots of the photo Saja Boys posted of you, gradually zoomed in to reveal Jinu’s reflection in a nearby glass.] lollipoppyplaytime: there’s no way… y’all are crazy… → freerealestate: call it what you want, i don’t CARE

trainindayz who is this guy and why is he y/n #Phantom 

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Weverse

Saja Boys demon diaries, xvi. 

Comments: 

jinubias4L: who was jinu talking to off screen? his voice is too muffled and the subtitle doesn’t say → abbygimmeursweattowel: kinda sounded like he said that phantom designer guy’s name? maybe i’m tripping → allsajaallday: no that’s what i thought too,, not sure why he’d be at their dorm but

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Instagram 

abbyhomeslice 🍰 [abbyphantom.jpg: A mirror selfie of Abby and you. His free arm is thrown around your shoulders.] 

babysgotbackpain: whoaaaa phantom’s really the sixth member of the group huh → gorillagluegorl: literally

axeismaibuddy: i didn’t realize abby was friends with the stylist…. new ship, methinks? → flagrantfouls: lord pls no, not another one. i have my hands full with jinu & phantom lord PLEASE SPARE ME

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Instagram 

You | phantom thank you everyone for the bday wishes!!!!! 🖤 [bday.jpgs: A short collection of photos. The first one is a picture of a birthday cake with lit candles; the second is a selfie with you and a friend. The third is a meme of a cat staring at a cake while wearing a birthday hat.] 

Most recent comments: tjlakesss: happy belated bdayyy

craty82: happy birthday to the man who singlehandedly saved saja boys from shitty outfits!!! we love and stan you fr 

flagrantfouls: HBD KING

Romance: 🎂

Baby: 🎂

Mystery: happy birthday! 

Abby: HBDDDD 🤘

sajaboys: our fav stylist → crazyeights: even the social media intern agrees → sajaboys: excuse your mouth i am a full time employee (lying) → crazyeights: LOLLL good for u tbh

Jinu: Happy birthday. → floptinta: say it like u mean it → mrqueennn: lmaooo i didn’t want to be the one to say it → valentinetx: why are we always clowning him lollll → mrqueennn: he’s rich he can take it → valentinetx: factual 

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Twitter 

You | phantom stop telling everyone i’m dead Jinu

Jinu: then stop showing up to rehearsal late → You: as if i have to be there at all → Jinu: 😐 → Romance: 😐 → Abby: 😐 → Baby: 😐 → Mystery: 😐 → You: WHAT THE FUCK. 

insectsareppltoo: not them fighting on twitter instead of the gc → user04171: right like i don’t mind getting a front seat but xD

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Instagram 

You | phantom mono [mirror.jpg: A mirror selfie of you in a monochromatic outfit, with a somewhat bulky jacket, a slim-fitted ribbed tank top underneath, and sleek pants complete with a studded belt, platform boots, and silver jewelry.]

dreamconesteam: hi sir can i take ur order i mean uh 

theeebestest: *knees wobbling* uhhh can i um. what am i here for again → thorgystan1: LOLLL 

Abby: ur missing buttons → You: shut up

Romance: 🤘 → You: <3 → ajthedj30: wait why do i ship it → gresin: i hate it here

Jinu: so you do know how to dress nicely. → You: 🖕 → goblinmunchin: LMFAOOO jinu u ain’t slick → cerealchamp: mom is this flirting → mamaiminlovewafag: yes son → cerealchamp: thanks → jinuikurreadingthis: very subtle jinu → idgafbid: lolllll

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YouTube

vanityfair Lie Detector Test w/ Phantom!

[phantomldt.transcript: 

You can be seen sitting at a table in front of a brick wall, wearing a sweater over a collared shirt, baggy pants, and platform boots. You seem to be looking at someone behind the camera as you smile self-deprecatingly.

You I didn’t think I was this popular. (laughing)

Cheery music plays as the Vanity Fair logo flashes over the screen, on top of a few clips of your reactions throughout the video. Then the logo fades and the screen returns to you, staring at the camera with a reluctant smile. 

You Hi. I’m Phantom. I’m a designer based in Seoul; I’ve worked with actors, singers, celebrities… Most recently, I’ve designed for Saja Boys and Huntr/x. 

Photos of your work fade in and out on the screen, showcasing the breadth and variety of your work.

I guess I’m here today to take a lie detector test! Yikes. I don’t think I have anything to hide, but I’m getting nervous…

A crew worker can be seen at the edge of the screen, wrapping a blood pressure cuff around your upper arm. They then set up some small cuffs on two of your fingers (a galvanograph, supposedly) and some sort of cardio reader. They look to the administrator before disappearing. 

You Jesus, I’m terrified. Lowkey. Maybe highkey.

A dramatic spotlight is placed on you. You squint for a bit. 

Interviewer Is your designer name Phantom?

You Yes. 

Interviewer Are you here to take a lie detector test?

You Yes. 

You look over to the administrator of the test, who is watching the polygraph. He nods. You then refocus on the camera. 

Interviewer You’ve liked fashion from a young age, right? 

You Ah, yeah! So ever since I was little, I really liked clothing. I couldn’t really articulate why at the time. I just liked feeling the textures of different clothes, I liked looking at all the different colors. 

I actually am remembering now… My mom had to take me to some of her hair salon appointments, because my dad was at work. And while she got her hair dyed or touched up or whatever, I was usually left to my own devices. One Christmas, I got this… I guess it’s sort of a sketchbook? Except it had stenciled outlines for mannequins. I used to love drawing in that. Or I guess ‘coloring’ would be a more accurate word. 

The administrator gives a thumbs-up.

Interviewer What’s one fashion trend or item that you’ve never liked? 

You Ooh, that’s a good one. I’ll say… low-rise jeans. I never liked them, always thought they looked weird. Also, I feel like that’s definitely a trend that was optimized for skinny people. Low-rise pants were popular in the 2000s, and at the time, I remember beauty conventions being very strict. Of course, they still are, but you know what I mean. 

Honestly, I just don’t think they look that great to begin with. There’s nothing wrong with wearing them with a sweatshirt, sweater, whatever. But when you combine low-rise jeans with a crop top, it’s way too much. I don’t want to be seeing that much of someone. Feels weird. 

Interviewer Have you ever styled for someone you didn’t like?

You Yeah.

Interviewer Who was it?

You Yeah, no, not saying that. 

But I will say that it was early on in my career. And, I mean, working with people you don’t like… that’s applicable to pretty much any career. You’re going to run into people you don’t vibe with, and that’s okay. 

I’ve been very fortunate recently, to be able to pick and choose my clients. In the beginning, when no one knew me, I had to take what I could get. But now I get to be more selective. It’s a privilege for sure. But I like to think that I’ve worked hard for it.

Interviewer Have you ever been told that you’re intimidating?

You No. I don’t think so?

Administrator (makes an uncertain face)

You I mean, maybe? I don’t try to come off as intimidating. 

Though I will say I’ve been told I have a resting scowling face. So that could be a contributor. 

The administrator nods. 

Interviewer You once said that you believed fashion has a lot of room to grow. Do you think that’s still true?

You Oh, absolutely. 

Administrator True.

You Fashion reflects social norms. For a long time, people with paler skin, thin forms, and eurocentric features were considered beautiful. As time has passed, and we’ve tried to address many of the different prejudices that influence style, I think we often fall back into that same pitfall. Style these days is still confined to the gender binary. And it’s infinitely more accessible for thinner people. And men. 

I could go on. (waves a hand dismissively)

Interviewer Do you believe beauty is pain?

You Oh, hm… 

Yes. But also no? 

I think it’s hard to find a real answer to that question. A lot of beautiful pieces are uncomfortable. Sleek outfits with leather, for example. Leather looks great, but it’s uncomfortable. High heels are another example: they look incredible and elegant, but they’re not designed to be worn for long periods of time. 

I think beauty can be painful, but beauty shouldn’t necessitate pain, if that makes sense. Like, an outfit can be stylish and comfortable at the same time. 

Interviewer Recently, you’ve been receiving a lot of attention for your work with the Saja Boys. 

You…

Interviewer… 

You Okay. Sorry, was that a question, or…?

Interviewer Do you enjoy working with them?

You Oh! Yeah. 

Administrator …True. 

You Whew. (wiping a hand from your forehead in mock relief)

Interviewer Do you have a favorite member to style? 

You Probably Romance. He tends to be the most easygoing when it comes to trying new things. Plus he dyes his hair pretty frequently, so it’s fun to experiment with color. 

Administrator True. 

You give the camera a relieved grimace. 

Interviewer Do you like the Saja Boys more than Huntr/x?

You Ha… (grimacing)

That’s tough. And kind of a multi-faceted question. 

Interviewer We can go through the different ones. Are you closer to the Saja Boys?

You I—Oh. Uh. Yeah. I’ve been working with them longer. 

The administrator nods in agreement. 

Interviewer In terms of music, do you like the Saja Boys’ better? 

You Ugh, I knew this was coming… 

You rub your hands over your face before taking a deep breath. 

No.

Administrator …He’s telling the truth. 

You Don’t get me wrong, I like them both! But Huntr/x is just… I don’t know. There’s something about them! Their music is really magnetic. They make use of their harmonies really well. They’re versatile, while still having a recognizable sound. I like their music better. 

…Saja Boys, don’t fire me. 

Interviewer Kiss, marry, kill these Saja Boys songs: Soda Pop, Your Idol, and Psyche. 

You (laughing in awkward pain) Oh no…

Administrator He’s getting nervous. 

You (dryly) Wow, thanks. 

Okay. I’ll kiss Your Idol. It’s a great song, but it definitely alludes to some of the dependency and parasocial feelings that can spring up between fans and their idols. Not something you’d want to build a long-term relationship on. I’d marry Psyche, because that song is already about introspection and making peace with your feelings. That makes me think it’d be a good partner. 

Interviewer Then that leaves Soda Pop. You’re killing it?

You …Yeah. 

Administrator Heart rate’s rising. 

You Hey, come on… 

Interviewer What is it about Soda Pop that makes your heart rate go up?

You Ugh, I’m going to get completely dragged for this…

(You bury your head in your hands for a moment, before letting your hands fall to the table with a dull thud and looking at the camera.)

Fine, I’ll tell the truth. I don’t like Soda Pop. 

Administrator…Truth. 

You It’s more than that, actually. I really don’t like it. I kind of hate that song. 

Adminstrator Still true. 

You It’s just too upbeat for my liking. And when you compare it to Idol and Psyche, which both have a lot more symbolism… I don’t know. It doesn’t do it for me. I don’t like that kind of peppy music. 

Plus, it kind of reminds me of my days working in retail… Soda Pop gives off the vibe of a song that would be blasted through a department store for days on end. 

Interviewer Have you worked at a department store?

You Yeah, just as a high school job. 

The nightmares of customer service… I really do think, truly, that everyone should be required to work a customer service job for one full year. That should be the requirement for graduating high school. I think it would make for a much nicer world. 

I’m not trying to be ignorant in saying that minimum wage work is the worst situation a person can be in, or that working in retail or food service automatically makes you a good person or anything. It’s more… I just think it would be a rude awakening for a lot of people. Because you see how these [CENSORED]— whoops, probably can’t say that. You see how demanding and just completely rude people can be. And many of the customers who act like that, they’re used to being catered to. They’re not accustomed to being on the other side of the fence, have probably never even been over there. 

The administrator and interviewer are both silent. 

You (laughing) Went on a tangent there, sorry.

Interviewer Have you ever been in a relationship with a client?

You No. 

The administrator nods in agreement. 

You That would be awkward. I like to keep work and personal life separate. 

Interviewer Have the Saja Boys ever irritated you?

You Oh, of course. 

But I’m sure I’ve irritated them too. It can be kind of stressful—on either side of the equation. If you’re an idol, you want your clothing to be seamless, an extension of yourself that’s still practical enough to perform in. If you’re a designer, you want your clients to look their best. I mean, I said it before, but it’s hard to have both. 

And fashion is tricky sometimes! Some people have smaller comfort zones than others. Sometimes, you have to accept that. Other times, they may need to branch out a bit. 

Interviewer Final question: Did you lie at any point during this interview and get away with it?

You No. I don’t think so. I’m terrible at lying, actually. 

Administrator True. 

You Did I pass?

Administrator (wryly) You passed. 

YouSweet. 

The video ends with the Vanity Fair logo appearing on screen, as other recommended videos pop up.]

Comments: sajamennn: wait he’s got a point → bloopdidoop: he’s an icon, he’s a legend, and he is the moment. now, come on now. (i had to do it)

jmartinese: i actually love that he calls out a lot of the beauty standards. → crabbycakes: yeah he seems like a good guy, genuinely. he’s spoken out before about how women in particular can be objectified or how their bodies (and lives in general) are so often policed. and he tries to keep that in mind when he suggests styles for them. → megthegriffin: awwwww → huntrixareforgays: omg i noticed that!!!! like, mira has spoken about this before, and how she actually prefers outfits with more coverage but she’s always thrown in more revealing ones anyway. and now that i think about it, phantom’s recent designs all have mira in pants or something with more coverage! he really listens to his clients, i think :) 

mirarror RUHURHURHURHUHRUHR → kylorennyren: i want himmmmmm RAHHHHH → lofistudyboy: he’s so foineee

aliciaaa45: there are two types of comments: socially aware or barking like a dog → mirarror: LOLLLLL can’t i be both → aliciaaa45: i mean, live ur truth → mirarror: thank you. (ruf ruf ig)

sajaajas: OOOP not the soda pop shade → saja4saja: i mean, it’s not really shade, it’s just his opinion. and he was reasonable about it. → sajaajas: truuu

jinjinjinu: no wonder jinu’s obsessed w this guy → mysteryunsolved: right? like i’m about to be obsessed w him too 😭

______

Twitter

Trending Phantom Related tags: LieDetector

cassfiles “I think beauty can be painful, but beauty shouldn’t necessitate pain, if that makes sense.” #Phantom→ pshplease: GAWDDD we don’t deserve him

thworrrrrrp #Phantom i’ve never seen someone tell the truth so many times during a lie detector test → breakfast4dinner: frrrr! even the administrator seemed a little less stern-faced than usual :>

31381404 i hate him /j #Phantom #LieDetector[irritation.mp4: A short screen recording of the interview, when you’re asked if the Saja Boys irritate you.] → lawlightapologist: hahahhaa

kimkitsuragistan #LieDetector i had never heard of this #Phantom guy before this video, but damn, he’s cool → scizor64: ikr drhouseisgay #Phantom spitting facts about fashion and the obsession with being rail thin

______

[Saja Boys in Style] Abby: well i for one am offended Baby: ? Mystery: ur always offended… Abby: shaddup Romance: lol Jinu: what are you offended by Abby: our favorite stylist doesn’t even like our music :( You: THAT’S NOT EVEN CLOSE TO WHAT I SAID Romance: yeah… didn’t realize you hated us so much You: bruh Abby: do u even care about us at all 🙁 You: i’m going to jump into a pool fully clothed Romance: that’s… extreme. Baby: 🏊‍♂️ Abby: do it coward Jinu: Everyone, relax. Romance: he’s pulling out the proper punctuation now Mystery: shit’s going deownnnnn You: : ‘ ( Jinu: Stop crying. You: i’m not crying 🙄 Abby: well I AM Romance: lmfaooooo liar Abby: stfu Jinu: @You We’re going to grab ramyeon if you want to join us. You: yeah sure! usual place? Romance: mhmmm You: kk

______

Instagram Story 

baby [ramyeon.mp4: A short video of the Saja Boys and you at a restaurant table. Baby turns the camera to selfie mode, showing Abby and Romance next to him. They throw up peace signs and winks. Then Baby flips the camera and films Mystery, Jinu, and you. Mystery hides in his bangs; Jinu just gives the camera a slightly annoyed look, and you give a helpless smile. When Baby keeps zooming in on you, Jinu blocks it with his hand.]

______

Twitter

jinu Lfjsdafkerretqwthut5e when he 

Mystery: profound

Abby: check which acct ur posting on, oh wise leader of ours

Romance: lmao tweaking on main is crazy

Baby: same 🍼

thesuperkent: who is this ‘he’ you’re talking about, hmmmm??? → jokesonufool: i’m about to freak the fawk out → crscnt: same

billbuttlicker: this is about phantom. because i said so. → gratercheese: thank you, bill buttlicker.

phantasmagoric: PHANTOM X JINU CONFIRMED → jinucomehome: y’all just hearing what u wanna hear at this point → phantasmagoric: and??? 

______

Instagram 

romance w the liar himself [liar.jpg: A photo of you walking ahead of Romance, your back turned as you walk down the sidewalk.]

You: oh come ON i didn’t even lie??!

rawrxdhesaid: god i can’t keep up anymore. I CAN’T KEEP UP someone just write a poly fic and get it overwith → mria4l: omg frrrrr

sajaboystilidie: y’all are cute → huntr.xeats: rightttt???

elbebeebeb: this kinda looks like a date to me ;) → twentyeightreasons: shhhh jinu’s here don’t let him see this

Jinu: so this is why you were 15 min late to rehearsal → abbyromanceagenda: lmao he jealous → mysterylovesmisery: jinu 😭😭😭

______

Twitter

sajaboysat6 Eagle-eyed fans recently spotted Jinu’s comment on a TikTok, where he tagged Romance and Abby. The featured video shows various agitated reaction pictures; a song by The Marías plays in the background, with a text overlay reading “can’t stop thinking abt him” 

Comments: mysterywantsme: the Marías????? jinu bisexual confirmed → batrickpateman: girl mystery don’t want you → mysterywantsme: and he don’t want ur ass either → batrickpateman: AYO??? → mysterywantsme: lolll that was too far u right my bad

______

Twitter

You | phantom i’m tired of being unable to watch tiktoks and being gaslit abt it. do i make a burner account so i can see what ppl send me orrrr

nosferatueats: um YES>??? DUH

qwerkee: i’ll be honest, you aren’t missing much. if anything. → polygloth: yeah tbh it’s all just brainrot → user192173: there are occasional nuggets of gold → kingkongsolos: yeah but does that justify wading through rivers of literal shit to find it? → bvjohnson27: that’s life mama → kingkongsolos: poetic

Jinu: no. → Jinu: suffer and miss out instead. → You: damn, gm to you too → tralalalalatte: lmao loser trying to cover his tracks, we already caught you in 4k bud → smoshinit: catch him doing what??? → tralalalalatte: he commented on an alt account, on a mlm aesthetic tiktok, and tagged romance and abby. lolll → smoshinit: hahahha amateur mistake

Baby: googoo ga ga or whatever the fuck → You: LMFAOOO

Abby: u have friends? → You: u just sent me a tiktok 15 min ago and got mad when i told u i couldn’t view it → You: then complained again when i asked u to save it to ur camera roll and send it → Abby: yeah i’m not cluttering up my storage for ur boomer ass → You: boomer???? i’m gen z and younger than you, tho??? 😭😭 → Abby: ok grandpa → You: bruh 

______

TikTok 

You | phantom bloop [sajatrix.mp4: A video of the Saja Boys speaking amongst themselves, set to “How It’s Done” by Huntr/x.]

Comments:

user01951: phantom has tiktok now?!?!???

sajastansrise: WELCOME TO HELL BRO

hungryhippo: omfg he’s so unserious 😭😭😭 → zoeyiloveupls: ^ right like this is the first tiktok you make on your account ??? funny as fuck 😭😭

Mira: lmao Liked by creator. 

engenezfoiya: uniting fandoms one tiktok at a time → sajatrix: right like why fight when we could just make out → engenezfoiya: whoa idk about all that → miramarryme: shhhh speak for urself → engenezfoiya: LOLLL

______

TikTok

You | phantom [eyeroll.mp4: A short selfie video of Jinu rolling his eyes, with the music set to “Psyche” by Saja Boys. There’s white text near the center of the video that reads: “stream Psyche”.]

Comments: 

8nleftnone: u got it boss Liked by creator.

jinusthirdhusband: awwwwwe stealing his bf’s phone 🥺

tomnookservant: lmao did jinu steal ur phone dude Liked by creator.

drhouseapologist: first (twelve hundredth) Liked by creator. 

phantomxjinuwhen: phantom liking all the comments except the ones abt him dating jinu 😭😭

______

TikTok

You | phantom [recognized.mp4: “Someone came up to me on the street and recognized me for my work. Which is awesome. But also…” You put the phone down on a nearby wall and take a few steps back to get your entire body in view of the camera. Wearing sweatpants, an oversized sweatshirt, and sneakers, you extend your arms in a helpless gesture. “Basically, I don’t really look the part.”]

Comments: 

Jinu: who → Baby: 🙋 → You: lolll i wish tbh → Baby: 😏 → You: 😏

usernameforthcoming: and??? still hot → ghostfaceit: real

dresstodepress: your work speaks for itself! everyone deserves to relax and dress how they want. → monstaxsandohs: preach!

______

Weverse

sajaboys [LIVE] A Week of Celebration: Day 1!

Mystery In celebration of the release of our new album Psyche, we’ll be doing a week of streams with different guests.

Baby Go listen to the album if you haven’t already. 

Abby nods. 

Abby And today we’re here with our beloved designer and stylist… Phantom!

Abby promptly pulls you into view of the camera, looping an arm over your shoulders and grinning. 

Say hi to our fans!

You (slightly awkward, with a small wave) …Hi.

Abby Isn’t he adorable?

Mystery (unimpressed) What’s the next game?

Abby Ah, eager to get to it, I see. How about you pick, Romance?

Romance Okay. 

Romance digs his hand into a fishbowl of paper slips, pulling one out and unfolding it. 

‘Agree/disagree standing game.’

Baby Cool.

Jinu Do we have room for this?

Romance Probably. 

There’s some shuffling as you and the Saja Boys clear a space for all of you to stand. 

Director (from off screen) Okay, most of you have probably played this game. I’m going to give you a statement, and you’ll stand where your opinion falls: strongly disagree on the far left—your right—, then disagree, and neutral in the middle. Agree and strongly agree are on the other side.

The members all nod. You shove your hands in your pockets and make sure to join the very back of the line. You all stand in the center and wait for your first round. 

Director Great. First one: ‘I’m a morning person.’

All of you spread out as you contemplate your answers. You end up standing in the “Neutral” line behind Mystery; Jinu is the only one in the “Strongly Agree” category; Romance, Abby, and Baby are all in the negative sections. They proceed to debate with Jinu about early morning dance practices, while you try to stifle a smile. 

Director Next one: ‘I like being the center of attention.’ Go!

You head over to the ‘Disagree’ section, blinking as you watch all five members head to the other side of the room. 

You Oh, I guess that checks out. 

Romance (teasingly) Who’s the center of attention now? 

You Shut up. 

You all return to the center of the room. 

Director ‘I’m the most likely to hold a grudge.’

The members all but shove Jinu into the ‘Strongly Agree’ section. You and Baby are both in the ‘Disagree section’, with Romance, Mystery, and Abby in the neutral middle ground. Baby and you fist bump; Romance and Abby seem intent on airing Jinu’s dirty laundry, as they proceed to list the numerous times in which Jinu got mad at them for something and refused to let it go. 

You all return to the middle of the room again. 

Director ‘I’ve pictured my own wedding.’

And you walk right back to the ‘Strongly Disagree’ area. Staring at the guys, you realize you’re yet again an outlier.

Romance (turning to Mystery next to him) You probably have the venue picked out already, huh?

Mystery promptly hides behind his bangs. 

That’s what I thought. 

Abby I already know what suit I’m wearing. 

Baby I mean… don’t most guys just wear a black suit anyways?

Abby Well, maybe, but I’m not basic. I want it to be a tear-away at least. So I can just rip it off. 

Romance (amused) Not a tear-away… 

Abby (turning to you) Whatcha doin all the way over there? I know you’ve thought about our wedding at least once.

You (rolling your eyes) Shut up. And no, I haven’t.

Romance You’ve never imagined it?

YouI mean, I don’t really believe in marriage. Not for myself, anyway.

Romance Oh, would you look at that. 

Before you can wonder what he’s talking about, Romance is heading across the room and standing behind you. He props his head up on your shoulder. 

Guess I haven’t imagined our wedding either. 

You huff in disbelief. 

You You’re stupid. 

Romance grins and winks at the camera. The other members look begrudgingly amused at his antics, while Jinu looks strangely silent and blank. More so than usual, anyway. He’s staring at Romance rather intently, even as you all reunite in the middle of the room.

______

Weverse

sajaboys[LIVE] A Week of Celebration: Day 5!

Abby Back by popular demand: It’s Phantom, our favorite designer! Don’t tell the others, though. 

You (waving at the camera kind of awkwardly) Hey.

Romance Hey yourself. 

You roll your eyes. 

Mystery Looks like the game for today is… (reaching his hand into the fishbowl of papers, pulling one out and unfolding it) …Truth or Dare. 

Abby Hell yeah. 

Baby No one’s daring you to take your shirt off. 

Abby Aw. 

Maybe Phantom will. 

Jinu No, he won’t.

You (with faux-defeat) Fine, I won’t.

You all gather into a circle and begin the game. The first few rounds go pretty quickly, and you’re fortunate enough not to be called on. But once Mystery answers a tough question from Romance, he’s picking you to take your turn. 

You I guess I’ll do… Dare.

Mystery Okay. I dare you to… read out your ten most recent Google searches. 

You Ten?!

Abby Come on, it can’t be that bad. 

You I mean, let me look… 

Oh God… 

You scroll down, eyes skimming the screen, before you burst out laughing. 

Abby C’mon, dude, you gotta read ‘em!

You Okay, okay. I can explain these. The first one is just ‘community fire’. I was looking for that meme from Community where the apartment’s on fire and everything’s chaotic. 

‘Calm reaction pic’... Self-explanatory. ‘World Cup’, obviously… Oh, ‘Midwest lawnmower tornado’. That’s a classic. 

The guys laugh. 

‘Max Stranger Things’. I’ve never even watched that, so not sure why I looked it up. 

The next one actually has you choking with laughter, as you bury your head in your hands. 

Mystery That bad?

Baby It’s probably something crazy. 

Romance Or inappropriate.

You Okay, well, given the context!

Jinu (amused) What context? You haven’t even given us any. 

You Shut up. Given the context. ‘Why was Nagito tied up’. The context is I was thinking about Danganronpa 2. 

Silence. Then everyone’s laughing. Even Jinu is chuckling, that restrained smile on his face. 

Oh, ‘Book Park Lounge’, I was looking for this place near me… 

Romance Whoa, we can’t just breeze past that. 

You Breeze past what?!

Ugh… it does look crazy out of context. But that does actually happen. Nagito gets tied up after the first trial and I couldn’t remember why. Danganronpa is wild out of context. And in context too. 

‘Free guy all actors’. My mom wanted to know the one actress in the movie… ‘Waterpark simulator lag’, my game was lagging… And ‘scientology history’, because my friends and I were talking about those speedrunning videos.

The guys are all sporting various expressions of amusement. The room is starting to feel warmer. You groan and recline onto the floor, putting your hands over your face in embarrassment. 

You (muffled) I’m never going outside again… 

You sit there for a few moments in embarrassment, until there’s a hand on your ankle.

Jinu (gently) It’s your turn. 

______

Twitter

Trending Saja Boys Related tags: TruthorDare, Phantom

mysterysdestiny mystery having pics of the group as his lock and home screens 😭😭😭 #TruthorDare

user69161 #Phantom is the honorary sixth member idec what anyone says. 

tjctearl baby’s new hair… RUURHURHRUHRUH #SajaBoys

jinustaxes JINU’S HAND ON PHANTOM’S ANKLE?????  UJHHHHHHHHHHHHGIDAKGHDSJKFDBKSF #TruthorDare (handonankle.mp4: A screen recording of the aforementioned moment on stream, where Jinu placed a hand on your ankle to get your attention.) → breakfastlunchclub: omg i noticed this too 

______

Weverse

Saja Boysdemon diaries, xxiv. 

[From 01:08:19 to 01:09:33:

There’s a figure in the far back corner of the screen, in the adjoining hall of the space. Jinu is the first to notice their presence, looking at the screen before turning around. Romance is still talking, so whatever Jinu says gets lost. 

A few moments later, the new arrival makes himself known: it’s you. You’re wearing a short-sleeved shirt and baggy jeans, and after a moment’s contemplation, you take your sneakers off as you enter. You’re holding a nondescript bag of groceries, and you head across the screen and out of view again as you evidently put them away. 

Jinu appears distracted, frequently casting a glance over his shoulder as he hears you putting everything away. Romance looks amused by this, but he still holds the chat’s attention for the most part. Then, when your footsteps can be heard getting closer, he addresses you. 

Romance We’re on live. 

You (frowning, pausing at the edge of the hall) Uh… okay. Do I need to leave or something?

Jinu No. 

RomanceNope. Just saying. Just so the room knows. 

You give him a weird look before heading over to them both.]

Most recent comments: user9175816: ok but why would romance warn phantom unless he was expecting something to happen → patternsimashamedof: wdym → user9175816: i’m interpreting it as romance being like ‘we’re on live, so don’t act all lovey dovey’ to the two of them lol → patternsimashamedof: when have they been lovey dovey? → user9175816: idk just let me live in fantasyland 😭😭😭

drlectersdinner: Romance saying “Just so the room knows” while smirking at the camera… meanwhile Jinu is glaring at him… MWHAHHAHA there’s something there fs

jackeloped: Jinu pulling up a chair for Phantom and then immediately including him in convo ;( i’m sobbing

______

TikTok kratosaxeme [ranking.mp4: A brief clip from a longer moment on stream where you and Jinu were following along to some food ranking videos. The first food that appears on the screen is pizza. 

You Okay, I love pizza. But you don’t like it, right?

Jinu’s eyes widen for a moment. 

Jinu How do you know that? 

You (blinking) Uh… you told me.

Jinu (thinking for a moment) …Yeah. 

I tell lots of people. They don’t usually remember. 

YouWell, of course I remembered. 

Silence. 

You (smirking) How could I forget that you’re a freak of nature? 

Jinu rolls his eyes. 

You Anyways. We have both sides of the spectrum here, so now I think we’re forced to put pizza somewhere in the middle. Maybe number four? We still have a lot to go.

Jinu doesn’t respond. You look over at him and he blinks as if thrown from a trance. 

Jinu Four’s fine.]

Most recent comments: user97561: this is so cute actually

abbysbaby: jinu looked so soft there… and then phantom had to ruin it by being a demon 😭😭 → kreennaveen: LOLLL he’s not the sentimental type methinks

______

Twitter

jinuscakes No way he just said this no way no way no WAYYYYYYY [type.mp4: The members are asked about their ideal romantic ‘type’. Jinu is the last to answer. 

JinuMy type… 

Someone who’s… smart. Creative. And… independent.

Romance exchanges a knowing look with Abby behind Jinu’s back.]

user56516: wait i don’t get it → jinuscakes: he’s literally DESCRIBING PHANTOM 😩😩😩 → user56515: OH SHIT WAIT UR RIGHT

floptinta: notice the gender neutral phrasing → ottooctaviussssss: yeah jinu’s bi! → floptinta: OH SHIT FR>>>??? → ottooctaviussssss: YES he’s posted & talked abt it before :)

______

EXTERIOR – Streets of Gwangju, South Korea. 

Romance, Jinu, and you are exploring the city, looking for the coffee shop you want to visit. You’re all decked out in casual clothing, T-shirts and shorts and sneakers. Romance has a bucket hat on to block some of the sun—how he makes it look good, you have no idea. You’re just settling for occasionally throwing a hand over your eyes. 

You’re only about half a kilometer away from the coffee shop, but for whatever reason, the navigation is starting to send you on a strange path. You decide to pause and get your bearings. Romance scrolls on his own phone for a bit, before growing bored and sighing and resting his chin on your shoulder. You two are almost the same height, so it doesn’t make the gesture too awkward. He wraps his arms around your waist. 

Jinu returns to the two of you after consulting a nearby map, eyebrows furrowing. He turns to Romance. 

Jinu Why… are you so close to him?

Romance (with a shit-eating grin) I have separation anxiety.

Jinu (unconvinced) Uh-huh.

And you’re letting this happen. 

You look up from your phone to find him looking at you expectantly. You shrug. Jinu huffs, an uncharacteristic gesture for him. You raise an eyebrow and keep scrolling through your phone. 

You It says it’s… up ahead, to the left. I guess. It took us on a weird path, though. 

Jinu Yeah, the map said that too. Must’ve tried to avoid foot traffic or something. 

You I guess so. 

Romance Well, lead the way. 

You I do have to walk, you know. 

Romance lets out a dramatic sigh before reluctantly letting his arms fall from your waist. Though he then just sneaks a hand down and holds yours. You walk a few steps, only to realize you don’t hear Jinu walking next to you. You turn back around to find him still standing there. 

You Jinu?

Jinu Right. 

You (with a playful smile) I do have another hand, you know. 

You hold out your hand, completely expecting him to laugh it off or scoff and walk away. Instead, he stares at your proffered hand for a long moment, before taking it. The three of you head off hand in hand, before Romance is suddenly dropping your hand and falling back. 

You What—?

You blink and turn, spotting Romance heading back toward Abby, Baby, and Mystery, who have finally arrived. 

Oh. 

______

Twitter

sajajinuuuu guys guys guys guys GUYS ok ok so you’ll just have to believe me bc i didn’t take pics. but i swear on everything i love i just saw phantom and jinu holding hands at the gwangju national museum

Comments: user97511: OMGGGG

shownushot: wait wait bc this would match up… they mentioned wanting to take a gwangju trip a few years ago and it never happened…

illbeuridol: pics or it didn’t happen → sajajinuuu: then ig it didn’t happen 😑 i didn’t want to ruin their day. idols/celebrities deserve privacy and free time!!!!

______

Twitter

You | phantom it’s crunch time

Most recent comments: fashionistasister: CONGRATS ON MILAN FASHION WEEKKKKK → usernamenotfound: wait i’m not in the fashion world,,, did it already happen? → fashionistasister: oh, no, but he’s confirmed to be showcasing his designs there, so it’s a big deal :3 → usernamenotfound: got it ty 

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Twitter

missedquot4 I miss phantom, he hasn’t been on the streams in monthssss :( → user17611: he’s prepping for milan fashion week! → missedquot4: ohhhh shit! sometimes i forget that he isn’t a member lol → user17611: lollll

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Twitter

Saja Boys Watch | sajawatch Jinu is sitting front row at Milan Fashion Week! (runway.jpg: A photo of Jinu sitting in the front row and watching the runway.) 

jinununu: omg he’s going for his bf… sobs → bajasoyssss: yall never quit with this huh xD

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EXTERIOR – Spazio Cavallerizze, Milan, Italy. 

After months—no, years—of work, you’ve finally done it. Your designs have walked the Milan Fashion Week runway. The models all did wonderfully, as did the rest of the backstage staff. The fabrics were sleek and elegant, dark greens and blues blending into subtle greys. There were definitely a few mishaps: fitting conundrums moments before a model’s walk; a broken zipper; a missing shoe. But you did it. The hard part is over. All of your designs hit the runway without a hitch; you even made a brief appearance at the end, bowing and clasping your hands in thanks before quickly retreating. 

Now, you can just relax. Right? You’re not sure. Your adrenaline is still pumping; your hands are shaking, you realize as you sort out your various notes and try to tidy up the mess you made of the temporary work station. 

You’re tidying up one of your sewing kits when there’s a hand on your shoulder. You startle a bit, only to realize it’s a very familiar face. It’s Jinu. He’s wearing a well-fitted suit, the dress shirt underneath unbuttoned to show off his collarbones. He’s definitely dressed nicer than you are, that’s for sure. You’re wearing a simple dark grey dress shirt (probably wrinkled), dark wash jeans, and comfortable sneakers. (You had a feeling you would want to wear something decently comfortable to walk around in, and you were right. )

You (breathless) I thought I saw you. I didn’t know you were coming!

Jinu Of course I did. Wouldn’t miss it. 

You gravitate toward each other, as Jinu pulls you into a hug. 

Jinu Congratulations. You did so well. 

You Thanks. 

Jinu All the work this has taken… You should be really proud of yourself. Seriously. 

You Thank you. 

You hug him for a bit longer. This seems to be fine with him, because he isn’t really letting go either. You’ve probably passed the point of socially appropriate, but it’s fine. You just finished Milan Fashion Week! 

It’s clear you’re both reluctant to part, and even as you try to pull away and maintain your composure, your hands are sliding down his arms like you can’t physically let go. Jinu’s hands settle at your waist, your eyes meet, and time seems to stop. He leans in closer, your hand rises to rest beneath his jaw, and you’re kissing. 

When you pull away, there’s a slight smile on Jinu’s face. A real one. 

______

Instagram

jinu Good show. @phantom (runway.jpgs: A series of photos Jinu took of the designs on the runway. They’re all from your collection.) 

Amidst the steady influx of new comments: 

You: 🖤

©2026, @defectivevillain | @defectivehero, All Rights Reserved. Reblogs are greatly appreciated—just don’t steal or share outside of Tumblr, please.

thanks for reading! <3

check out my other works, sorted by fandom.

general taglist: @its-ares @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @the-ultimate-librarian @gayaristocrat @always-lying-to-you @moss4ev3r @hottskull @bitterpoison

author’s notes: ok so… long story short, @connorhasabigtip got me into caseoh (thank you fish) and i came across tanner. and naturally, i went ‘oh shit he’s hot’, and attempted to learn more about him. only to realize that this game has almost no story whatsoever 😭😭 so now i have this and, well. i figured i may as well just post it, instead of letting it rot in my drafts.

*The reader’s pronouns are unspecified but he’s given masculine compliments, so take that as you will.

also flagging that as i was making this banner, i came across comments in a pin talking about the creator of the game doing something bad?? no idea, but obv if that’s true i don’t support them 😭😭 just to be clear

Warnings: canon-typical violence, abduction, drugging; fainting/loss of consciousness; implied stalking; mentions of police work.

Your work as a criminal investigations analyst tends to follow you home, both literally and figuratively. While you’re technically only required to work during business hours, there’s a strong implicit expectation that every worker in your department finishes all their reports by the end of the night. To combat this, most of you leave the station at 5 p.m. and complete the remainder of your work at home. It’s definitely not ideal, but it’s what you all signed up for. 

Today is one of those days, where you know you’ll have a mountain of reports to file back at home. When you leave work around 5:30 p.m., you’re only about halfway through the paperwork. It could very well take you the entire night. 

So, you grit your teeth, rub your hands over your face, set your laptop down on your desk… and get to work. 

You check your security cameras every ten minutes or so, just to ensure no strange characters are trespassing. You live in a decent area, but crime rates have been increasing lately. It never hurts to be extra cautious. You check the front, back, and side cameras before resuming your work. 

The night is relatively peaceful, as you read through files and fact-check information. Unsurprisingly, a lot of the reports are either unfounded suspicions or too ambiguous for you to do much with. Still, you’re required to do your due diligence and ensure each one is acknowledged, at the very least. Even if it just ends up shredded. 

There’s a slight tapping sound at the windows on your right, breaking you out of your research. You want to ignore it, but after a few seconds, it sounds again. Tap, tap, tap. You frown and get to your feet, peeking through the curtains. There’s nothing there. You must be more tired than you thought. 

Still, to preserve your sanity, you check the camera feeds to make sure no one is wandering around your property. The backyard is clear, the side of the house is clear. The front of the house is—

A man pops right in front of the camera, springing up and waving before disappearing. You nearly throw yourself out of your desk chair, the breath ripped out of your lungs. There’s someone in your front yard. He must’ve been tapping on the window earlier. You take a slow breath in and out, moving back to the curtains of the window at your right. You peek through them. There’s still nothing. 

Jesus. Either you’re losing it, or there’s someone skulking around your house. Honestly, you’re not sure which one is preferable. Either way, it’s clear that you need to finish up your work for the day. You can just eat a quick lunch at your desk tomorrow, to make up for the few reports you have remaining. You run a hand over your face and sigh, your back aching in protest at your slouched posture. You groan and stretch your arms over your head, twisting to the left and right before returning your attention to your screen. One more report, and then you’re calling it quits. 

There’s no name, just a few physical descriptors. It’s citing concerns about a man stalking his ex-wife. You plug in some of the physical traits, coming up with a list of a few people. Only one of them has any record of being married: Alexander Richards. You decide to check his phone first, going to his recent Google searches. Before you can process ‘what is considered violating a restraining order?’, your Internet falls to shit. 

You hold back a frustrated growl, getting to your feet and heading for the router in the closet in the guest bedroom. It takes a few moments to reboot, but once it does, you’re sure it’ll be back to normal. Your Internet isn’t the best, so this is a pretty standard occurrence. It’s just frustrating when it lags or glitches in the middle of work. Sometimes it interrupts your train of thought. 

You head back down the hall and toward your desk, until the sound of a floorboard creaking has you glancing over your shoulder. Your next breath stalls in your chest. There’s a man in your house. He’s wearing some kind of white lab coat. 

“Well, this is awkward,” he says with a friendly smile, as if he isn’t trespassing.  

You have absolutely no time to react before the man is lunging at you with inhuman speed, tackling you to the ground. You manage to recover your wits and try to shove the guy off, blocking his attempt to deposit a syringe in your neck. But he’s deceptively strong, and when your grip falters he jams the needle into your neck. 

He has your right wrist pinned, but your left hand is free enough for you to sneak up and grab the syringe. It’s an awkward angle, but you manage to flip your hand and close your trembling fingers around the barrel of the syringe. Your fingertips glide down, catching on the metal lip, and you try to yank it from his hand as he uses the plunger to push a foreign substance into your body. 

You’re desperate now, squirming beneath him and pulling at the syringe desperately. For a moment, it almost looks like you’ll be able to pull it out. But he has much more leverage in this position, and you’re suddenly so tired…

Your hand falls back to the floor, your eyes flutter, and you promptly lose consciousness. 

Your eyes don’t really want to open. You try a few times, but it’s like wading through quicksand. A voice reaches your ears first. 

“Ah, hello!” a man says somewhat brightly. Immediately, you feel like something is wrong. You’re not sure where that conviction comes from, but you know it must be true. He continues speaking. “I have to say, I was getting a little worried that you wouldn’t wake up. I can admit, I’m more on the pharmaceutical side of things. Anesthesia is kind of a new one.”

Anesthesia. You take a rattling breath, finally succeeding in getting your eyes fully open. The voice is coming from a man standing to your left. His face looks blurry still. 

“Oh, yes, I suppose you’re wondering what happened,” he remarks. “Well… A little this, a little that. I give you a quick jab, you fall unconscious, I take you out of your home and put you here…” He makes a nonchalant hand gesture. 

Your head is spinning. You feel… heavy, disoriented. You attempt to speak, but your voice dies halfway up your throat. 

“Are you thirsty?” the stranger asks. 

Your tongue feels ironed to the roof of your mouth. The world around you is still hazy and blurry, but your throat is dry enough for you to agree to his offer. You tip your head in a slight nod. The man smiles, stepping away and returning with a glass of water. You habitually move to take it from his hand, but he pulls back. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” he chides you. “You’re still under the effects of the anesthesia. Allow me.” 

What follows is easily the most uncomfortable and humiliating experience you’ve had in a while. You can’t even hold the glass of water he’s offered you, the man bringing it to your lips and tipping it back so you can drink. You feel unbearably vulnerable. His eyes track the movement, watching your throat bob as you swallow. 

When he finally pulls away, you clear your throat and clumsily wipe at your mouth with a shaking hand. Your head hurts like hell, and your ears are ringing insistently. It looks like you’re in some sort of cellar, judging by the poor lighting, shoddy walls, and stale air. There’s a metal table in front of you, and you’re seated on a metal chair. 

“Why am I here?” you manage to ask, your voice a bit hoarse. 

“I couldn’t help but notice your work on the Blueblood Killer case,” he answers. Your heart thunders in your chest. Has he been watching you? How much does he know? “Rather impressive, I have to say. Are you always pulling such late hours?” 

…What? You stare at him with a mix of helplessness and fear. What is this? What the fuck does he want? And, most importantly, how does he have this much information on you?

“Oh, right, I haven’t introduced myself,” the man says. “It’s funny. I feel like I’ve gotten to know you so well, but you don’t even know my name!” 

“I’m Tanner,” he introduces himself. “It is just wonderful to meet you.” 

“...Nice to meet you too,” you say somewhat flatly. Wow, you feel like complete and utter shit. Nausea is climbing up your throat. You don’t bother giving him your name in response, because it’s clear he already knows it. From what he’s been saying, it seems like he knows a lot about you. Far more than you’re comfortable with, honestly. 

“So polite,” Tanner remarks, rounding the table as he steps closer to you. “As I expected, really.”

As the light above falls on his form, your vision clarifies to reveal a well-sculpted face and short brown hair. Tanner is wearing a white lab coat over a dress shirt and tie, black slacks, and black dress shoes. He folds his hands behind his back, dragging your eyes back to the crimson tie he’s wearing. For some reason, that’s what jogs your memory. 

“Wait,” you realize. You know why the man is so familiar now. It should’ve been easy to place the resemblance, but your mind is weighed down by the drugs in your system. Your fingers twitch. You sag back in the chair a bit. “You’re… from the cameras…” you manage to say. This is the man who kept popping up on your security camera feeds to scare you. He ran off when you flickered the lights enough, but he never truly went away, did he? Evidently not. When you think about it longer, you can remember seeing him at the end of your hallway—just before he knocked you out. How had he even gotten there? 

“There you go,” Tanner smiles, pleased by the recognition. “See, we’re such good friends already. And I have to say, it’s fun to spook you.” 

That’s… concerning. You’ll have to speak to the department when you get back, increase security measures around your house and report this guy. That is, assuming you live that long. 

“What,” you continue, voice somewhat raspy, “do you want?” 

His eyes darken and he moistens his lips. “Me?” Tanner asks. “Nothing, really.” 

You choke on a dazed scoff. Even with the world spinning around you, you can sense the dishonesty in that statement. Obviously this guy wants something, or he wouldn’t have gone through all this effort.

“All right,” he sighs somewhat theatrically, sensing your skepticism. Tanner leans forward a bit, placing a hand on the table and making insistent eye contact. “I just wanted to give you a helping hand.”

You frown. “...How?” 

“I know some important people, who know some other important people…” Tanner responds vaguely. “Stay there, won’t you?” 

You don’t think you could move if you tried. Your limbs aren’t really cooperating. No matter how much you internally scream at yourself to get moving, to run, you’re bolted to the spot. Forced to wait in dreadful anticipation as your captor departs to fetch something. 

He could walk away and never come back. Leave you rotting in this nondescript cellar. Would anyone even find you in time? The last thing you can remember doing before being knocked unconscious is working. Always working. Always searching for criminals, when one was right under your nose this whole time. How ironic.

“Did you miss me?” Tanner asks, accompanied by the sound of a door clicking shut behind him. He gives you a friendly smile—one that feels misplaced, considering you just met—and places a folder down on the table. You glance at it skeptically. 

If Tanner is bothered by your lack of response, he doesn’t show it. “This,” he says, punctuating the remark with a hand flat on the file, “is what you need to track down the Blueblood Killer.”

You stare at him in disbelief. 

Then a helpless, hysterical laugh crawls from your lips. 

And you’re still a bit too out of it to comprehend just how much of a mistake that was. Not until he’s surging forward, yanking a fist in your shirt so tightly that he nearly pulls you from the chair. A slight gasp rips its way out of your throat at the swift movement. 

“Is my generosity really so amusing to you?” Tanner hums. There’s an unhinged gleam in his eyes, a slight quirk to his lips. His other hand rests at his side, and his fingers twitch impatiently. Waiting for you to make another mistake. 

“No,” you respond, vision flooding with graininess as your head threatens to loll back a bit. You’re exhausted. You don’t want to be here. You want to go home. 

…But is home even safe anymore? That’s how Tanner found you. He knows where you live now. Who’s to say he can’t just do this again? Sneak up on you, render you unconscious, drug you, throw you in an abandoned basement somewhere? 

You knew being a criminal analyst would be tough work: emotionally draining, harrowing, fatiguing. But you never thought you’d become one of the victims. Was that just hubris? Were you always destined to be another police report? You can almost read it now: My neighbor works as a criminal analyst, and he keeps late hours from what I can tell. He usually leaves the lights on while he’s home, only turning them off when he’s finished with work. I’ve seen him work until the dead of morning, 2 or 3 a.m. But a few days ago, when I woke up to get a glass of water around 4:30 a.m., I noticed his lights were still on. I thought nothing of it at the time, thinking he was just burning the midnight oil. But since then, his lights have remained on. Days have passed, and I haven’t seen him coming or going. His car is still in the driveway. I’m worried something happened to him. 

You blink once, twice, flinching as fingertips drag across your collarbones. That detour in thought took you out of reality for a few moments there. Coming back to it is difficult. Tanner relinquishes his grip on your shirt, though he’s still standing far too close for comfort. 

“You’re out of it, aren’t you?” he seems to realize. “I must’ve given you too much.” He doesn’t sound that torn up about it. 

Your eyes catch on the file on the table. “How do you have that?” you ask, tipping your head toward it.

“Like I said, I know some very important people,” Tanner answers. A thin smile, appearing both sympathetic and patronizing. “Besides. I don’t think you’re in any position to reject the help.” 

You scowl at him. “And you think I’m going to trust the guy who snuck into my house and drugged me,” you state dryly. Not exactly the most reliable of sources. 

“I know, such an unfortunate first encounter,” he says, clicking his tongue in faux-sympathy, “but, look on the bright side. You have what you need now. And I got to see your handsome face up close. Win-win.” He reaches out and pats your cheek somewhat condescendingly. Your head jerks a bit and he laughs. 

You’re not at all certain that whatever information Tanner has is going to be useful. But you can’t really say that to his face, or he’ll just bash your head in and call it a day. So you just swallow your misgivings, hold back the endless objections you have, and try to keep calm. He can’t keep you down here. Someone will find you eventually. And if not, well. It’s looking like you won’t be conscious for very long anyway. Whatever he dosed you with must be pretty strong, because you swear your eyes burn each time you blink. 

“We’re running out of time, aren’t we?” Tanner intuits, briefly leaning back against the table in front of you. He sighs. “Time really does fly when you’re having fun.”

Your throat is locked up. There’s nothing for you to say, nothing you could do to rectify the situation.

“It’s so strange seeing you up close,” he continues, proceeding to lean so close that his nose nearly bumps yours. You sink back, a shiver running down your spine and goosebumps prickling along your skin. His eyes flit about your face, searching for something you’re not privy to. Tanner’s head tilts as he pulls back a bit. “I meant it, you know. You are handsome.” 

A whimper rattles against your teeth. What does he want from you? He looks almost hungry. 

“A conversation for another time,” Tanner murmurs. You don’t know who he’s talking to. 

You really want nothing more than to push yourself to your feet and run. He didn’t even bother restraining you. You’re free, you could just… run off. But there’s this awful pulsing beneath your skin, and each time you contemplate moving, your fingers twitch and fall short as if you’re in someone else’s body. 

Is there even anything in that file? The one he plans to give you. Is it empty? It very well could be. It’s hard to tell from this angle. Gritting your teeth, you lean forward and try to make a grab for it, momentum only carrying you about halfway there before weight falls to your knees and you’re crumpling to the ground. Your forehead grazes your arm as you try to steady yourself on the table, making one last-ditch effort to grab the file before you’re meeting the ground and falling into darkness. 

You wake up tangled in your bedsheets, chest heaving. The back of your neck is damp with sweat. You take a deep breath and push yourself up to a proper sitting position, frowning at the dizziness the movement provokes. Sunlight peeks in through the gaps of the curtains. 

That was a weird dream. A nightmare, pretty much. You can’t even remember the last time you had one. Though, given the nature of your work, you suppose you should be grateful it doesn’t happen more often. 

You fumble for your phone on your nightstand, your hand coming back empty. You must’ve left it by your computer last night. After a few seconds of silence, you sigh and tug your covers off, getting to your feet and heading for the door of your bedroom. There’s that fuzziness at the edges of your vision again. You must’ve stayed up later than you remember. 

You rub your eyes roughly as you head down the hall, your palm dragging across the wall and doors as you go. You feel a bit off-kilter, as if you just woke up from an unsatisfying nap. A yawn escapes your lips, and you cover your mouth fleetingly as you head past the living room and into the kitchen. Everything looks just as you left it. There are a few dirty dishes in the sink. Feeling a little parched, you head to grab the glass of water sitting on your table and falter.

There’s a file next to it. It’s not one of the standard department-issued ones, either; it has a looping black monogram in the top right corner. Frowning, you head over and open it. Inside are personal missives, text and email exchanges… 

And a news clipping at the top: Blueblood Killer Strikes Again!

Everything comes flooding back to you. Tanner’s appearance in your house; your brief fight and him drugging you; waking up in that strange cellar and speaking with him; and then… You’re drawing a blank. You assumed that was when you woke up in your bed. You thought it was all fiction conjured by your sleeping mind. 

But now that you’re confronted with the evidence, you’re forced to face the facts: 

It wasn’t a dream. 

A shock of yellow tears your eyes away from the file. There’s a Post-It Note resting next to it on the table, with unfamiliar sloping handwriting. 

Until next time – T

©2026, @defectivevillain | @defectivehero, All Rights Reserved. Reblogs are greatly appreciated—just don’t steal or share outside of Tumblr, please.

thanks for reading! <3

check out my other works, sorted by fandom.

general taglist: @its-ares @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @the-ultimate-librarian @gayaristocrat @always-lying-to-you @moss4ev3r @hottskull

author’s notes: HAPPY PRIDEEEEEEE! *trixie and katya voice* hi, gay! sashay into fics today!

what better way to kick off pride month than with Shane/male reader? come onnnnn, that's my husband, y'all. GODDDDDD.

Ok. Ok. This is Shane/Reader focused, established relationship. The reader’s pronouns are he/him; he has tattoos and he’s written to have gained some muscle from farming, otherwise physical descriptions aren’t used. Race is ambiguous.

There's some Elliott bashing in this one. I’m going to be real, I just don’t like him at all. I think he’s my least favorite villager lmfao.

The title of this fic is from jealousy, jealousy by Olivia Rodrigo, because DUH.

Warnings: mentions of alcoholism and recovery.

Shane’s frequently reminded of one thing when he’s dating you: You’re a hot commodity around Pelican Town. It’s almost ridiculous, really. He feels like he’s fighting for your attention, and even though he knows he has it… Sometimes, it’s difficult to recognize. You’re an integral part of the town now, with your farm at the center of its economy. Your crops are sold in Pierre’s frequently, and the villagers are always asking you for help with small and big tasks alike. Shane can hardly blame you for being helpful. It’s more just… his own doubts. 

You’re so good to him, he can’t deny it. And he knows you’ve been trying your best to maintain boundaries and only take on requests that are truly necessary, but still. You already fixed the community center, you revitalized the town’s economy, you fixed the buses… Shane would think there’s nothing left for you to fix. But alas. You’re constantly working. He can’t remember the last time you’ve had a full day off, between tending to your crops, caring for the animals—which he makes sure to help with, now that you live together—mining, fishing, foraging… It’s an endless list.

It’s not surprising that Harvey, the town doctor, is somewhat insistent on you getting an annual check-up. Shane knows you have a more specialized practitioner back in the city for your health issues, but it makes sense that Harvey would want to give a general exam. You’re working very hard on the farm, after all. Shane has seen it. 

This is how Shane finds himself sitting in the chair next to the exam bed, watching as Harvey runs through your vitals. The doctor is a bit concerned with your heart rate, but at your simple explanation (“Caffeine”), he seems to relax. Harvey asks how much activity you’re doing each day. You answer. It’s an underestimation, as always. Harvey looks to him for confirmation. 

“He’s always running around,” Shane says wryly, ignoring your faux-betrayed look. “So whatever he says he’s doing, just double it.” 

You huff but don’t object any further. Harvey seems to be hiding a smile as he makes a few more notes in his clipboard. He proceeds to do various tests, waving a flashlight in front of your eyes, testing your reflexes. 

“I’m going to check your lungs now,” Harvey explains, paying a haphazard glance at your clothing. “It may be hard to read through your sweatshirt, but I’ll try and then see.” 

Shane sits there, watching as Harvey tries and fails to get an accurate reading through the sweatshirt. “Yeah, the fabric’s a bit thick,” he frowns, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Can you lift it up for me?” 

You do as requested, pulling at the back of your sweatshirt so he can place the stethoscope against your back. You immediately wince at the cold temperature of it. 

“Sorry,” Harvey says with a helpless smile. He’s quiet for a few moments. “Much better,” he nods. “Breathe in for me… Good. Breathe out… Good.”

This process continues for a few moments, before he’s moving to stand in front of you and doing the same thing. Shane can tell you’re trying to breathe normally, but of course, it’s difficult to feel normal when you’re being monitored in close proximity. You give him a helpless grimace and he laughs under his breath. 

“Everything looks great,” Harvey announces with a friendly smile, sneaking his hand out of your sweatshirt and removing the earpieces of the stethoscope from his ears. You don’t seem to notice the pink dusting his cheeks, but Shane absolutely does. He frowns a bit but keeps quiet. 

“Thanks, Harvey,” you answer, adjusting your sweatshirt a bit before getting to your feet and stretching. 

“Of course,” he responds, guiding both of you out of the room and back into the lobby. “You two take care.” 

“You too,” Shane answers. You echo a similar sentiment, and the two of you leave to return to the farm. 

Shane is heading back from the blacksmith a few days later—he promised to get these geodes inspected for you, while you wanted to ask Lewis about something—when he spots you in front of George and Evelyn’s house. He heads over habitually, only to find you mid-conversation with Alex. 

“You’re getting swole, dude,” Alex says with a grin, spinning a football on his finger before tucking it under his arm. 

“Hardly,” you huff, looking askance. Shane’s eyes narrow. 

“You’re getting some muscle, for real!” he adds, looking you up and down. Shane frowns. Alex grins. “Must be all that farming.”

“Yeah, that and mining, honestly,” you sigh, crossing your arms over your chest. This movement does draw Shane’s eyes to your forearms, and he looks away quickly. Then again, you’re his boyfriend. He can look if he wants. Alex, on the other hand… He’s getting a bit too comfortable. 

“Hey, Shane,” Alex says, looking over at him as he approaches. 

“Hey,” Shane manages to say gruffly.

You turn, brightening. “Hi,” you say with a fond smile. 

“Hi,” he responds, like an idiot.  

“He’s getting some gains!” Alex nods at you, arms crossing over his chest as he lets the football rest in the grass. “We should lift sometime, the three of us.” 

While Shane is grateful to be included, the prospect makes him want to vomit. You look similarly disinterested. “Eugh, please no,” you say in disgust. “I hate lifting. It’s so boring.”

Alex stares at you for a long moment, his systems malfunctioning at the thought of someone not liking weightlifting. Then he shakes his head. “Dude, you’re a lost cause,” he jokes. 

“Remind me who’s putting dinner on your table?” you tease. Shane chokes on a laugh. That’s very true: between your crops and your catches from the ocean, you’re feeding the majority of the town. 

And Alex knows it, because he huffs and raises his hands in mock-surrender. “Oof, point taken,” he says. “Get outta here.” He shoos at you jokingly. You both bid him goodbye before heading back to the farm. 

“You realize Alex was ogling you,” Shane remarks somewhat dryly, not trusting himself to say more. Those older feelings of inadequacy and insecurity start to prickle up his skin. 

“He was not,” you respond habitually. A beat. You glance over at him. “...Right?” 

“If you say so,” Shane says, unconvinced. He’s not the reigning authority on these things, but Alex was staring at you for an awfully long time. And there’s a limit to how far ‘bromance’ stretches. The thought of him and you doing some stupid exercise thing, just the two of you… It makes him want to be sick. Though he reminds himself you didn’t even seem interested. 

And when your hand meets Shane’s, your fingers tangling together, he feels marginally better.

Shane and you are sitting on the red sofa in the far area of the saloon, the arcade games beeping and buzzing unhappily in their neglect. Sebastian and Sam just finished their game of pool, with Sebastian winning against Sam yet again. Abigail sits on the far side of the blue sofa across from them, giving you both a smile. 

You were talking to her for a bit, but Sebastian is soon sitting next to her and engaging you in conversation. Shane isn’t super close with the guy, but he likes him well enough. He does notice that his eyes find your arm and seems to linger there for a few seconds. 

“New tattoo?” Sebastian asks. Shane follows his gaze, finding the tattoo you just got this past weekend. It’s still wrapped in the saniderm, since it’s only Wednesday. You were complaining earlier that it was decently itchy, before slapping your arm a few times. Shane had been extremely confused, and you explained that you couldn’t itch it, since the skin was still dry and healing, hence the hitting… 

And he just burst out laughing. You weren’t pleased, scowling at him for all of two seconds before begrudgingly admitting that it may have been funny. 

“Oh, yeah,” you answer now, drawing Shane out of his thoughts. 

“I like it,” Sebastian says. 

“Thanks,” you respond. 

Shane knows he shouldn’t be feeling anything close to jealousy. Sebastian’s a good guy, and he was one of the first to congratulate you both when you started dating. He isn’t a threat. But, then again, feelings aren’t always logical. 

“Did you go to the same artist or a different one?” Sebastian asks. 

“Same one,” you reply. “She’s still in the city, so it was a bit of a drive, obviously, but. Worth it.” 

“For sure,” Sebastian agrees, nodding and looking down at your tattoo again. A hesitant smile. “It looks cool. Seriously.” 

Shane’s in agreement there. Your tattoos don’t have much color in them, which makes them look very sleek. It made sense the way you explained it: color can fade more easily, especially in the sun; plus, color doesn’t necessarily translate as well on skin. Your new tattoo is from a horror manga you were telling him about—something by Junji Ito, Shane remembers—and it looks pretty cool. Unique, too. 

“Thanks,” you smile back at Sebastian. “Hey, that means a lot coming from the guy who smokes in the rain like some kind of movie character.” 

Sebastian huffs. “Shut up,” he responds. 

Shane stifles a smile of his own. As Abigail soon starts interrogating you on the pain and process, Shane places a hand on your knee without thinking much of it. 

One afternoon, Shane and you are walking along the docks when he sees Elliott’s cabin door swing open. Immediately, he’s resisting the urge to groan in annoyance. 

Shane doesn’t like everyone, and that’s perfectly fine. Sure, he doesn’t have much to talk with Alex about since he’s such a jock; sure, he and Haley have quite literally never even spoken; sure, he avoids Kent with a ten-foot pole because the guy intimidates him. 

But Elliott. Elliott… He really pisses Shane off. He’s not quite sure what it is—maybe the guy’s general vanity, coupled with the way he’s always trying to sound like an intellectual. It’s something like that. Elliott is just… kind of pretentious, for lack of a better word. He acts like shutting himself in his little cabin makes him better than everyone else. In Shane’s eyes, he’s just leaning on the “tortured poet” archetype way too much. 

And is Shane projecting? Maybe. Maybe he is. But he swears, in the interactions he’s had with the guy, Elliott has rarely contributed anything of value. 

“Hello,” Elliott greets you both as you head back to the sandy shore. Shane doesn’t fail to notice how his eyes stay on you at least twice as long. 

“Hey, Elliott,” you reply with a slight smile. Shane buries his hands in his pockets, trying to look like he’s grumpy for no particular reason. He’s not the biggest fan of Elliott, safe to say. He settles for giving him a nod, which Elliott returns with that twinkling smile of his. The one that’s supposed to be charming. Shane just grits his teeth. 

“You’re taking breaks between all this running around, I hope?” Elliott asks you, proceeding to act as if Shane isn’t even standing there. “The human spirit needs nourishment.” 

“Uh… yeah, definitely,” you say somewhat awkwardly. You look slightly tense, stiff, but Shane is the only one to notice. It’s subtle. 

“You’re welcome to come inside, if you’d like,” Elliott offers. 

“That’s okay, we were going to head to the library, actually,” you answer. Shane raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything. You hadn’t mentioned the library before. “But thanks,” you continue. “See you around.” 

An effective end to the conversation. It’s almost impressive. Shane has seen people trapped in conversation with Elliott for at least ten minutes. Yet you’ve ended it swiftly, and you’re already walking off quickly. Shane has to speed up a bit—you walk very quickly sometimes—before falling into step at your side. There’s an unreadable look on your face as you head north towards town, the sand fading into pavement. 

When you continue walking forward instead of turning, Shane nudges your shoulder. “Library’s the other way,” he reminds you. 

“I know,” you blink. A glance at him, a slight smile. “I lied.” 

“Oh,” Shane responds. He continues walking with you as you make a left in front of Pierre’s before heading back to your farm. 

It’s quiet for a few moments, the fall air gently rustling your clothes. Shane looks at you sidelong, admiring you. You don’t seem to notice, too preoccupied with staring at the cobblestones beneath your feet. 

Then, out of nowhere, you break the silence. “‘The human spirit needs nourishment,’” you say in a mocking voice, shoving your hands in your pockets. A scoff. “He’s so pretentious.”

Shane raises an eyebrow, his heart upticking a bit. Leaves scuttle across the pavement. He turns back to you. 

“Also, kinda rude that he didn’t invite both of us,” you point out. 

“I wouldn’t have gone anyway,” Shane says before he can stop himself. He and Elliott have never gotten along. They’re hardly fighting or anything—they just have absolutely nothing in common. Their personalities are completely different: Shane fashions himself something of a pessimist, while Elliott is one of those relentless optimists who insists on seeing the beauty in everything. And sure, Shane is far from perfect himself, but at least he can admit to his insecurities. He’s done a lot of work to get to where he is. Meanwhile, Elliott just stays stagnant: fishing for compliments, trying to sound smart and profound… It’s annoying. 

Shane didn’t think you saw him that way too, but he’s realizing he isn’t giving you enough credit. You’ve always had a good read on people, and despite your role as the friendly farmer in town, you’re not a super sunny or endlessly bubbly person. He wouldn’t be with you if you were, because that would be exhausting. 

“Well,” you drawl. “Maybe we should just lay around at home. If Elliot recommends it, it must be the right thing to do,” you say sardonically. 

Shane chuckles, his hand slipping from yours so he can wrap an arm around your waist. “Guess we don’t have a choice.” 

A few days later, Shane is walking down the street, his mind elsewhere, when he hears your name being uttered. It’s sure as hell not your voice. He thinks it may be Haley? Another few steps and a glance at the side of their house confirms it—one of the windows is open, allowing the conversation Haley’s having to bleed into the air outside. 

He knows he should just keep walking. But something convinces him to stay. Maybe it’s insecurity, maybe it’s possessiveness, maybe it’s just genuine curiosity. Either way, Shane is rooted in place. 

“I wasn’t sure at first, but he’s great, seriously,” Haley continues. She must be talking with someone on the phone, because Shane can only hear her side of the conversation. There’s an awkward pause as the person on the phone speaks. Shane is too far away to hear it. Haley continues speaking. “He used to come around and give me sunflowers from his farm. So sweet.” 

Yes, your gift-giving. Shane knows you do that for virtually everyone in town, and you somehow know nearly all of their preferences. Including his own. Even when he was being an asshole in your first few months here—drowning under the weight of his alcoholism and cripplingly low self-worth—you’d bring him pizza and pepper poppers. You’re just a very nice person. 

Shane knows it tires you out sometimes, though. He can see the physical toll it takes on you: the dark circles that pop up when you don’t sleep well, the hunch to your shoulders and hissed breaths as you stretch out sore muscles. You do a shit ton for this town, and a lot of people take it for granted. 

“I know,” Haley continues, breaking Shane out of his thoughts. “He’s really hard-working. He built Pam a whole house.” 

Shane remembers that too, of course. Though he saw the other side of it, the one you didn’t show the others. He saw the exhaustion, the stress, the frustration, the guilt… All of it. He listened as you paced back and forth and debated the nature of the act, wondering if it would seem like you were pitying Pam. Shane held you close those nights, as you fell asleep within moments of sitting on the couch with him; he made your breakfasts and patched up the injuries you’d get from exploring the mines. All of it, just to give Pam a house. 

“Right?” Haley agrees with her friend on the phone. “Like, who does that?” 

A few seconds pass. Haley hums in contemplation. “He’s kinda, like, rugged?” she muses. Shane feels apprehension crawling up his spine at this turn in conversation. He knows where this is going. “I don’t know. He’s attractive, yeah…” She proceeds to rattle off your physical qualities from the top of her head, as if that’s something she thinks about often. Shane’s fists clench at his sides. She shouldn’t be able to talk about you like that. 

“No, he’s dating Shane.” A pause. He freezes. Haley squints. “No, I am not doing that.” She laughs. “They’re cute together, actually. But, yeah. Not a chance there. He’s really into him.” 

“Maybe in another life,” she sighs. Then Haley is moving on to talk about something else, and Shane is walking away with his heart in his throat. He doesn’t really know how to feel about what he just heard. He’s definitely jealous—or at least, he was at the beginning, but now he feels… almost validated? Haley is respecting your relationship. Hell, she said you were cute together. Coming from Haley of all people… well. Safe to say, she’s telling the truth. She’s not one to sugarcoat things. 

Shane has a bit of an extra pep to his step as he walks back home that afternoon. 

The Stardrop Saloon is busiest on Friday nights. More than half the town goes to converse and celebrate the end of the work week. Shane used to visit the saloon nearly every night, but now that he’s kicked his alcoholism for good, he’s been going there less frequently. Friday nights are usually an exception, though—there are enough people around for him to be distracted. 

Sometimes you’ll go with him to the saloon, and sometimes you won’t. On rare occasions, you’ll drop in on a random night and Shane will feel that spark in his chest, as if he’s meeting you all over again. Tonight, you both headed over from the house, though you soon settled in at the bar and sipped some water while Shane occupied his typical corner. He looks over at you in conversation with Gus; you catch his eye and smile. He glances away, fighting off a smile of his own. 

For whatever reason, there are a few people from out of town here today too. This occurrence is exceedingly rare, even after the bus system got fixed. Not many people want to visit Pelican Town. It’s not exactly optimized for tourists: there isn’t much to do other than speak with the locals and wander the beach. 

But this group of women doesn’t seem bothered. They look like they’re having a good amount of fun, actually: laughing and whispering amongst themselves. Shane feels one of them look his way and he’s quick to take a swig of his soda, the glass bottle giving him a well-needed hint of coolness in the stuffy air. With these tourists, the saloon is kind of packed. It’s not the biggest space, either, so it’s loud too. 

One of the women gets to her feet. Shane buries a hand in the pocket of his hoodie, trying to make it look as if he isn’t watching her warily. He’s getting this weird feeling, for some reason… 

Yeah. His instinct soon proves correct, because she makes a beeline for him. Shane takes another sip of his drink, struggling not to snap at her before she can even get a word out. He glances over at you. You’re distracted.  

“Hey, handsome,” the woman says sweetly, a bit too friendly for his liking. 

“...Hey,” Shane says flatly, attempting to convey his disinterest. It doesn’t really seem to work. He wonders if he’s losing his touch, if you’ve been too good of an impact on him.  

“We were just wondering if you wanted to join us,” she suggests. 

“Uh… I’m fine over here,” Shane manages to say. 

“A lone wolf, then,” she giggles, not seeming to get the hint. “So. What do you guys do for fun around here?” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Shane says somewhat sardonically. He reminds himself to cool it down a bit: This is a stranger. She isn’t familiar with his sense of humor yet, and he doesn’t want to come across as a complete asshole. He scowls. “...The beach isn’t bad.” 

“Yeah, we were there earlier!” she says, lighting up a bit. “And the library’s pretty nice, too. I didn’t think this place would have a museum.” 

“Yeah, well…” Shane trails off, not quite sure how to respond without singing your praises. You’re the only reason their museum even has any artifacts in it. He glances over at you habitually. 

You’re not distracted anymore. Instead, you have a hand around your glass as you glare at the woman. You look away quickly, but not quickly enough. Shane still catches it: the frown on your lips, the narrowing of your eyes as you stare at this woman he’s talking to. 

Are you… jealous? 

No. Surely not. 

He turns back to the woman. “It’s a work in progress,” Shane manages to say wryly. He doesn’t even really know what that means, he was so distracted by you and the look on your face. But this woman is eating it up for some reason, laughing as if he’s just said the funniest thing she’s ever heard. Shane frowns, then looks over at you again. 

You’re still staring. There’s that furrow to your brows and that half-pout, half-scowl on your lips. It’s adorable. (And, yes, Shane knows you would definitely oppose that statement, arguing that you’re an adult, that ‘adorable’ is something for children. But Shane thinks it describes that expression on your face perfectly.) 

Then the woman reaches out and places a hand on Shane’s forearm. He isn’t expecting it, and for a second, he’s so stunned that he just stands there like an idiot. 

And out of the corner of his eye, Shane can see that you look pissed. If you were glaring before, you’re practically smiting her with your eyes now. It barely even looks like you’re blinking. Your jaw is clenched, your shoulders are drawn tight. 

Shane feels heat running up his spine and he’s quick to shrug the woman’s hand off, citing a need to get another drink. He doesn’t bother staying to hear her response. 

You think you’re going to kill this woman. 

She’s clearly into your boyfriend. Which, whatever—she has eyes. But she’s been slowly but surely encroaching on Shane’s space, and now she has a hand on his arm. And you feel weirdly homicidal. You settle for glaring at her from across the room, hoping that somehow divine intervention will send her drink right back into her face. Or maybe she’ll trip and look like an idiot, or maybe—

“You’re hot when you’re jealous,” a familiar voice says.  

You startle a bit, until you realize it’s just Shane. “You scared me,” you huff, sliding off the bar stool to stand next to him. You try to swallow back the ugly feeling climbing up your throat. His shoulder brushes against yours. It relaxes you a little, but not enough. “I wasn’t jealous,” you lie, struggling to find something to do with your hands. You tangle a finger in your belt loop. 

“Uh-huh,” Shane says, seeming amused. “Just glaring daggers into her for fun, right?”

“Yeah, it’s my new hobby,” you huff. 

“Dork,” he remarks. You roll your eyes, shoving a hand in your pocket and looking askance. It feels a bit warm in here now. 

“Fine, I was jealous,” you mutter, struggling to make eye contact. You look over at your boyfriend for a moment and then glance away, embarrassed. “Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” Shane says dryly. He sidles closer to you, a hand finding the small of your back. It’s hard to tell where you end and he begins. “Welcome to my life.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you frown. 

Shane gives you a flat look. He looks away, his hand warm on your back. “It’s stupid.” 

“I doubt it,” you reason. You’re sensing there’s something more to that remark. “What’s up, seriously?” The noise in the saloon fades to obscurity, everything behind Shane almost blurring and fading to the background. 

“Nothing, just…” Shane trails off. He looks ahead, his next words a bit quieter. “Feels like I’m fighting for your time and attention sometimes.” 

“Oh,” you realize. Suddenly that makes a lot more sense. And it makes you feel awful. “I’m sorry, I didn’t… I didn’t realize.”

“It’s okay,” he reassures you. “Lots of people need you here.” 

“Yeah?” you frown. “Well, I need you. So… I’m sorry if I haven’t been acting like it.”

“I’ve been running around so much recently…” you recount. You try to see things from his perspective, imagining yourself in his place: watching your boyfriend bustle around all day, doing things for other people; getting home late and waking up early. You shake your head at yourself. “Ugh. I should’ve been making more time for you.” The thought makes you feel horrible. You never want your boyfriend to feel as if you aren’t putting him first. And the truth of the matter? You spend most of your days thinking about the time you’ll share with Shane after. 

“No, it’s fine—” Shane tries to say. Compromising as always. 

“No, it’s not,” you frown. You reach for his hand, tangling your fingers together. “The town can survive without its repairman for a day.”

“Repairman, farmer, therapist, miner, fisherman, relationship counselor…” Shane adds on, shooting you a fond look. “You wear a lot of hats around here.” You suppress a laugh at that. It’s true, but it sounds funny when it’s stated so brazenly. 

“Wanna head to Ginger Island for a few days?” you ask, studying his expression. Shane’s eyebrows climb up his forehead. “I was going to surprise you with the finished house, but…” Well. You’re kind of ruining the surprise now, but it’s worth it. Especially when you see Shane’s eyes glimmering, his gaze flitting about your face. 

“Seriously?” he asks hopefully. 

“Yeah,” you nod, your throat feeling tight. “I already asked Marnie if she’d watch over the animals for us.” 

“Prepared, are we?” Shane teases. Trying to maintain his composure, you suspect. 

“Well, we don’t have to go right this instant or anything,” you clarify. You squeeze his hand reassuringly, a smile gracing your lips. You’ve been working hard on the house, and you know he’ll love it. Plus, the island is beautiful: sprawling beaches, glittering waters, roaming wildlife. You want to share it with him. 

“But yeah,” you continue. “I want to share it with you first. The island, I mean.”

Shane looks stunned. He blinks, stands there silently for several moments. You wait for him, brushing a thumb across his knuckles. Just as your heart starts to race in your chest, a smile breaks onto his face. Not a strained one, not an awkward one. A real smile. He’s been doing more of that lately, and it takes your breath away every time. 

“Let’s do it,” Shane agrees. His eyes sparkle a bit in the dim lighting. You feel any remaining tension from earlier just fade right out of you. 

“Yeah?” you ask, a stupid smile on your face now. 

“Yeah,” he answers. Shane pulls you into him, and you bring a hand to his jaw before closing the distance and kissing him. He responds smoothly, a hand on the nape of your neck and the other resting on your hip. Everything: the saloon, the other villagers, the farm, the work day… It all bleeds away, until it’s just the two of you. 

“Get a room, lovebirds,” Gus teases, swiftly grounding you in reality. Shane and you break apart, mildly embarrassed but mostly happy. 

“Boys will be boys…” Pam mutters. You look over your shoulder in amusement and she shoots you a wink, before taking another swig of her beer. 

“Guess they’re used to us by now,” Shane remarks. 

“Guess so,” you agree. You look around the space, finding the typical suspects: Demetrius and Robin dancing; Marnie and Lewis conversing, with Leah and Elliott at the corner table; Abigail, Sam, and Sebastian are gathered in the far room. To your surprise, the tourists don’t seem to be here anymore. There was a group of about four of them, including the one who seemed particularly infatuated with your boyfriend. 

“Oh no, that woman left,” you say in a monotone voice, looking at Shane in poorly-hidden amusement. 

He just shoots you a fond look.

©2026, @defectivevillain | @defectivehero, All Rights Reserved. Reblogs are greatly appreciated—just don’t steal or share outside of Tumblr, please.

thanks for reading! <3

check out my other works, sorted by fandom.

general taglist: @its-ares @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @the-ultimate-librarian @gayaristocrat @always-lying-to-you @moss4ev3r @hottskull

author’s notes: gotta say, i watched this movie a week ago. usually it only takes me a few days at most to churn out a fic abt a movie i like, but this one took longer because my work week was INSANE. i was curb-stomped and left for dead (figuratively) by this week, omg. one of the worst i've had in several years. but. we shall persist. i'm here and i'm still queer, so. here we go.

This is based on the movie Obsession. It is really really good, omg. Highly recommend watching it! There will be some slight spoilers to the premise of that movie here… The movie’s about a guy using a One Wish Willow to wish that his crush is in love with him. Safe to say, it gets crazy fast.

This is Joe/Reader focused. The reader’s pronouns are he/him; race is ambiguous. The reader has tattoos and wears glasses. There’s a moment where you have dyed hair "fading to reveal your natural hair color", but exact color/length/texture isn’t specified!

Please please consider the warnings below before deciding to read! This one’s a doozy.

Warnings: self-harm, mutilation, gore, blood, obsession, dubious consent/lack of consent in a romantic relationship, stalking, possessive behavior, jealousy. suggestive humor and implications of NSFW activity.

Joe Goldberg isn’t a very faithful person. He doesn’t believe in a god, doesn’t quite believe in fate or destiny or anything like that. From his experience, the wide majority of people tend to believe in something, even if it’s not traditional religion: horoscopes, psychics, nihilism, anything and everything. Humans need answers, are quite literally built and made to be problem-solvers. Yet the nature of existence remains the one truly unsolved dilemma, so naturally, each person turns to something different. 

Joe didn’t think he’d be able to find a kindred spirit. 

You first enter his life at 8:51 a.m. on Monday, September 15. He remembers the day with vivid clarity—even without the extensive notes he took that night, Joe can see it unfolding all over again...

He’s getting Mooney’s ready for opening at 9. It’s an average, ordinary day. Mr. Mooney informs him that the new employee is starting today, and Joe is somewhat irritated and skeptical. The bookstore tends to run through employees somewhat quickly, with its proximity to the college campus, flexible scheduling, and generous wages. They attract all kinds of people, and 95% of the time, they’re completely insufferable. 

Like Ethan, for example. Joe has never particularly cared for him. This morning, his coworker is cleaning the store windows and humming under his breath. This doesn’t help Joe’s headache. 

When the door swings open, the bell above the frame tinkling in warning, Joe braced himself for the newest in a line of incompetent hires. His eyes flitted to the entrance of their own accord…

And in walks you. You’re wearing a collared shirt underneath a denim jacket with a sherpa collar; black pants, maybe slacks; and boots. Headphones rest around your neck, fingerless gloves cover your hands to ward off the cold, and your glasses are still dark from the early morning sunshine. You’re soon turning off your headphones and pocketing your phone, your eyes finding him. 

“…Hi,” you say awkwardly, lingering in the entryway of the bookstore. You remove your gloves and scuff your boots against the doormat to get rid of any debris. “Mr. Mooney said to get here at 9?”

“Hello,” Joe responds. “You must be the new hire. I’m Joe.” When you offer your name in return, he repeats it in his head numerous times. 

“Sorry, my hands are cold,” you say before shaking his hand. And as you warned him, your hands are like ice. 

“No problem,” Joe responds politely. “I can show you around, help you get settled…?”

You take the hint and follow behind him, listening quietly as he walks you through the space and some of the shelves. He takes a detour to the break room to let you put your stuff down. You shrug off your jacket, unknowingly hanging it up next to his own jacket. Joe makes a note to dig through your pockets later, thumb through your wallet. He notices that you put some of the more important stuff in your employee locker, but Mr. Mooney has spare keys for all of those anyway. It should be pretty easy to slip in and learn more about you. 

Once you’re ready, Joe takes you through their bookshelves and explains their organization—romance over there, horror off to the left, science-fiction directly ahead, et cetera. You take it all in and politely respond to all of his questions. It’s clear you’re a bit overwhelmed, which is natural. He only hopes you don’t have some sort of glaring, irritating habit that will make you difficult to work with. Joe killed the last employee for chewing his gum too loudly. 

“Here’s your nametag,” Joe says, handing over the fake golden plaque over to you. At least it’s one of the nicer magnetic ones, so you don’t have to poke holes in your shirts. Unfortunately, you all still have to wear it. 

“Oh,” you blink, taking it from his hand. “Thanks.” 

“Unnecessary, I know,” Joe says wryly. “Mr. Mooney thinks it’ll help if we’re more approachable.”

Something like a grimace passes across your face quickly, but you put it on without further complaint.

“Looking good,” Joe nods. 

“Hey, guys!” the bane of Joe’s existence says. Ethan walks over with an easy smile. He has warm brown skin, curly brown hair, and a full beard and mustache. He wears a thin pair of wire glasses and a flannel shirt. Joe resists the urge to yell at him for no apparent reason. He doesn’t hate Ethan. The guy is just… far too happy-go-lucky for his liking. 

“This is Ethan,” Joe manages to say, maintaining his composure. “Ethan, the new hire,” Joe finishes, enunciating your name smoothly. 

“Nice to meet you,” you say with an awkward smile. 

“You too, man,” Ethan smiles. “Hey, I hope Joe here hasn’t been giving you the run-around.” 

“No, no,” you reply. “It’s just… a lot. Obviously.” 

“Well, we’re always here to help,” he nods. “Right, Joe?” 

“Yeah,” Joe agrees reluctantly. 

“I can show you where we get our deliveries,” Ethan says, segueing into the next part of your training. “C’mon.” 

You follow after Ethan, leaving Joe to stare after you silently. He hopes you’ll be a good fit for the team. You seem normal enough. They just need someone normal, relatively pleasant. Bonus points if they have good book knowledge and can do quick math at the register. That’s all. Working at Mooney’s isn’t exactly rocket science.

Though having a decent personality and being likeable does go a long way. Having palatable taste in books gets you in Joe’s good books, pun intended. 

“So, what kind of books do you like?” Joe asks casually that afternoon. This will be indicative of a lot more than you realize. If you say something stupid like Colleen Hoover, he’ll have to kill off the new hire again. And Mr. Mooney won’t be happy about it. 

“Horror, mostly,” you respond. “And gothic. Sometimes sci-fi…” You make a vague hand motion to suggest that these are just a few of the several genres you enjoy. 

“How specific,” he notes somewhat sarcastically. 

You give him a disbelieving look. “How was that not specific?!” you huff. 

“I’m kidding,” Joe says with a thin smile. 

You roll your eyes. “What kind of books do you like, then?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest. You look triumphant already, as if you know that his answer won’t measure up to yours. (Probably because it won’t.)

“It depends,” Joe answers. He shoves a hand in the pocket of his apron, tries to look nonchalant. “I’ll read anything with words, at this point.”

“That’s… charitable of you,” you settle for saying, your lips quirking in a slightly amused smile at his cop-out answer. “You could’ve just said you didn’t have a favorite.”

“Oh, I do,” Joe says, eyes snapping up to yours as he comes to a brilliant idea. “It’s self-help,” he lies shamelessly, if only to see how you respond. 

Your reaction is completely priceless. Your eyes widen, you tense up, and you look like you’re regretting every decision that led you here. Then you see the joking smile on my face and relax. “You had me going for a second there,” you admit. 

“Your face completely dropped,” Joe notes with genuine amusement. 

“Yeah, because self-help is garbage,” you scoff. 

“Maybe your preferences are garbage,” Joe teases. 

“Right, homoeroticism is just so disgusting and gross, isn’t it?” you joke right back. 

“I see what you’re doing,” Joe huffs, fighting off another smile. 

Across the next few days, he’s forced to admit that you’re a good hire. You’re hard-working; you learn quickly; you’re very quick on the register (and when he comments on this, you remind him that you worked in food service during high school); you can hold a conversation with customers. But that isn’t even all. 

No, you aren’t just a good hire. You’re interesting. Genuinely fascinating, captivating. Every time he learns something new about you, he only grows more invested and interested. Joe finds it hard to believe that you even exist at all, because complex people like you really only exist in the books on their shelves. Sometimes, he looks at you and feels like writing. 

Apparently, his preoccupation with you hasn’t gone unnoticed either. 

“Joe,” Ethan says, snapping him out of his thoughts. 

“What?” he practically spits, irritated by the interruption. Ethan picks up a book and waves it over his face, before holding it right over where Joe was looking. Blocking you from his vision. Joe looks over in annoyance. “Stop that.” 

“I was asking about the delivery this morning,” Ethan reminds him. 

“What about it?” Joe asks, subtly trying to look around the book blocking his sight of you. 

“God, you’re whipped,” Ethan mutters under his breath instead, pinching the bridge of his nose and reluctantly placing the book on top of his stack. “Never mind. Just stop staring at the new guy.” 

“This coming from the one who made out with a coworker during a shift? In the store?” Joe reminds him. 

“Hey, that was a chaste kiss,” Ethan corrects him. 

At that exact moment, you’re guiding a customer over to the register—right next to where Joe is standing. Which means you likely heard that. You give them both an amused look and start ringing up the customer’s purchase. Once they’re gone, you turn to your coworkers.

“All I heard was ‘chaste kiss’,” you say dryly. “Do I want to know what you were talking about?” 

“Probably not,” Joe answers. 

“Hypothetically speaking,” Ethan says, bulldozing any further response from Joe, “would you share a chaste kiss—” 

“Stop saying ‘chaste kiss’,” Joe interjects. 

“—with a coworker in the store,” Ethan finishes. 

“Uh…” you trail off, perplexed by the turn in conversation. “No.” 

“Hypothetically?” Ethan asks hopefully, clearly wanting support. 

“No,” you squint. A beat. “Hypothetically or otherwise.” 

“You guys are no fun,” Ethan says with a roll of his eyes, wandering off to complete shelving the pile of books in his hands. 

“Ethan’s why we have HR now,” Joe remarks dryly. 

“You didn’t have it before?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Joe shrugs lazily. 

You laugh. 

He watches you walk away, warmth rising in his chest. 

One rainy afternoon, Joe and you stand behind the counter, bored out of your minds. All of the new books and any returns have been shelved; there aren’t any customers; and the store is sparkling clean. There’s nothing to do except sit here. 

And stare at you. Joe sneaks glances every few seconds, slowly stealing details. Smudged ink on your pinky finger, probably from taking inventory earlier. Indigo hair fading to reveal your natural color—a somewhat failed dye job, you had told him yesterday. Veins crawling along your hand, as you scroll through items on your phone screen at breakneck pace. Glasses sliding down your nose slightly, fingers occasionally wandering up to pick at your lips. Posture unusual as always, this time with one leg perched on the chair and the other one dangling off it. Sneakers scuffed at the edges. 

“What?” you ask him. 

“Hm?” He blinks. 

“You’re staring,” you note. 

“Sorry,” Joe says. He’s not sorry. “Didn’t mean to.” Another lie. He meant to. 

“It’s fine,” you reassure him. “Not much else to do,” you huff in amusement. How quick you are to make excuses for other people, even when—especially when—they don’t deserve them. 

Joe nods in agreement. He smooths his fingers over his jeans, flattening out a nonexistent wrinkle before finally uttering the words. They’ve been weighing on his mind recently. 

“Do you believe in anything?” he asks curiously.  

You look up from your phone, powering it off and giving him your full attention. Polite as always. Joe watches you contemplate the question. 

“Not really, no,” you respond. A beat. “Do you?”

“No,” Joe answers. An unspoken agreement forms between you, and the silence is more companionable after that. 

“So,” Ethan says with a playful smile, nudging his shoulder, “are you ever going to ask him out, or are we just keeping it this awkward forever?” 

“What now?” Joe asks, blinking remnants of morning fatigue from his eyes. It’s too early to be dealing with his coworker’s optimism and cheery attitude. He wants to go to sleep. He spent way too long just lying in bed last night, picturing you asleep next to him. For some reason, his mind couldn’t quiet down enough.

“Come on, you know who I’m talking about, Joe,” Ethan scoffs, before looking over at you pointedly. You’re wearing a long-sleeved flannel shirt over a T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. You’re studying the book in your hands, not seeming to notice their attention. Ethan turns back to Joe. “So?” he prompts him. 

Joe gives him a harsh look. Unsurprisingly, his coworker doesn’t even acknowledge it. “I’m working on it,” Joe says through gritted teeth. 

“Well, you should work a bit quicker,” Ethan advises. “Or Sarah might get there first.” 

Joe looks over at you, noticing that Sarah has engaged you in conversation now as she laughs with you. Sarah is one of the few competent hires who has popped up over the last few years. She has a good sense of humor, she’s nice, and she’s a hard worker. 

She also has feelings for you. And everyone but you knows. It’s not necessarily awkward, more just frustrating for Joe. Sarah’s desire for you is blatant. But you continue to give her those friendly smiles, your biting sarcasm, your compassion and politeness. It pisses Joe off. 

Maybe he really should do something about it. And no, Joe knows he can’t kill Sarah or get rid of her—as much as he wants to. Sarah is, again, one of their few good workers, and her absence would just spell even more inconvenience and irritation in his daily life. 

Joe will just have to make a move before she does. 

Joe’s opportunity arises late one night after close, when he and you are the only ones left in the bookstore. You both started in the afternoon, working until the shop’s closing hours and then proceeding to clean, double-check inventory, count the registers, and ensure everything is in order for the next morning. 

You’re both relatively quiet as you get your tasks done. Just a few of the many things Joe admires about you: you’re the complete opposite of a slacker, diligent and hard-working; and you don’t feel the need to fill silence with meaningless small talk. 

The registers are left for last, and you finish yours before Joe does (which he blames on his distraction, and the fact that he loses count every time you look over at him.) This leaves you leaning against the counter and tapping on your phone as he finishes up. You scowl and then let out an irritated huff.  

“You good?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” you respond. “Uber sucks.” 

“I thought you had a car,” Joe frowns. He’s been so busy with work for the past few days that he hasn’t even had time to observe you. He knows you have a car—did something happen to it?

“I do,” you answer. “My brother’s home for spring break. I promised him I’d let him use it, so.”

“That’s nice of you,” Joe remarks. 

“It’s not a big deal,” you shrug. “I mostly just use it for commuting. And groceries. Besides, he drove me this morning.” 

“He can’t pick you up tonight?” he asks with a slight lilt to his voice, almost disapproving. You don’t seem to notice it. 

“No, he’s at a concert with his friends,” you respond. “Trying to decide if I should risk being a murder victim by taking the bus…” 

“I wouldn’t take the bus this late,” Joe frowns. The prospect gives him several unpleasant thoughts, as he ponders the numerous unsavory characters that frequent the buses late at night here. “I can drive you.” 

You blink in surprise. “Seriously?” you ask, as if he’s somehow going to take the offer back. “You sure?”

“Yeah, of course,” Joe nods. “We live kind of close anyway.” It’s a very easy decision to make, plus, it’ll finally give him some alone time with you today. Every time he got close to confessing his feelings for you, you two were interrupted: first by Ethan, asking for a price check; then Sarah, wandering into the break room to grab a drink from the fridge; then by a customer… Joe eventually just stopped trying.

“That’d be great, thanks,” you answer, breaking him out of his thoughts. “You want to get food or something? I’ll pay.”

Generous as always. Joe shakes his head. “No, that’s okay,” he replies. “Unless you want to.”

You also shake your head. “Nah,” you reply. 

Joe finishes up with the register and starts locking up. Before long, the two of you are sharing a companionable silence as he drives through the city streets. He asked you for the address of your place to maintain pretense, despite knowing exactly where it is and how to get there from the bookstore. You notice this, as you joke that it seems like he’s been there before. (A joke that, unbeknownst to you, is entirely true.) 

By some miracle, he manages to find an empty spot on the street. As he parks the vehicle and you grab your bag, Joe decides to go for it. 

“I wanted to tell you something, actually,” he remarks, watching your reaction. You look up from where you’d been digging in your bag for your keys. 

“Sure, what’s up?” you ask. 

Joe tries to find the words. He has them, but for some reason, it’s impossible to verbalize them. He spends several seconds rearranging them, trying to find some way to allude to his feelings without speaking on them directly… 

And he gives up, like a coward. Because he isn’t exactly experienced in this arena, where he wants someone who hasn’t shown any indication of liking him back. Joe likes that you’re independent, likes that you’re closed-off and self-assured. It just makes this conversation slightly more difficult. 

“...Actually, never mind,” he says with a shake of his head. 

A slight frown. “You sure?” you ask. 

“Yeah,” he nods. 

“Okay,” you blink, shooting him a concerned look but dropping the subject, “have a good night. Thanks for the ride.”

“No problem,” Joe responds woodenly. “You too.”

He watches you head into the building before putting his head in his hands and groaning. How is he so bad at this? Joe has done this dance countless times before, but for some reason, it’s much harder with you. You don’t fall for any of the stupid pick-up lines, you don’t really seem swayed by flirting, you’re not desperate or romantic. You aren’t the type of person he’d typically fall for. 

He pulls your intended gift out of the console. A One Wish Willow. It was more of a gag gift than anything else; Joe thought you would get a laugh out of it—hell, you probably would’ve, if he had even attempted to give it to you. But something about being around you just makes him so nervous and awkward. 

Joe sighs and opens the box, startling and nearly dropping the fake branch as it starts chiming and playing music. He hadn’t expected that. He stares down at the ornate toy, turning it in his hands. The commercial jingle stops a few seconds later, leaving him sitting there in solitude. 

Joe scoffs. He can’t believe he bought it. So fucking stupid. It’s not like the thing would ever work; it’s just a scam for money, as many things are. What possessed him to get it for you in the first place? Sure, it could’ve been an inside joke, but come on. Maybe Ethan’s right for once—maybe Joe just needs to grow some courage and finally admit to his feelings. Because this sappy ambiguous shit clearly isn’t working. 

A helpless noise leaves his lips and, before he can think better of it, Joe’s holding the branch and snapping it in half. 

“I wish he loved me more than anyone in the world,” he says. 

…Nothing happens. 

Joe laughs defeatedly and returns the broken halves and empty box to the center console. Just as he’s about to shift gears, he pays one last look at your apartment building. He looks up to your window first, frowning when he sees the curtains are still drawn and the lights are off. Joe’s been sitting here for several minutes now—you should be home by now. 

His gaze falls down to the steps and he nearly chokes on his next breath. A silhouetted, shadowy figure stands there. It looks like something out of a horror movie, until he realizes it’s just you.

He rolls down his window and looks over at you. “Hey, you okay?” Joe asks. 

You blink and head down the steps, stopping a short distance from his open window. 

“Yeah,” you answer, leaning down toward the sedan window to meet his eyes. “Why?”

“What’re you still doing out here?” Joe frowns. 

“Oh, I couldn’t remember… if I thanked you for the ride,” you murmur, meeting his eyes before looking away. 

“You did,” Joe remarks fondly. 

“Oh,” you reply. “Well. Thanks again.” A hesitant smile. 

“Anytime,” he answers. And he means that. 

But you don’t leave like he expects you to. Instead you just stand there, your arm resting in the window, hand dangling into his car. You look almost frozen in time. 

“You have your keys?” Joe asks somewhat stiffly, unsure of how to proceed. 

“Oh, yeah, I do,” you answer, holding them up in your other hand.

“Good,” he nods. 

It’s quiet. Tense. Awkward as hell. He isn’t sure what’s happening. 

“I’m sorry,” you then say in a punched-out breath, a sheepish smile on your face. You shake your head. “I’m being weird.”

“No, no, it’s… it’s fine,” Joe says, laughing helplessly. He waves you off. “I am too.” 

Another smile from you. You seem happy tonight. “Good,” you nod. “We’re both…… being weird.” There’s a strange note in your voice at the end there and Joe frowns. 

“Are you okay?” he can’t help but ask. This whole interaction is a bit strange. 

“Never better!” you respond. 

“Oh— Okay,” Joe blinks, momentarily thrown by the enthusiastic response. 

Then you sigh, gripping the car door. “Actually, I…” you frown, blinking hard, “...feel kinda weird.” You waver on your feet a bit. 

“Whoa,” Joe says, “Shit—” He quickly gets out of the driver’s seat, rounding the car and steadying you as you wobble again. 

“Sorry, I…” you say, blinking hard. “I guess I’m coming down with something,” you mumble. 

Joe frowns at that, his grip on your upper arm tight. “You were just sick a few days ago, I thought,” he reminds you.

“Oh yeah,” you remark, as if somehow just remembering that. “Yeah. That’s right…” 

“You’re kind of freaking me out,” Joe admits, looking at you with concern. You’re very spacey. He’s never seen you act like this before. He wants to blame it on sickness, but this seems a bit too sudden. 

“I didn’t mean to,” you say with a slight scowl, which Joe would find incredibly endearing if he weren’t focused on keeping you upright.

“Should I help you inside?” he offers.

“Uh… sure,” you agree. “I mean. No. Yes? Maybe.”

Joe presses a hand to your forehead. You feel slightly warm, but it’s nothing too crazy. In all honesty, he’s not completely sure he should leave you alone at home tonight. And is part of that a selfish desire? Absolutely. Does he care? No, not really.

“It’s no problem,” Joe hums. “You don’t look so good.”

He waits for a characteristic remark—‘Wow, thanks’—but that’s not what he gets. Instead, you just hum and agree, “Okay.”

Joe isn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he ducks into his car to remove the keys and lock it before leading you up to your building. He already knows where he’s going, even though he’s never been invited to your apartment before. His hand is steady on your upper arm as you walk. 

“How are you holding up?” Joe asks as you wait for the elevator. 

“Fine,” you reply. “Thanks. Just… a bit off, I guess.”

He hums and the two of you enter the elevator. “It’s late,” Joe agrees. “Late for you, anyway. It’s past your bedtime,” he teases, remembering you tend to go to bed earlier than most.

You laugh under your breath. Joe fights off a smile, settling for focusing on the illuminated numbers rising across the display.

“Sorry, I haven’t dusted in a bit,” you remark as you unlock your door and open it for him. 

Joe huffs in amusement as he enters the space. “I think I’ll survive,” he says. “You should sit.” 

“I’m gonna go to bed soon, I think,” you frown. 

“Okay,” Joe agrees easily. And he wants to stay more than anything, but he knows he can’t do that without you extending an invitation. You’d call him out on it instantly. “Well, hang in there. Text me in the morning.”

You nod habitually, your head bobbing a few more additional times. A contemplative expression rises on your face. “No, wait, you should stay,” you offer. “...If you want.”

Joe can hardly believe his luck. “Of course I do,” he responds somewhat hoarsely. He clears his throat. “I don’t want you to be alone if you’re feeling shitty.” Bullshit. He just doesn’t want to leave you. 

“Thanks,” you say. “I’m gonna shower real quick. Make yourself at home, I guess.” 

Joe has snuck in here before, but being invited into your space makes him appreciate it with fresh eyes. Books crammed into a bookshelf, various game controllers near your TV, a few plushies and pillows thrown across the couch. It’s a comfortable space, not too overwhelming or stifling. Joe takes his shoes off and walks around for a while longer before settling on the couch. He’s pleased to note that it’s comfortable, considering it’s probably where he’ll be sleeping tonight. 

You emerge from the shower in a somewhat oversized, worn T-shirt and pajama pants. He’s never seen you like this up close—he’s definitely caught glimpses from your window, but Joe hasn’t been within arm’s reach like this. It’s tempting. 

“Santa pajamas?” is about the only thing he can get himself to say. “It’s not anywhere near Christmas.” 

You huff, brushing a hand over the fabric at your thigh self-consciously. “Shut up,” you say weakly. You duck your head.  “...I should change.” 

“No, no,” Joe immediately backpedals. “The outfit’s cute.” 

You don’t seem convinced by this, but you don’t withdraw to change clothing, so Joe calls it a win. He watches you make your way through the apartment with practiced ease, and he wonders if he’ll have the privilege of that familiarity someday too. 

“You want anything to eat or drink?” you offer. 

“Water’s fine,” Joe replies. He thanks you when you fetch him a glass; he takes a few sips before placing it on the side table. Now that you’re in warmer lighting, he can tell that you’re pretty tired. “You should sleep. You don’t have to stay up for me.”

“Oh, okay,” you say. “I… was gonna say you could sleep in my bed. It’s big enough.”

Joe’s heart nearly fails. 

“I— Sure, if you’re comfortable with it,” he manages to say, his skin feeling warm.

Immune to his shock, you nod and beckon him to come after you. Joe enters your bedroom in a daze, barely even willing to take in all the details of the space as he sits on the bed next to you. He’s hesitant to get under the covers, considering he’s wearing the same outfit he wore to work. Sleeping in jeans wouldn’t be comfortable. 

“Oh, wait, I have some sweatpants,” you realize, getting to your feet and heading for your dresser. You toss them over to him. “They should fit you.” 

“Thanks,” Joe responds, resisting the urge to smell the fabric. Instead he ducks into the ensuite bathroom and changes, before returning and getting under the covers with you. You both sit there facing forward, and it is beyond awkward. 

“So,” Joe says languidly, “Nice weather we’re having.” 

No scoff from you, no roll of your eyes, no annoyed huff. Nothing. That doesn’t necessarily make Joe feel any better. He takes a deep breath in, out. In, out. In, out. 

Your shoulder is touching his. 

Joe doesn’t stiffen. He just stays frozen, unable to shake the conviction that you’ll come to him. This isn’t necessarily how he envisioned this going down—he always expected that he would have to spell it out for you pretty clearly, because you’ve mentioned you don’t like ambiguity. Joe didn’t see you making the first move. 

Yet here you are, slowly but surely turning until you’re facing him. Your eyes meet his. Neither of you speak. You lean forward, your hand finds the nape of his neck, and you kiss him. Joe reciprocates immediately, a hand rising to cradle your cheek. Your lips move against his, his hand slips to your waist, and just as things start to heat up, you’re breaking away. 

Not just breaking away, either. You scramble backwards, nearly falling off the bed in your urgency. Joe stares at you in surprise, only to find you staring back with wide eyes and a frightened look on your face. 

“Sorry, I—” you stammer, looking panicked. Your chest is rising and falling quickly. “I don’t know what came over me.” 

“Are you okay?” he asks, heart thundering in his chest. Did he do something wrong? No. That’s not possible. 

“Yeah, I—” you struggle for words. “That was too fast. I’m not… That shouldn’t…”  You pinch the bridge of your nose in frustration. 

“Hey,” Joe interjects. “We don’t have to label… whatever this is. Just try to get some rest.” 

“Okay,” you nod. “Okay. You’re right.” 

You get to your feet and slip under the covers again. Despite your new company, you fall asleep rather quickly. 

Joe doesn’t. 

“Dude, what happened?” Ethan interrogates him within moments of Joe’s arrival at Mooney’s the next morning. “Did you finally hook up?” 

“What?” Joe says. “No.” 

“You walked in together—” he points out. 

“He wasn’t feeling well last night,” Joe explains tiredly. “I didn’t want to leave him alone.” 

“Uh-huh,” Ethan drawls. “No ulterior motives there, I’m sure.” 

“None,” Joe agrees. Then he gives Ethan a sharp look when he detects the sarcasm. 

“Hey, just sayin’,” he responds, raising his hands in mock-surrender. “You’ve been giving him the fuck-me eyes for months, and now you’re suddenly a gentleman?”

“Go check inventory,” Joe huffs. Ethan gives him a knowing grin but walks off to do just that. And as Joe turns, he finds you standing across the store. You smile hesitantly. He feels himself smiling in return. 

The next few days feel like a dream sequence.

For whatever reason, you’re still speaking with him—despite the awkwardness of the previous night. Even more, you’re going out of your way to talk to him: nudging his shoulder when he walks by, giving him knowing looks from across the shop, slipping notes into his apron pocket when he’s distracted. 

It’s stupid, it’s silly. And somehow, it’s making Joe feel kind of giddy. He has your attention. Finally. He was playing the long game, but now he has the prize: you. Joe isn’t sure what exactly pushed you over the edge, but now, it’s like he’s fixed in the center of your solar system. 

You’re texting him every day, sending him memes and the occasional photo of something that ‘reminded you of him’. You’re bringing coffee for the both of you in the mornings, you’re filching Joe’s sweatshirt instead of yours when you get cold in the store. 

And you’re kissing again, this time in his car as he drives you home again. He stays the night, wakes up with you turned on your side and facing him, shirt thrown off in the warmth of your bedroom. Joe runs his fingers along your bare skin: shoulder, ribs, hip. You eventually wake up and the two of you share a nice breakfast, before walking to work hand-in-hand. Boyfriends, Joe tells anyone who asks. He finally has you to himself. 

You’ve warmed up to him, it seems. The cutting sarcasm, the wry quips, the dark humor… It’s all starting to fade. And Joe convinces himself that this is just what you’re like in romantic relationships. You haven’t been in one for a while, based on his research, so Joe convinces himself he’s gotten through to you in a way no one else has. 

He doesn’t think to question this theory until later. At which point, it’s already too late. 

It’s a quiet morning in the bookshop. 

Joe is stocking one of the shelves when someone addresses him. 

“Hello,” a sunny voice says. “Do you work here?” 

Joe turns around to face the blond woman who had spoken. “Guilty,” he says with a wry smile. He shoves his free hand in his pocket, studies the woman a bit more intently now that he’s up close. Her hair tumbles from her messy bun; she clutches the leather bag on her shoulder with her right hand, green eyes roving the nearby shelves with interest. “Can I help you find something?” he asks. 

“Paula Fox,” she responds. 

“Good choice,” Joe responds with a nod. 

She smiles, fiddles with her necklace flirtatiously and humming. “I feel weirdly validated.”

Joe guides her to the area a few shelves away. “Fox is right over here, in the celebrity section,” he informs her, watching her eyebrows furrow in confusion. 

“Celebrity?” she frowns. “Weird. I thought she was obscure.” 

Joe’s next response is locked in his throat, as his gaze flits over her shoulder and finds you standing across the shop. You’re holding a few books that need to be reshelved, but you aren’t making any attempt to actually put them away. Instead, you’re staring. Right at him.

He shoots you an awkward smile. You don’t respond. You’re so still that you look like a statue. Joe’s heart kicks up in his chest as he sees your fists clenched beneath the books, fingernails digging into your palms hard enough to leave marks. When you notice him looking, your head tilts slightly and you give him a cheery smile. Fake. 

Joe’s ears finally stop ringing, only for him to realize the customer he’d been helping is still talking. “I’m sorry, what was that?” he says with an apologetic smile, the one he’s practiced in the mirror countless times. 

“Oh, nothing,” she says with a kind smile, sensing his thoughts are elsewhere. “Thanks for the help.”

Joe plasters on a wooden smile. “Of course.” 

Even as he ducks down the next aisle, he feels your gaze following him. And it makes his skin crawl. Joe tries to busy himself with inventory, and this helps for a little while, before there’s a sudden presence at his side. 

“What was that about?” you ask, successfully scaring the shit out of Joe. He nearly puts a hand to his chest, managing to turn and look at you with a mostly calm expression. 

“What was what?” he questions. 

“You know what,” you respond, voice lilting near the end. Perceptive. 

“The customer?” Joe clarifies. “She just wanted help finding something.” 

A blink. You’re fiddling with your fingers, looking over at him before quickly looking askance. “You’re so helpful,” you mumble adoringly. And that’s when Joe realizes: You were jealous. And now you’re fidgeting and stammering because you want his attention. 

He’s never seen this side of you before. He kind of likes it. Though Joe could do without the unblinking observation—that’s best left to men like him. 

…You don’t feel right. 

The sensation first started as you were entering your apartment building the other day, after your coworker Joe dropped you off. It started as a kind of lurching feeling, as if you were being pulled back toward him. For some reason, the thought of parting with him that night was painful, almost nauseating. You tasted bile rising in your throat, and you were moving of your own accord—twisting back around and approaching his car once more. 

Through the ensuing conversation, you felt as if you were getting pulled in ten different directions. You felt happy, sad, irritated, confused, frustrated. Your vision was spinning a bit, your balance uneasy. You didn’t know what happened to you—still don’t—you just knew something was off. 

Joe offered to walk you up to your apartment; you agreed before you could even contemplate the choice. Then you asked him to stay, and he did. You kissed him first, very uncharacteristic… Then you panicked a bit, trying to sleep off the weird feeling in your chest. Waking up the next morning only made it worse. You got to work that day and felt off-kilter, distracted by every movement Joe was making. Your eyes kept following him, almost of their own accord. You’d tense up every time he got close, while simultaneously trying to situate yourself as close to him as possible. You’d grit your teeth every time he talked with someone else. It was weird. 

A few nights later, you ended up at his place somehow—you don’t really remember how that happened—and now you’re boyfriends. Makes perfect sense. Right? Right. It’s completely normal to feel like you’re a passenger inside your own body, to be powerless in your actions and words, to have memories of a recent relationship already splintering and fragmenting. Normal. Mundane. Ordinary. You’re content. You’re happy. Happy happy happy happy happy happy.

“Hey.” 

Your head swivels as you find Sarah standing across from you, a sympathetic look on her face. Her wavy dark hair sits just above her shoulders, contrasting nicely with the pastel collared shirt she’s wearing under the bookstore apron. She’s wearing black pants and sneakers to complete the look; she taps her black nails on the counter restlessly. 

“Hi,” you remember to answer, the greeting feeling somewhat forced despite the fact that the two of you are pretty close. 

“I just wanted to check in on you, see if you’re okay?” Sarah suggests. There’s something in the way she’s looking at you, almost as if she’s studying you, scrutinizing you. But why? Why would she do that?

“Of course I am,” you respond after a moment, blinking at her. “Why?” 

A slight grimace. She takes a slow breath. “I don’t know…” she starts. Sarah glances over her shoulder as if making sure no one else is listening. “Listen. It just seems sudden, this whole thing with Joe.” 

“Joe?” you echo. “Why? I love him.” If you were to think about it, you’d wonder where this conviction came from. But you aren’t given the chance. Your verbal filter is nonexistent, and the words leaving your lips aren’t really even yours. They’re someone else’s, or maybe, more accurately, an echo of yourself. As if some divine force is imposing its will on you and forcing you to act a certain way, play a specific role. 

No. That’s silly. You love Joe Goldberg. You’re not sure of much, but you’re definitely sure of that. 

“You… love him,” Sarah repeats skeptically. 

“I love him so much,” you agree with a nod, looking at her earnestly. “So so so very much.” 

Sarah has a weird look on her face. Her arms are crossed over her chest, she’s leaning against the counter, and she appears… almost worried. “Okay,” she frowns. Her eyes flit about your face, and you have to wonder what she’s looking for. “You realize you only started dating, like, a week ago, right?” 

“So?” you huff defensively. 

“I just— You’re acting really weird,” Sarah remarks. Yeah. She definitely looks concerned. What is she so worried about? You’re dating Joe. Everything’s perfect! Life could literally never be better than this! 

Then, a throwaway remark, helpless and slightly dark. “I mean, seriously, did he cast a spell on you or something?” she huffs. 

You blink. Blink. Blink. It feels like you’re going to throw up, but what leaves your throat is a very stilted laugh.

“Hahhahhahahahah!” you laugh. It sounds high-pitched and fake, even to your own ears. “Hahahahhahahha.” A beat. “That’s so true!”

Sarah only looks more suspicious now. “Are you on drugs?” she asks bluntly. 

“What?” you startle. “No, of course not. I’m—” A brief moment of clarity, piercing through the fog. “I’m on too many meds, you know that.” 

“Okay,” Sarah nods after a second. “Good.” 

You try to give her a reassuring smile, even though it feels like it’s melting off of your lips. And it must be too wide, too sharp, too pointed, too much of something, because Sarah looks genuinely discomfited by the gesture. 

A hand lands on your shoulder. “Why don’t you go take your break, baby?” Joe suggests, squeezing your shoulder reassuringly. 

“Okay,” you agree easily. 

The moment you’re gone, the air in the room changes. Joe and Sarah stare at one another. Sarah breaks the silence first. 

“What did you do to him?” she asks. 

Joe raises his eyebrows. “I didn’t do anything,” he responds. “He’s my boyfriend. We’re dating.” And yes, saying that does feel particularly good. 

Sarah frowns, unconvinced. “He’s infatuated,” she notes. “All lovey-dovey. And he’s not the type.” 

“And you would know?” Joe challenges. 

“I mean, yeah,” Sarah replies certainly. “He’s never this bubbly. Anyone here can see he’s been acting weird.” 

“Are you sure you aren’t the one acting weird?” Joe questions smoothly. “Considering, you know, you have feelings for him too?”

She freezes. Got her. 

“Yeah,” Joe says, giving her a fake understanding smile. “I knew about that.” 

Sarah gives him a dark look. “I don’t know what you did,” she practically seethes, “but I damn well hope you can undo it.” She walks off to the break room, probably inventing an excuse to keep talking to you. Let her talk. 

Joe’s the one who has you. 

For a few days, dating you is perfect. 

Then Joe starts to notice something. He assumes he’s overthinking it at first, but when the pattern keeps cropping up, he has to put it to the test. Because, if he’s right, then… well. He’s not sure what will happen. 

The bottom line: You’re being unusually agreeable recently. Every time Joe states an opinion on something or makes a preference clear, you’re quick to adopt it for yourself. And sure, it could be mere coincidence. But he knows you’re an opinionated person, and you tend to stand strong in your beliefs. You wouldn’t compromise any part of yourself to be in a relationship — Joe knows that, because you told him as much back on a slow Tuesday at the bookstore. 

It’s really strange. Your existing preferences are slowly being paved over by whatever Joe decides. You’re way more conciliatory now, as if you’re avoiding even the slightest hint of tension or disagreement. Joe would understand if it were for larger issues, but it seems like everything down to the way you take your coffee and your favorite book genre is changing. 

So, a test. It’s relatively easy to get you talking about books, as Joe mentions a popular release that’s been doing well at the bookstore. Then, he goes for it. 

“What do you think of American Psycho?” he asks. Because Joe knows you have some very strong opinions on that book: namely, that the author’s prejudices suffocated any true potential Patrick Bateman has as a character; that the constant injustices, inequities, and vile acts are gratuitous; that the prose is absolute garbage and drags on for paragraphs for no reason… The list goes on. You two have discussed this before. 

“I don’t know,” you respond vaguely. The first warning. You wouldn’t be so unsure about it. You have almost endless opinions on this book. Joe folds his hands under his chin, gives you a reassuring look in hopes that you’ll feel comfortable. After a few seconds, you continue, “Patrick Bateman is a cool character in theory, but—” 

“I think it’s a cult classic for a reason,” Joe interjects. The second phase of his test. Will you change your opinion to match his? Even if it clashes with everything you believe in? “It’s a well-written book.” 

And he can almost see the fight behind your eyes, between the remnants of the real you and this shallow husk Joe’s replaced you with. The hollow facade wins. “...Yeah,” you agree, smiling at him warmly. “It’s pretty well-written, isn’t it?” 

Another test a few days later yields the same results. Favorite food, TV show, pastime… All of your thoughts are just gone, with Joe’s own preferences plastered over them. He’s quickly starting to find that the real you is almost gone. Because of his wish, you’ve been transformed into this… this… reflection of yourself, this empty void that just repeats everything he says and agrees to make things easy. You were never like this before—that’s why he liked you so much. He liked that you went against the grain, he found it attractive that you didn’t bend to conformity. But now here you are, constantly changing yourself to fit your perception of his ideal boyfriend. 

…All because he wished for it. 

“Oh, you’re back,” you say as Joe enters his apartment the next day. You’re sitting in the adjacent bedroom, so while he can’t see you from his position in the entryway, he knows you’re here. You weren’t scheduled at Mooney’s today, so where else would you be? 

“Hey,” Joe responds exhaustedly, dropping his bag at the door and toeing off his shoes. He unzips his jacket and shrugs it off, hanging it on the coat rack before making his way through the living room. 

The feeling of something wet on his sock breaks him out of his thoughts. Joe freezes and looks down… and his world starts to shake. He says your name.

“Hm?” you ask distractedly from the bedroom. 

“There’s blood on the floor,” Joe observes, crouching down to inspect it. Yeah, it’s definitely blood. And it looks very fresh. Considering he doesn’t have any pets, and you’re the only one who’s home… 

“I’m sorry,” you answer calmly, robotically. “I’ll clean it up.” 

“No, it’s fine, I just—”  Joe attempts to console you, his lips parting in shock as he walks into the bedroom. 

You’re rocking back and forth on the spattered covers, your hand covering your left jawbone and cheek as you stare ahead with a vacant expression. Your hand is soaked in blood, and when it falls from your face, a chunk of skin drops with it. The white bedspread beneath you  is spotted with red. 

The air smells like copper. Joe feels his stomach turn as he sees the open wound on the side of your face, then the knife in your hand. 

“What did you do?” Joe chokes out. He lurches forward and into action, shakily grabbing your arm and beckoning you to unclench your hand. Your fingers shake and tremble hard as he does this. He manages to get them off, only for them to clench again as if remembering the weapon. 

“I missed you,” you respond, looking up at him with wide eyes. Vulnerable. So, so vulnerable. Blood drips down your cheek. Your eyes are filled with tears. “My skin was buzzing. I tried to make it stop.”

“Hey, hey,” Joe says quickly. “Don’t cry. Just— Jesus, you scared the shit out of me, baby.” He brushes a shaking hand across your jawbone, reassuring himself that you’re still here. 

“Oh,” you blink, as if you hadn’t considered that. An eerie laugh. “Hahhahahaha… Whoops.” 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?” Joe suggests, his voice sounding like a stranger’s. His fingers tangle in yours and he tugs you to your feet, steadying you as you wobble a bit. That provokes another worrying thought: how long have you been sitting there comatose? Did you even eat or drink water? 

He sits you down in the bathroom, starts cleaning your wound. You maintain eye contact with him the entire time, sitting stiffly. Your hands rest on your knees, your left one splattered with blood. Even when Joe breaks out the alcohol wipe, you don’t flinch or move a muscle.

“You still love me, right?” you question, eyes boring into his with frightening intensity. Your pupils are dilated in the dim lighting. 

Joe pauses from where he’d been looking through the various bandages. “Of course,” he answers affirmatively. 

“You’re not sure,” you observe. Your bloodstained hand finds his forearm. It’s sticky. Joe resists the urge to shudder. “Why aren’t you sure?” 

“I am,” he maintains. “I love you.” 

“Maybe I didn’t go deep enough—” you say. You reach for the knife again; Joe barely manages to snatch his hand away in time. 

“No!” he exclaims loudly. “Stop it. That’s enough.” 

The expression on your face twists, your eyes go wide, and now you’re fighting off tears. “I’m— I’m sorry…” 

“You’re freaking me out,” Joe admits, his hand cradling your uninjured cheek before he’s holding you close for a moment. “You have to stop doing this.” 

“Okay,” you agree mindlessly. He takes it at face value, because he has to. Otherwise… 

“Let’s get you to bed,” Joe suggests. You tangle a hand in his and follow after him, slipping under the covers and turning on your side to face him. You stare for several seconds, before your eyelids flutter and you finally start to doze off. 

The bandages on your cheek are still visible, even in the near darkness of Joe’s bedroom. He stares at your sleeping form, trying and failing to make sense of the feelings tumbling in his chest. This is exactly what Joe wanted. He wanted you to be in love with him. 

So why is it hurting you so much? 

INTERIOR – Joe’s car about twenty minutes later, parked on the street outside his apartment complex. The light drizzle from a few minutes ago has escalated into a steady downpour. Joe sits inside his running car in his sleep clothes, the heat doing little to ward off the chill in his bones. 

After several moments of contemplation, he rummages through the center console and finds what he’s looking for: the box for the One Wish Willow. He turns it over in his hands, fingers brushing the tattered surface before his eyes find what he’s looking for: 

For comments, concerns, or other questions, contact One Wish Willow customer service at 323-747-7118. 

Joe rubs a hand over his face. He can’t believe he’s doing this. He hadn’t even believed the thing was real in the first place, hadn’t expected it to work. But it’s undeniable now, after the events of the past few days. It’s wishful thinking, but maybe calling this number will give him some answers. Your behavior has been different ever since he broke the branch. 

He reluctantly taps the numbers on his phone app and puts it on speaker. The phone rings a few times before there’s a bored voice. 

Attendant Hello? 

Joe’s heart leaps in his throat. 

Joe Hello. Is this… One Wish Willow? 

Attendant Yeah.

Joe Okay.  

He wasn’t even sure he’d be able to get this far. Now that he has someone on the line, he’s speechless. 

Attendant (impatiently) What do you want?

Joe (pausing for a moment before continuing) I was wondering… if you could alter a wish. 

Attendant (flatly, in a rehearsed monotone voice) No alterations. All wishes are final. 

Unless you wanted to cancel a wish… 

Joe (sighing, rubbing his hands over his face) There’s no way to change it?

Attendant What did you wish for?

Joe I just wanted him to love me. 

Attendant Yeah, no alterations. All wishes are final. 

Joe Fine, fine!

Then— cancel a wish. I want it cancelled.

Attendant Sorry, man, can’t do that. 

Joe But you just implied I could—

Attendant (interjecting) Nope. All wishes are final. 

Joe (defeatedly) Of course. 

The next response doesn’t sound like the same person—it’s a deeper voice, warped, almost inhuman. 

Attendant You want to be needed so desperately, don’t you?

…And now you are. 

Joe is struck silent. The rain pounds against the car windshield, but it fades to background noise as his ears start to ring. 

Attendant (quietly, almost consoling) Do you want to talk to him?

Joe What—?

You (in a distorted, almost glitching voice) You have it, Joe. 

Joe (glancing back at the apartment building) How are you—?!

You (breathless, euphoric) You have me. You won, Joe.

Heavy breathing fills the otherwise quiet air of the car. Joe’s holding his breath, so it must be coming from your end. Another rasped inhale, then an unhinged laugh. It bubbles out of your throat, goes on for several seconds. 

Then, silence. 

You (darkly) So what the fuck are you complaining about?

The line goes dead. 

Joe stares down at his phone screen with a mix of disbelief, dread, and resignation. He rests his head on the steering wheel for several moments. 

And then, he goes back inside. 

Joe hates that it’s come to this. 

But he has to do it. 

“A surprise?” you echo eagerly, grip tightening on his hand. The two of you are standing in the bookstore now, preparing for opening. Joe is fighting off a bunch of different emotions. He doesn’t know what to do. He’s torn. “What kind of surprise?” 

“Oh, you’ll see,” Joe manages to say. He starts to head for the basement, tugging you after him. “Come on.” 

You follow obediently, trudging down the steps until you’re standing next to him in the basement of Mooney’s. You’re staring at the giant glass enclosure in the middle of the room. 

“Whoaaaa,” you say exaggeratedly, an uncharacteristic giggle leaving your lips. Joe cringes at the sound. You’d never do something like that normally—it’s just another reminder of the mistake he made. “This is so cool.” 

“I haven’t even explained it yet,” Joe responds tiredly. Early on, he would’ve been fond, but now, your exaggerated excitement over the littlest of things is irritating. Not to mention, uncharacteristic. “This is where we keep our most valuable books. First editions. It’s climate controlled, all that.” 

You press a hand to the outer wall of the glass, staring inside in silent wonder. 

“Do you want to go inside?” he offers, hoping you don’t hear the somewhat strained tone in his voice. 

“Yeah,” you agree easily. Joe guides you along, his hand still intertwined in yours. 

“You’re sweaty,” you remark, staring down at your joined hands. Then you look up at him again, stars in your eyes.  Your lips quirk at the edges, a smile too wide for a simple observation. Weeks ago, he would’ve killed for this kind of attention from you. The scar across the left side of your face is a harsh reminder of the price he paid for that desire. “It’s okay, I don’t mind,” you console him.  

“Good,” Joe manages to say. He lets his hand slip away; immediately, yours moves to chase his, but Joe places a hand on the small of your back and guides you the remaining distance. Four footsteps, and you’ll be in the glass cage. Contained. Under control. Protected. 

Three. Two. One. 

Just before he gets you over the threshold, you freeze. Joe chances a glance at you. You’re smiling very strangely, in a way that distorts your whole face, squints your eyes, scrunches your nose. It looks painful. 

“I know what this issssssssssssss,” you whisper. 

“Do you?” Joe manages to say. 

You have a hand to your mouth now, a haunting laugh echoing through the space. Just as Joe starts to exert more pressure on your back, about to push you in, you take the final step. He’s swiftly closing the door behind you, leaving you trapped in the glass enclosure. 

Contrary to what he expects, you don’t immediately whip around and look at him in betrayal. Instead, your head is bowed and your back remains turned to him. There’s a breathless chuckle. 

“Oh, Joe,” you breathe. Fear prickles along his skin. “Oh, Joe.”

“I’m sorry,” he says immediately. 

“You don’t mean that,” you murmur.  

“I do,” Joe insists, his stomach churning. He presses a hand to the glass for a moment before letting it fall away. “I’m sorry. I really am.” But is he, though? Joe isn’t sure. He isn’t sorry for wanting you to love him. He is sorry for how he went about it. 

Another laugh bubbles from your lips. 

Then, after his next blink, you’re suddenly facing him. That was inhumanly fast. Your palm is pressed against the inside of the glass now, a manic gleam in your eyes and a sharp-toothed grin on your face. Your head is tilted to the side. 

“You can’t leave me in here,” you remark. Uneasy laughter. “No, no, nooo. You wouldn’t. Because I love you.” 

“You don’t,” Joe admits. He’s known for several days now. He wanted your love to be true, but it wasn’t. “You don’t love me.” 

“I do,” you assert. “More than anyone in the world.”

Joe shakes his head, his words lodged in his throat. He knows the sooner he leaves, the better. He heads for the stairs, only making it a few steps before your next remark is stopping him in his tracks. 

“Wasn’t this what you wanted?” you whisper. It’s so quiet that he nearly misses it. 

“What?” Joe questions, his head swiveling as he regards you from the stairs. 

“Wasn’t,” you say dangerously, each word punctuated with a fist pounded against the glass, “This. What. You. Wanted?”

He winces as your fist hits the glass again and again, a loud crack sickening his stomach. “Don’t do that,” Joe demands. 

You blink owlishly, looking down at your hand. The grin disappears. Your face is completely blank. When you look up to meet his eyes, there’s a different smile on your face—dripping with malice, intense hatred. All the emotions that are buried beneath the obsessed husk that you are now. 

For a second, it looks like the haze clears. Your eyes are sharp and alert as you stare at him. A dry laugh, devoid of amusement. “You’re so fucking pathetic,” you spit venomously. 

Joe freezes. He’d already been stationary, but every muscle in his face just seems to pause as he processes that statement. You’re so fucking pathetic. Pathetic. Pathetic. Pathetic. Pathetic. 

The worst part? Well. Not only are you right, but… that seems to be the closest glimpse of the real you he’s gotten since he made that wish. You despise him for what he did to you. But you’re trapped, prevented from ever revealing your true feelings or even returning to your old self. To you. 

You notice the look on his face, and Joe swears he sees the mask slide on once more. Your face falls in guilt and remorse. “I’m sorry…” you say, your tone sounding so genuine that Joe has to remind himself it’s manufactured. An eerie calm. “I don’t know what came over me,” you smile peacefully, tears slipping down your cheeks.

Joe knows he can’t respond, can’t engage, or he’ll be dragged back to you. This is for your own good, this is to keep you safe. You’ll be safe and secure here, you won’t hurt anyone and you won’t hurt yourself. This is the right thing to do. 

No. He lost the conception of right and wrong a long time ago, before you were ever in his life. The lines have always been murky and blurred to him, but now, they’re completely indistinguishable. 

“Come back,” you implore him, your voice so soft it nearly breaks him. “Please.” 

Joe bites the inside of his cheek, stands firm on the steps. Then, he swallows hard and takes another step up. 

“Please,” you continue, your fist hitting the glass again and again and again, “Please, Joe.” Bones are crunching with each strike, your hand slowly reduced to a bloody pulp. 

“Stop that!” he shouts. 

You immediately straighten up, like a dog lectured for misbehaving. Your posture goes straight and stiff, your distressed movements put on pause. The gory remains of your hand are still pressed to the glass. They tumble down the wall, collecting at the floor near your feet. You don’t even seem to register the pain. 

“Joe,” you say, your other hand pressed against the glass as you stare at him without blinking. “Please.” Joe begins to ascend the stairs and your voice grows more desperate. “Please. Please. Please. Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplea—” 

He shuts the door, closes his eyes. 

It’s eerily silent now.

The noises from the cage aren’t audible from up here. 

But somehow, he can still hear you screaming.

©2026, @defectivevillain | @defectivehero, All Rights Reserved. Reblogs are greatly appreciated—just don’t steal or share outside of Tumblr, please.

thanks for reading! <3

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author’s notes: this chapter's kind of a whirlwind. but i think it’s fun. a lot of twisty-turny discussions and philosophical debates, which i really wish we could’ve seen more of in death note.

Warnings: mentions of genocide & eugenics (Hitler), imprisonment and the carceral system, murder and morality.

Light Yagami has a girlfriend. 

You’re pretty surprised to learn this—and even more surprised when you learn he’ll bring her to headquarters. You ask L why he’s even bothering to let her in, and he gives you a non-answer about testing. You’re immediately suspicious, especially considering your recent admission that the detective has less than a week left to live. Why is he still entertaining this charade?

Well. Unfortunately, despite Light’s eccentric and unusual behavior, he hasn’t left behind any concrete evidence that would implicate him. That’s why the Kira murders are so troublesome—the killer doesn’t have to be anywhere near the scene. You suppose it makes sense, then, that L is introducing a new piece to the board. With this girlfriend’s presence, more information will be revealed. At least, you’re guessing that’s how he sees it. 

“I thought Light was gay,” you eventually just blurt out, the chain rattling a bit as you lean over the back of the couch to talk to the detective. 

L raises an eyebrow, his eyes still on his computer screen. His hands pause over the keys. “Oh?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” you nod. “I mean, no hate if he’s bi or pan or whatever. I just figured he had something in there.” 

“Something,” L repeats. You swear he sounds amused. 

“What?” you say helplessly. “You know I’m right.” It’s far from a hateful observation, and you’d never go so far as to speculate on someone’s sexuality to their face. Besides, you’re also queer, so that helps.

L’s back is turned, so you can’t see him stifling an amused smile. “It is very likely that Light is… bi or pan or whatever,” he admits, parroting your words back at you. You roll your eyes in exasperation, before leaning forward a bit more and resting your arms on the back of the couch. 

“So… he has a girlfriend,” you remark. Honestly, the more shocking part is that he has a partner at all. From what you can tell, he’s a pretty busy guy. And he doesn’t seem particularly… in tune with his feelings, to put it kindly. You can’t see Light doing lovey-dovey stuff like that. And while each relationship looks different, most of them require at least some basis of acts of intimacy—whether physical, emotional, social. It’s hard to even connect Light with the idea of intimacy. 

“Not just any girlfriend,” L corrects you, momentarily spinning in his chair so he can make eye contact with you as he continues. “Misa Amane.” 

“Misa Amane?” you repeat with a frown. The name sounds kind of familiar, for some reason.

“She’s a model and actress,” L recites, turning back to his computer screens. He searches her name on a browser and pulls up a photo of her. She’s gorgeous, long blond hair and sparkling brown eyes. You think you’ve occasionally seen her in commercials and advertisements around the city. 

“How do you think they met?” you question. Sure, Light’s a good-looking guy, but he’s not exactly famous himself. It’s difficult to imagine just how Light and Misa crossed paths. If Misa is as popular as L’s claiming, she probably doesn’t walk the streets of Tokyo freely. So how on Earth did they meet in the first place? 

“That’s exactly what I’m wondering,” L agrees. “It is suspicious.” 

“That’s why you’re letting her into headquarters, then,” you ascertain. 

“One of many reasons,” L answers vaguely, steepling his fingers and crossing one leg over the other. His posture is oddly reminiscent of a cartoon supervillain. You can tell it feels unnatural for him, because he tries it for a few moments before huffing and returning to his typical perched pose. 

“Okay, fine, keep your secrets,” you huff in amusement. 

“Misa Misa has been vocal about her idolization of Kira,” he continues, tapping his finger against his lips. 

“Oh,” you remark. You don’t really follow her, so you weren’t aware of that. It makes sense now, though—and it would neatly explain how and why she met Light. “Misa Misa?” you then ask. 

“Misa Misa,” he confirms with a stoic nod. “That’s what the masses call her.” 

“The masses,” you repeat, resisting the urge to smile. “Wait. Are you a fan, then?” you question. From what you’ve seen, L doesn’t keep in contact with pop culture unless absolutely necessary. 

L scowls. “I’m not a fan.”

“Liar,” you remark. “You’re blushing,” you tease. 

“I am not,” the detective responds. 

And L’s right. He isn’t really blushing. But his reaction gave it away anyway. He’s almost pouting now. 

“It’s okay; I won’t tell anyone,” you reassure him playfully. 

“Shut up,” he huffs. 

The world-famous detective L is a fan of Misa Amane. Who knew? 

“You wanted to meet her in person, huh?” you ask.

“Be,” he emphasizes, “quiet.” 

You roll your eyes, unable to hide another laugh. That’s so cute.

L must sense you’re absolutely unconvinced, because he turns in his chair again to face you and level you with a stern look. “I do not deviate from cases for personal pleasure,” he asserts stonily, almost seeming offended. “This is merely an opportune coincidence.” 

“Riiiiiight,” you drawl. You’re fully teasing him at this point. He still doesn’t seem to recognize that you are, so you clarify, “I’m just teasing, dude. I know.” 

L considers you for a long moment before nodding jerkily. He lets out a hmph and spins back around in his chair, navigating the computer screen and browser with frightening speed. You watch him do this for a bit, before falling back onto the couch to rest and wait for Light’s arrival. 

L Lawliet, a fan of Misa Amane and her… unique… music. Who could’ve guessed? 

You pay him another glance, and that’s when the reality of the situation asserts itself again. The numbers above his head glow and spin, reversing themselves to face you. 

05:11:22:58

That’s right. He only has five days left to live. 

Is that why he’s so insistent on having Misa visit? L never allows visitors. Your throat burns uncomfortably as you come to a realization: 

Maybe L wants to meet one of his favorite artists before he dies. 

You bite the inside of your cheek. You kind of want to cry now. Instead you turn your attention to your fingernails, picking at them in a futile attempt to distract yourself from the heartbreaking thought. Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t really work. 

Misa Amane enters headquarters like a bull in a china shop. 

That is to say, she’s a rare burst of energy in the solemn air that clings to the space. She looks around with wide eyes, as if she’s never seen a workplace before. Her arm is tight around Light’s, as she drags him along like a dog on a leash. Light doesn’t look the least bit pleased that she’s here, judging from the flat expression on his face. He may think he’s good at hiding his emotions, but his shoulders are drawn in a tight line and his eyebrows are furrowed. 

“Hello, Light,” L says cordially. His head swivels, his chair spinning a bit. “Hello, Misa Misa.” 

“That’s me!” Misa responds brightly. She’s wearing a black lacy ensemble with platform boots and silver jewelry. It’s a pretty cool outfit, you can’t lie. “You must be Ryuzaki! So good to meet you.” She reaches out and grabs his hand, shaking it energetically. L blinks owlishly, going along with the gesture before pulling a leg in front of him protectively. He wipes his hand on his jeans when she isn’t looking, and you can already hear his rant on germs.

“And you!” Misa continues, turning to address you. “I’ve heard so much about you!” 

“Really?” you blink in surprise. You wouldn’t think that Light ever talks about you. “That’s—” you break off, eventually deciding to just introduce yourself anyway. She shakes your hand just as eagerly, a wave of nauseating perfume hitting you as she leans closer. You instinctively shift your weight back on the heels of your sneakers. 

“Whoaaaa!” Misa exclaims, eye contact intense and unblinking as she studies you. “Your eyes are so cool! They’re like rubies.” 

“Uh… thanks,” you respond, a bit flustered and confused. You’re almost never complimented on your eyes. They’ve always been a reason for people to ostracize you, treat you differently. Not… look at you like how Misa is regarding you now. 

“They are like rubies,” L agrees, breaking through your thoughts. He’s staring now too. You fidget a bit, not accustomed to the attention. “Accurate assessment.” 

“Yes, we all have eyes, very fascinating,” Light says flatly. Clearly he doesn’t appreciate when someone else is the center of attention. 

L looks amused. “Jealous, Light?” he asks. 

“No,” Light states. 

An awkward silence descends across the space, as Misa’s attention is momentarily occupied with looking around. You can see L studying her and Light, and you try to look at them the way he would: 

Misa’s hand on the crook of Light’s arm. The easy smile on her lips, in juxtaposition with the frighteningly blank expression on Light’s face. Misa’s demeanor is friendly and charming; Light’s is closed-off and very far from loving. 

Misa leans into Light, resting her head on his shoulder. Her hand finds his chest. “I like meeting your friends,” she hums. 

“Yes,” Light agrees. His eyes find you. You’re the first to look away. “...Friends,” he agrees. There’s something off in his voice. You can’t quite puzzle it out. 

“And how do you two know each other?” Misa asks L and you. She’s very politely ignoring the chain binding your wrists together.  

You turn to L with an amused look, curious to see how he’ll rationalize this. What he comes up with is… just about the last thing you expect. 

“We’re boyfriends,” L replies with complete certainty. 

“What,” Light and you say at the same time. You stare at L in complete disbelief.  

“What now?” you ask weakly. 

“We’re dating,” L asserts, eyes locking onto yours. Play along, he seems to be saying silently. You resist the urge to scowl, instead just keeping quiet. You don’t know where this is going anymore. L is always several steps ahead of everyone else—that’s nothing new. 

“You two are dating,” Light repeats, eyes narrowed. “Since… when?” He looks irritated, his grip on Misa’s shoulder tensing. 

“Aw, how cute!” Misa says brightly, either unaware or uncaring of the tension in the air. She clasps her hands. 

“We share a room, eat meals together, and spend free time together. You know my interests and I know yours,” L recites, his eyes on you. He has completely ignored Light’s question. “We’re dating,” he declares with surprising certainty. 

“Is the chain… a BDSM thing?” Misa asks delicately. She doesn’t look judgmental, which almost makes the whole thing infinitely worse. 

“No!” you object immediately. “It’s not a BDSM thing.” 

“Yes, it is,” L responds. Damn it, he’s just doing this for his own fun now. He’s trying to provoke you, and it’s working. Because, seriously, what the fuck is he thinking? He always does things for a reason. So what is the purpose of this whole charade? To antagonize Light, somehow? 

“I’m very… possessive,” the detective adds. “And I have separation anxiety.” As if to punctuate his point, he runs a hand along the chain and gets rid of the slack. The two of you are practically pressed against each other now, shoulder to shoulder. 

You glare at L. Okay, that was unnecessary, you try to communicate to him silently. Judging from the slight quirk to his lips, he comprehends this message and chooses to ignore it. He’s having way too much fun with this, you think. 

“Oh my God, wait!” Misa exclaims, somehow even more energetic than before. She’s practically bouncing up and down now. “We should go on a double date! I’ve been wanting to try that new bakery down the street…!”

Light’s silent. You’re sure you’re grimacing, despite your best efforts to look unaffected. And L? He’s… smiling. 

“Let’s do it,” L responds. 

Your jaw nearly drops. Both Light and you are staring at him incredulously. Who is this guy, and what has he done with L Lawliet? 

“What are you doing?” you huff, glancing out the window and watching as Light and Misa leave the building. You turn back to L. He claimed he had some things to wrap up, so the two of you are going to meet Light and Misa at the bakery. He must’ve expected you to be suspicious. And rightfully so—you aren’t even dating!

“I had to see something,” L says, turning in his chair, “and I was right.” 

“Okay, care to share with the class?” you huff. “Because I gotta say, if this is how you treat your boyfriends, I’m not impressed.” You shake your wrist to rattle the chain for emphasis. 

L gives you an exasperated look. There’s something almost like fondness gleaming in his eyes. You convince yourself it’s a trick of the light. 

“I was trying to provoke Light,” he reveals, getting to his feet and walking over to the window, “and it worked. He got very irritated. He was blinking more quickly, his fingers twitched at his sides, and he was breathing harder.” 

“I really hope you know what you’re doing,” you sigh, watching as Misa and Light head toward a black SUV with tinted windows. Misa appears to have a few bodyguards. You watch as Light holds the door for her, before getting in after her. The movement is smooth, fluid. Rehearsed. Fake.

“I always know what I’m doing,” L frowns, as if the very thought of you having doubts is insulting. 

“Well, for your sake, I hope you get what you need quickly,” you say, “because your countdown isn’t getting any longer.” You turn and pay a glance at the number above his head.

L hums absentmindedly. It seems like his thoughts are elsewhere. 

“I’m amazed they believed you,” you then say with amusement. 

“Is the thought of us dating really so outlandish?” he asks, tilting his head owlishly. 

“I mean, yeah,” you reply. “Hello?” You shake the chain for emphasis. 

“I have separation anxiety,” L maintains with a fake pout, biting his thumbnail.

“Uh huh,” you say dryly. A sigh. “Well, we should get going, or they’re going to think we’re conspiring.” Even if that’s exactly what you’re doing. 

The ensuing ride to the bakery is uneventful, quiet. L and small talk don’t exactly get along well, which is honestly more than okay with you. You just watch the passing pedestrians and buildings. When you arrive at the bakery, Misa waves at you both from a corner booth. 

The bakery is a charming place, with natural wooden walls and brick accents. Ivy crawls down the edges of the ceiling, and the seating area is accented with deep greens and dark greys. The pastries at the front counter look mouthwatering. L and you linger awkwardly in the front area, studying the display cases. 

“What are you going to get?” you ask him. 

“Hm,” L says, leaning in to look at the pastries. He’s comically close to the display, his nose nearly smudging the glass. “Strawberry shortcake.” A pause. “Lemon shortbread… Cinnamon roll. Chocolate croissant. Raspberry danish—”

“You’re getting all of that?” you say disbelievingly. “How do you not have health issues? I’ve only ever seen you eat sugar.” 

“I’m built differently,” L responds without a trace of sarcasm. 

“You did not just say that,” you laugh. “Oh my God, you do use the Internet outside your work—”

He’s already turning his back on you to return to the booth. You sigh, glancing over the display case one more time. The tables do have print-out menus, but it’s helpful to have a visual of everything they offer. This place seems like a strange fusion of a bakery and a sit-down restaurant, because you have to order at your table. 

You head over to Misa and Light, finding L waiting for you. You take the hint and sit down first, moving over so L can sit on the outside. A waitress approaches and gets your drink orders, before asking about food. 

L rattles off his order with ease. “Strawberry shortcake, lemon shortbread, cinnamon roll, chocolate croissant, and a raspberry danish.” After a raised eyebrow from you, he adds, “Please.” 

“Sure,” the waitress responds with a nod. 

“And whatever he wants,” L finishes, pointing to you next to him. You blink and then order, before giving him a sidelong look. 

“We could’ve paid separately,” you suggest. 

L shrugs. “I have more money than I know what to do with,” he admits. 

“I’d be careful how loudly you say that,” you huff. “But thanks.” 

Light watches this interaction before ordering his own pastry, offering to pay for Misa’s too. She’s quick to deny the offer, citing her modeling career. This seems to irritate him, though it’s hard to tell. The waitress walks off and returns with your drinks, before you’re left to wait for your pastries. 

“So, how’d you guys meet?” Misa questions L and you, swirling the straw in her raspberry milk tea. 

“He got called in for an interrogation,” L responds truthfully. 

“Really?” she asks, looking to you for confirmation.

“Yeah,” you answer. “That happens pretty often, because of my eyes. Light’s dad has known me by name for a few years now,” you huff in amusement. You’re still getting perceived by the public as demonic and creepy-looking, even in your adulthood. It’s funny how something as simple and uncontrollable as eye color… can make a person’s life so much more difficult. You’re not so deluded as to think that being demonized for your eye color is anywhere close to the systemic issues plaguing society, but still. It seems like the world still has a long way to go. 

If Kira were using his powers a bit more thoughtfully, maybe the other criminals—the ones who hide behind fake politician smiles and suits—would be eliminated too. Though that seems like wishful thinking, at this point. 

“Funny!” Misa says, drawing you out of your thoughts. L sends you a curious look, evidently wondering what had you so preoccupied. Light is looking down at the table, and Misa is practically vibrating in her seat. Light gives her an unreadable look. He’s uncharacteristically quiet. 

“So, this Kira thing’s really heating up, huh?” Misa adds. Not a very smooth change in topic. 

“Yes,” L responds blankly. “It is.”

“What do you guys think of him?” she questions.

She’s about as subtle as a brick to the face. You glance sidelong at L, suspecting that he’s more interested in the conversation now. But he probably can’t show it, otherwise it’ll tip Light off. Speaking of Light… He’s been so incredibly tense from the moment the four of you sat down. You think it’s because of Misa. When it’s just the three of you, Light’s fine. When his own girlfriend is in the mix, he’s suddenly uncomfortable. 

Very strange. 

“I mean, he’s kinda got a point,” Misa continues, tapping her chin and puffing her cheeks. She’s like a caricature of an adult, you realize. She looks like one—is definitely dressed maturely—but she kind of acts like a child. You wouldn’t be surprised if she’s thrown tantrums before. She looks the type. And from what you’ve heard, Misa can be a bit of a diva when it comes to her photoshoots and dressing rooms and things. She has more money than she knows what to do with, and that’s evident in the way she scanned the menu with reckless abandon and then ordered a sample of nearly everything. 

“Kira, you mean?” you ask, just to make sure. 

“Yeah,” Misa nods, a worrying lovestruck expression on her face as she clasps her hands and daydreams. “He’s… kind of everything to me.” 

You stare down at your own drink, struggling to keep your composure. “Uh… why’s that?” you ask bluntly.

“Well,” Misa answers. “He delivered justice to the guy who murdered my parents.” 

L hones in on this. “Your parents were killed?” he questions. 

“Yeah,” she responds, a sad look on her face. The energy from before fades for a second. “In a robbery. Wrong place, wrong time.” 

L and you stare at her in disbelief. Light places a hand on her shoulder reassuringly. 

You’re the first one to break away from your shock. “That’s— I’m sorry,” you say awkwardly. You’ve never been great at expressing condolences. L is also out of his element, as he repeats your statement to her. Fortunately, Misa doesn’t seem to mind, thanking you both. 

The table’s quiet again. Light didn’t express sympathy. 

“But anyway,” Misa says with a shake of her head. “Kira kills criminals. He wants to create a better world,” she recites with a nod. 

“Yeah, so did Hitler, and look how that turned out,” you blurt out. Everyone’s heads swivel toward you. “What? It’s true,” you say defensively. Truthfully, you hadn’t meant to utter that aloud. Oh well. 

“Is Kira’s purpose really so single-minded?” Light muses, finally speaking up after his uncharacteristic silence. “To me, it seems like he’s trying to reform our justice system.” 

“Sure, our justice system’s corrupt and so is our government,” you acquiesce. “Doesn’t mean we can go around killing whoever we want. That’s not reform, that’s just murder.” The slightest of nods from L, imperceptible to everyone else.

“I’d argue Kira is only killing the ones who deserve it,” Light says carefully. 

“The ones who deserve it in his eyes,” you emphasize. “Plus, I mean. If you think about it, incarceration is a much worse fate than death.”

“Yes, but correctional facilities require extensive resources to maintain,” Light frowns. “Resources that would be best allocated elsewhere.” 

“I don’t know about that,” you frown. “Yeah, prisons require a lot of funding, but they’re also historically underfunded. So then, in reality, most prisons dump money into infrastructure, security, and staffing, not rehabilitation or reintegration services. And they’re still lacking a lot of basic human necessities.” 

“Does everyone deserve those necessities, though?” Light muses. 

“Yes,” you respond. 

“Even hardened criminals?” he challenges you. “Even those who would otherwise rot in a cell?”

“Well, yeah,” you frown. “Those rights should be guaranteed. Whether certain people deserve them or not is another question.” 

“Convenient,” Light huffs. You glare at him. “Isn’t Kira just doing what the justice system can’t?” 

“No,” you scoff incredulously. His stance is so incredibly misguided. “Not at all! Kira is a single anonymous person. He decides to kill whoever he wants.”

You’re starting to pick up steam now. “Criminality is defined by the law,” you tick off on your fingers, “culpability is decided by jurors and the sentence is decided by a judge. Can that be unjust sometimes? Absolutely. But giving one person the power and authority to kill people at his whim isn’t justice either. It’s further away from it, if anything.” 

“I’m not saying I have all the answers,” Light replies. The remark comes off as flippant, but his eyes are gleaming. He’s enjoying this discussion, you realize. His hands are folded on the table. He hasn’t so much as acknowledged Misa’s existence since you started this discussion.

“You did imply it, however,” L voices, breaking his temporary silence. He’s picking at the threads at the bottom of his jeans. How he’s still barefoot in the middle of Tokyo, you aren’t sure. It’s kind of gross, so you decide not to think about it. “Do you think Kira is just, Light?”

“I don’t think that question has a black-and-white answer,” Light responds delicately. 

L mutters something like ‘diplomatic of you’ under his breath.

“Well!” Misa says, finally seeming to find her voice again. “I think he’s pretty cool, personally!”

Of course you do, you think to yourself darkly. Because Kira’s not going after celebrities or rich people. None of this affects you. 

Misa stiffens. Out of the corner of your eye, you see L raise an eyebrow ever so slightly. Light is still staring. And that’s when you realize you just spoke those thoughts aloud. 

You exhale in a punched-out breath. “Sorry,” you say to Misa quickly. “That was rude. Let’s talk about something else.” Or you’re going to start debating wealth inequalities in front of one of the richest people in the country. 

The waitress comes back with your orders, successfully breaking through the tension. 

“Any big projects coming up, Misa Misa?” L asks, tucking into his strawberry shortcake. Misa is kind enough to answer the question, and soon the tense air from before dissipates.

Light’s gaze, however, doesn’t waver. He keeps staring at you. It’s getting to the point where even Misa notices, and she jabs him in the shoulder to get him to snap out of it.

By the time everyone’s done eating, it’s clear that all four of you are tired of this outing. L is the first to get up, shoving his hands in his pockets and then leveling you with an expectant look. You turn to Misa. 

“Well, it was nice to meet you, Misa,” you say with a somewhat strained smile. You can’t really get a good read on the woman, despite spending nearly an hour sitting in her company. She’s confusing, her moods seeming a bit volatile. Not to mention, she isn’t… really… Well. She seems like a bit of an airhead. 

“Nice to meet you guys too,” she says, hand tightening around Light’s bicep as she tugs him to his feet. 

“Goodbye, Misa Misa,” L says solemnly. She shoots him a friendly wave before practically dragging Light after her. 

This leaves L and you standing at the table for a bit, before the detective is walking back to the car waiting for you. You follow after him, the ensuing car ride entirely silent. It’s as if neither of you are quite comfortable speaking on your observations, not until you’re behind closed doors. Even stepping into headquarters doesn’t feel like enough, and L eventually leads the way to the bedroom you’ve been sharing. 

You don’t hesitate to walk over and flop onto the bed, rubbing your hands over your face. “That was a train wreck,” you groan once he closes the door. 

“On the contrary,” L remarks, moving to perch on the edge of the bed, “I found it useful.”

“Did you really?” you huff, flipping around and staring up at the ceiling. “You don’t have to lie just to make me feel better.”

“I’m not lying,” the detective frowns. “And it only confirmed my suspicions.”

“Oh?” you turn to glance at him. 

“Light’s role in the relationship is not the boyfriend,” L explains. “The way he regards Misa Misa… It’s nothing close to the love you would expect from a romantic relationship.”

You could tell that much. You nod in agreement, wondering what the detective is really thinking. It’s pretty commendable that he can be so committed to a case that’s just going to result in his death. You don’t think you’d be nearly as calm as him, if the roles were reversed. You definitely wouldn’t want to be wasting time on a fake double date with your top suspect and your favorite artist. 

“Thank you for debating with Light,” L continues with a nod. “That was quite valuable.”

“Oh, uh… sure,” you respond. Sure, you suspected that L wouldn’t be able to engage Light in intense debate without drawing attention to it. Light’s too wary of him. But you didn’t think you were being particularly helpful either. 

“He maintained a neutral stance throughout,” L recalls. “Too careful. Plus, someone on the task force would normally be in direct opposition to Kira. Light didn’t choose that route. Perhaps because he knew he couldn’t pretend well enough.”

You take a slow breath. “I feel kinda bad for snapping at Misa,” you then admit, staring up at the ceiling with a frown. Even if she was frustrating, you didn’t mean to be outwardly rude.

“She can handle it,” L says dismissively. “Besides. Your statement was objectively correct.”

You sigh, recognizing it as his attempt at reassurance. “Thanks.”

“That was so rude!” Misa huffs, her grip on Light’s arm just short of piercing his skin as they head up the steps to Light’s apartment building. 

“I know,” Light says absentmindedly.

“‘None of this affects you,’” she repeats in a mocking tone. “He was looking at me like I’m an idiot. I’m not an idiot!”

“Uh-huh,” Light responds dryly, not even listening anymore. 

“I’m serious— hey!” Misa exclaims, turning into his path and waving a hand in front of his face. “Are you even listening?!”

“Yes,” he answers, lying through his teeth. 

“I know you’re not,” she pouts. “Jerk.” 

“If you want to make yourself useful…” Light says dismissively, unlocking the door to his apartment and begrudgingly letting Misa enter first. Once she enters, he’s quick to close the door. “...then get those Shinigami Eyes.” 

“You’re the worst boyfriend ever,” Misa huffs loudly. She starts pacing. “You’re supposed to defend my honor, not just… just… let me get attacked like that!”

“He was hardly attacking you,” Light remarks. 

“Easy for you to say,” she snaps. “You were looking at him with stars in your eyes! You’ve never looked at me like that,” Misa whines petulantly. 

Because you’ve never been able to keep up with me, intellectually or otherwise, he thinks to himself. I’ve never once had a conversation with you about anything even remotely useful.

Light just sighs instead of speaking on these thoughts. Misa keeps complaining for a few minutes, until he starts petting her hair and she calms down. He continues the repetitive motion as she leans into his chest. Light’s eyes are on the empty wall ahead as he wonders, for the millionth time, if this whole charade with Misa will really be beneficial. 

Only time will tell, he supposes.

©2026, @defectivevillain | @defectivehero, All Rights Reserved. Reblogs are greatly appreciated—just don’t steal or share outside of Tumblr, please.

this turned out longer than i expected! originally this was supposed to end somewhere else, but now i have *that* in the next chapter... so basically, next chapter may be shorter than these past few. ig we’ll see!

thanks for reading, as always! <3

check out my other works, sorted by fandom.

general taglist: @its-ares @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @the-ultimate-librarian @gayaristocrat @always-lying-to-you @moss4ev3r @hottskull

this fic’s taglist: @lamathelazer @aminah1706 @frogwizard13 @marcel0l0

author’s notes: a hot new bombshell enters the villa!! aka misa has entered the chat. 

Ugh, guys. I was looking on the Death Note wiki and I was reminded of how much of the story I just completely forgot. So just another reminder that this isn’t going to be canon-compliant. A lot of canon will be glazed over or just avoided altogether, things may not make sense. This is really more focused on the character dynamics, because that’s the interesting part to me. 

Plus, I feel like my hesitation w/ that has been preventing me from wanting to update. Because I’ll think about how detached it is from canon and get intimidated lol. So I’m manifesting some more self-awareness and the willpower to take myself less seriously. 

typical warnings apply: canon-typical violence, murder, death; themes surrounding mortality, criminality, morality, and the subjectiveness of justice.

Light is well and truly stuck.

His backup plan was supposed to be his eyes, literally. Out of admiration for Kira, this person would sacrifice their lifespan and gain Shinigami Eyes. From there, Light would get L’s name and kill him. How could a plan so simple have failed already? 

Two words: Misa Amane. Light foresaw many different possibilities, but never someone like her. Someone controlling and stifling, yet whiny and petulant. Someone desperate enough to want his love, and delusional enough to think they deserve it. 

He scoffs. What a mess. 

Of course, Light is under no delusions concerning Misa’s motivations. She’s using him, just as he’s using her. She may play ditzy and airheaded, but she’s smart enough to know that Light needs something from her—and is willing to drag him along until she’s satisfied. 

It would help if she were less loud and energetic, though. She’s clearly on the extroverted side, which normally wouldn’t bother Light. But he’s never been in a relationship before, and he’s quickly learning it requires far more time together than he’d like. (Though he’s wary of calling this… thing… between them a relationship, because he knows Misa will jump on it the moment he does.) 

“Lighttttt……” Misa whines, nudging his thigh with her foot. She’s reclined across the entire couch in her penthouse, while Light has retreated to sitting against the arm on the opposite side. Unsurprisingly, this still doesn’t distance him from the whirlwind that is Misa Amane. “Pay attention to me,” she demands.

“No,” he responds flatly. 

“Pleaseeee?”

“No,” Light repeats, instead pulling out his phone and scrolling mindlessly. It only takes a few moments for his resistance and fortitude to break, as he types your name into the search bar for what feels like the tenth time. The query shows up in that familiar purple text, as if even the browser is taunting him. 

Another thing he’s learned about Misa: She doesn’t appreciate when his attention is elsewhere. It doesn’t really matter where his attention falls—it could be anything from a quick glance at the horizon to an exchange with an old classmate. She’ll still be annoyed.

Right on cue, Misa reaches out and pulls his phone out of his hands. “Yoink!” she exclaims victoriously, looking down at his screen and scowling. Maybe she thinks it’s a cute look for her, but Light just thinks she looks childish. “Looking that guy up again? Geez, Light. You have a perfectly good girlfriend right here.”

“We’re not dating,” he reminds her for the millionth time. Plus, he was just doing some research. For surveillance. 

“Not even if I get the Shinigami Eyes?” Misa asks, blinking innocently.

“No—” Light responds habitually, before his expression sours. He pays her a look. “Will you?”

“I dunno,” she says with a playful smile. “How about you take me on a date first?”

“Fine,” Light relents through gritted teeth. Misa shrieks and promptly tackles him in a hug, to which Light responds with awkwardly patting her back every few seconds stiffly. This is so annoying. He hates this, he really does. 

And sure, pretty much any other guy his age would kill to have Misa Amane as a girlfriend. She’s a tall supermodel with stick-straight blond hair, warm brown eyes, and full lips. She makes six figures on her photoshoots alone, and she’s breaking into the film industry too. Misa is the perfect package: glamour, luxury, beauty. 

Still, Light hates it. Hates her. He hates every part of this society, which would rather have him suffer through blissful ignorance and unhappiness with a woman than merely pay a lasting glance at another man.

Unsurprisingly, Misa is eager to get to their date, and they end up scheduling it for the very next day. Light doesn’t deviate from his typical routine, wears one of the same suits he always wears. Misa shows up in some frilly black ensemble that is way too short to be considered appropriate for a first date, and Light spends most of their meal trying not to suffocate from her overpowering perfume. 

He often catches himself visualizing himself in the same restaurant, same booth, but with different company. A certain red-eyed someone. He wonders if you’ve ever even been on a date. Probably not. From the way you act, Light would be very surprised if you’ve allowed anyone to ask you out. The few people who got past their prejudices probably had a tough time at it—you don’t really seem interested in those types of things in the first place. 

Though maybe Light’s just projecting. Truthfully, he doesn’t know you very well yet. He supposes you represent something of an escape for him. Because, from what he’s learned and seen so far, you live authentically. You don’t pretend to enjoy things; you don’t force yourself into relationships because you crave validation; you don’t work a mind-numbing office job just to get by. Even with your Shinigami eyes, you’ve created a normal life for yourself. For Light, a person whose entire life has been—and will continue to be—governed by pretense, that is intoxicating. 

Even Light craves mundanity every now and then. Though he can admit, there is a lot of work that will have to happen before he can enjoy it.

…It’s only been two days since L first chained you together.  

You already want to claw your eyes out. 

L isn’t an inherently annoying person. Not at all. In fact, if you weren’t chained together, you’d appreciate that. But there’s only so much you can tolerate when you’re forced into another person’s company for hours on end. And the brutal truth of the matter is that L has a very specific routine. One that doesn’t allow for deviation. Work, meetings, cake, sweets, more work, more sweets. Sleep is not part of that routine.

The first night, you ‘slept’ on the sofa behind L’s desk, wrist left near the back of the couch to give you as much slack as possible. You barely even got a few hours of sleep between his constant typing, the brightness of the lights in the room, and the unfamiliar environment. 

You can barely even convince him to step away from his work long enough for you to make yourself a meal. It gets to the point where Watari is bringing you meals, which you profusely apologize for [despite his insistence that he’s only doing his job]. Not to mention, the absolute lack of privacy. You haven’t had a single moment to yourself since L first cuffed you together. No time to breathe without feeling as if you’re under scrutiny, no choices to make without immediate unwarranted judgment. 

Basically, it’s driving you crazy. 

“How’s it going?” Light asks you soon after he arrives at headquarters. He looks well-rested and unaffected as always. Meanwhile, you feel—and probably look—like a decaying corpse. L’s sleep schedule is practically nonexistent, and even when you can convince him to retreat to his bedroom, his constant typing and insistence on keeping his screen on full brightness make it difficult to rest. 

You suppose you could scrounge up some energy for a polite response, but you lost your verbal filter sometime between last afternoon and this morning. So, to Light’s inquiry, you respond darkly, “Give me a gun and you’ll find out.”

It’s quiet for a second, before Light makes a strange choking sound. It startles you for a second, before you realize that it sounded like a laugh. A genuine one. You can’t say you’ve ever heard him do that before. You’ve overheard his conversations with coworkers—he’s always polite and cordial. But Light is more the type to give an understanding smile, with that gleam in his eyes that says, I know better than you. He acts as if he’s moving through the world to merely tolerate others, not be friends with them. 

“This situation isn’t optimal for me either,” L states matter-of-factly, drawing your attention once more. He makes no effort to disguise the fact that he’s been eavesdropping on your conversation. To his credit, it’s hard not to—considering your current predicament.  

“Yet here we are,” you reply defeatedly. You glance over at him. “And might I remind you who created it?”

L is too fixated on his computer screen to respond. Or, at least, that’s what he would like you to think. But you know him well enough now to recognize his silence as a sign of defeat. When he doesn’t have a smart remark, he just keeps quiet and feigns ignorance or disinterest. 

Sensing Light staring at you, you return your attention to him. “Call animal control, at this point,” you say dryly. “Because he’s treating me like a pet dog. And not even one he particularly likes.” 

Another restrained laugh from Light. 

“Pets are a distraction,” L remarks.

“You think everything’s a distraction,” you snap back. You’re not truly irritated with him, not really. L knows this, because he doesn’t bother responding to the jab. 

Light sends you a sympathetic smile that looks a bit too strained to be authentic. Still, you give him a helpless smile back, and things return to a tense but relatively comfortable silence. 

“L,” you announce that evening, “I want to shower.” It’s been two days and he hasn’t allowed you the luxury when you’ve asked in the past. But he must sense that you’re wearing thin on patience, because he only nods. 

“Okay,” he agrees flatly, not making a move to get up. His back is still turned as he surveys the computer screens. 

“That means you have to move,” you say expectantly. L sits in his office chair with his knees to his chest, showing no sign of action. 

It’s quiet for a moment. And then, “No,” L responds. 

Your eyebrows furrow in annoyance. “Move,” you demand. 

“No,” he repeats. 

“Please?” you ask politely. 

“No,” L insists. 

“Fine,” you sigh in faux-surrender. “I tried.” 

You promptly yank on the chain, hard enough to send him lurching forwards in his chair. “Come on, we’re going,” you order, grip tight on the chain. “Unless you want to try dragging me back to that desk. Which won’t work, because you have noodle arms.” 

“Hey,” L remarks, actually seeming offended. He begrudgingly unfolds himself from his crouched position, getting to his feet to stand near you. “My arms are fine. Excellent, actually.” He feels at his arm with his free hand.

“Yeah, yeah,” you relent. “I’ll be quick; just let me have this. I feel gross.” 

“Fine,” L surrenders begrudgingly, shoving a hand in his pocket. Bare feet on linoleum ground. You have no idea how he isn’t cold all the time. “Get your clothes and everything you need now.” 

You sigh, navigating your shared room with practiced ease. It’s an organized chaos at this point. Both of you are relatively neat people, but the state of the room has somewhat diminished since you first started staying in it. L has been pulling longer nights without sleep. You’ve been trying to live normally, which is virtually impossible. Neither of you are very happy with this arrangement. 

“You think he’ll crack soon?” you ask quietly, after returning from your shower feeling like a new man. L sits on your bed—his bed, really—and regards you for a moment. 

“Who?” he then asks.

“You know who,” you frown, moving to sit down on the bed next to him. 

“Perhaps,” L reasons. If he’s bothered by your proximity, he doesn’t show it. You lie down, looking up at the ceiling and huffing. 

“Cop-out answer,” you respond.

L huffs, tracing a finger along the seam of his comforter. “I can’t say for sure,” he eventually answers, eyes locked on the wall in front of him. “Light is… unpredictable.” 

“I guess so,” you acquiesce, paying him a sidelong glance. “But he’s still your main suspect, right?”

“Of course,” the detective responds. “He is the only true contender at the present moment.”

“How do you think he does it?” you ask. 

“Kills?” L questions. “I’m not at liberty to say.” 

“So you don’t know,” you translate. “You can just say that.” 

He scowls. 

“It doesn’t even seem possible,” you reason. “At least, not with our understanding of the world. It defies reasoning, explanation…” 

“What are you suggesting?” L says, his eyes narrowly. “I don’t appreciate being steered in the direction of the supernatural. I prefer the tangible.” It’s ironic that he’s making that statement as he makes insistent eye contact with you, with your Shinigami Eyes… 

“I’m sure you do,” you then say dryly. A beat. He doesn’t blink, still staring. “But there’s nothing tangible about this guy so far, is there? I mean, being able to kill people at a distance, without so much as a trace on the scene? Inducing heart attacks? That’s not something you can explain away.” 

“No,” L relents begrudgingly, his fingers momentarily tightening in the fabric of his jeans at his knee. “It is not.” It’s clear he’s contemplated this roadblock many times himself.  

“Have you ever had a case like this before?” you ask curiously. 

“Not of this nature,” L admits. “I have handled difficult cases before, naturally.” 

“Yeah, you’re kind of well-known, right?” you hum. 

“Yes,” he confirms. 

“Is this all you do?” you question. “Like, the… detective thing.” You motion vaguely. L doesn’t seem to understand the question. “You don’t really… Um.” You can’t get the words out in a diplomatic manner. The detective is just regarding you with that eerie focus of his, tilting his head to the side owlishly. 

You sigh. “You don’t have a life outside of this, do you?” you ask. You suspected as much, but now that you’re cohabitating, it’s very obvious. L’s routines barely changed when you were thrown into the equation, so you know it’s not a result of your presence—if anything, you’re the only reason he seems to be taking breaks at all. He barely eats, barely sleeps. He doesn’t seem to do anything for himself; you doubt he even knows what fun is. 

“Justice doesn’t sleep,” L remarks sagely. 

You push yourself up to a sitting position and give him a disbelieving look, before choking on a laugh. “Did you just quote Batman?” you ask incredulously. “Nerd.” 

“Ironic, coming from you,” he responds dryly. 

In these moments—which almost feel domestic—it’s easy to forget the situation. Even with the constant weight of the chain on your wrist, your mind is eager to compartmentalize. The reality? You’re being treated as a borderline suspect for a national murder investigation, and being observed by the world-class detective leading it. That should be intimidating, but somehow, you can’t summon much fear. 

That’s probably because of your Shinigami Eyes. When you’re around death for so long—constantly confronted with it, really—you lose your fear of it. After all, if you conducted your life afraid of death… you wouldn’t even be able to leave the house or speak to other people. You’re desensitized, for lack of a better word. Your world is tinged crimson with the recognition that a person’s life can end at any moment. And, as cliche as it will sound, that makes your time alive all the more valuable. 

“I let you shower,” L states, breaking you out of your reverie. It’s clear he’s done with the casual conversation. That’s more than enough sentiment for one day. “Now, you let me work.” He tugs at the chain impatiently. 

“Laptops exist,” you argue, despite knowing it’s futile. You don’t want to get up. “Just work from here.” You flop back down on the bed. He isn’t swayed. 

“No,” L responds, uncompromising as always. 

You groan and reluctantly peel yourself off the bed, trudging after him. 

At some point, the soft clicking of L’s typing fades into the background of your periphery as you slip off into sleep. Considering your surroundings, you sleep well into the night and early morning. L is the only one in the office for a while, before the early-risers start to trickle in. 

And, of course, Light is the first of them to arrive. As usual. He wears his typical beige-brown suit with a red tie, and dress shoes; he’s carrying a briefcase. He surveys the scene with a somewhat bored expression, looking alert and unsurprised to see L in his chair. 

“Good morning,” Light greets the detective. L gives him an inexplicable disapproving look; Light raises an eyebrow, and L looks pointedly at the couch. Light reluctantly follows his gaze, eyes widening as he sees you sleeping there. “You made him sleep out here?”

“Yes,” L answers. He’s intrigued by this turn in conversation, though he’s far too experienced to show it. Light seems to exhibit a particular interest in you. This is hardly the first time he’s noticed, but it seems particularly blatant this morning, as Light stands over you and frowns with something like concern. 

“He looks exhausted,” Light notes quietly, a frown rising on his lips as he takes a step closer to you. 

“He’s fine,” the detective says dismissively. Indeed, he knows you’re fine—you’ve been sleeping soundly most of the night. He’s been checking, though he’ll take that to his grave. 

“Right,” Light responds, evidently unconvinced. “How long do you intend to keep him this close?” 

“As long as it takes to dispel reasonable doubt,” L recites. Truthfully, he’s been contemplating that very same dilemma too. Light doesn’t need to know that, though. 

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you like having him here,” Light says. Taunting him, as always. L is far too intelligent to fall for that, so he just keeps quiet while the man continues speaking. “Are you sleeping together?” he persists. 

L raises an eyebrow, his back turned to Light. Ha. As he suspected, Light is annoyed by this predicament between the two of you. Jealous, even.

Yes, Light Yagami is jealous. 

Truthfully, your captivity in L’s headquarters serves multiple purposes. Most importantly, it keeps you safe and away from Kira. It keeps your Shinigami Eyes away from the wrong hands, and it also provides him ease of access in case he comes to any new conclusions about them. Your captivity also tests a theory L had, regarding Light’s fascination with you. He first noticed it when you returned that one day, lying through your teeth as you claimed to have a meeting with him. He saw the way Light’s eyes followed you around the room. 

Light is the top suspect at the moment, and L said as much to you last night. The guy could very well be Kira. 

You have Shinigami Eyes, which reveal the name and lifespan of a person upon looking at them. Of course Light would want you on his side. But this kind of behavior he’s exhibiting… it extends far past a mere thirst for power. He doesn’t just want you on his side. Light wants you at his side.

And for someone who fits Kira’s profile—fiercely independent, judgmental, convinced to be of a higher power—that is exceedingly dangerous. 

“Our sleeping arrangements are none of your concern, Light,” L remembers to respond, after these observations and deductions filter into his mind in the blink of an eye. Light’s chosen wording just now only proves his suspicions. Your cohabitation would be entirely irrelevant if this were merely about your Shinigami Eyes. 

“So that’s a yes,” Light deduces. He’s hovering at his shoulder now, almost leaning over him. Another one of his power plays. L resists the urge to shrink in on himself for space, instead just sitting there with tense shoulders. “Hm. Can’t say I approve of that.” 

“My investigative techniques often don’t hold up to your scrutiny,” L remarks flatly, “but they work regardless.” His fingers jitter against the computer mouse, the only visible sign of his irritation. 

“Yes, of course,” Light says dryly. “I’m sure you’re having very compelling investigations of him at night. Watching him sleep.” 

He eyes the cuff on your wrist next, which is dangling off the couch to give you some slack on the chain that connects you to L. 

“Quiet,” L orders. “He’s sleeping.” A convenient excuse to silence Light. And the rapid drum of his own heart, though he is keen to ignore it. 

You wouldn’t necessarily say that your time at the task force’s headquarters has been all fun and games. Being cuffed to L for days on end, constantly immersed in this high-stakes situation that you have little control over or impact on. It’s very stressful. You’re not having fun, and, again, you never wanted this for yourself. You really just assumed that L would let you run off and return to your normal life. And yes, that life wasn’t perfect or particularly glamorous. But at least it was yours. 

At the moment, those aren’t even the worst parts. The worst part… Well. It has to be what you’ve just noticed.

When you were younger, you used to study each and every passerby’s allotted lifespan. You’d watch the numbers slot in and occasionally sputter; you’d monitor the person until they faded from view. But this grew to be time-consuming and stressful, so you went to a therapist and developed ways to filter them out. You still don’t know if the therapist ever believed you, or just assumed you were experiencing particularly vivid hallucinations… but regardless, her techniques made a world of difference. 

Now that you’re a working adult, you’re less burdened by the sight of people’s lifespans. You’re able to dismiss them as background noise, set dressing. Because if you stopped and devoted attention to every single person you met and how much life they had left… well. You wouldn’t have much of a life yourself. 

You hadn’t really realized, but you started to do this with L too. The numbers above his head faded in your vision, lost prominence after your conversation a bit ago. The number had been short then: just a little over two weeks. You’ve checked about once a day since then, and you haven’t seen any fluctuations. 

Now, as you stare up at the numbers floating above his head, you realize things have changed. The numbers oscillate in the air, almost blinding in the implications they carry: 

06:03:18:34

L has six days to live. Since you checked last night, he’s lost several days. Slipping through his, your, fingers like granules of sand. He’s going to die. L Lawliet. Six days, three hours, eighteen minutes, and thirty-one seconds. Thirty seconds… Twenty-five… Twenty… Fifteen… 

“Yes?” L’s voice rips you from your spiral. He must’ve noticed your preoccupation with the intangible number over his head. 

You take a slow breath, biting the inside of your cheek. Ordinarily, you wouldn’t tell someone of their impending death—it causes paranoia and makes their remaining time stressful. But this is different. This is a criminal investigation, and L’s death could spell an increase in power for Kira. And six days is really not that many to work with. 

You look at some spot on the wall over his shoulder. “You’re going to die soon,” you blurt out. 

It’s late at night—all of the agents have gone home. There is no one else here to witness this conversation, to face the painful reminder that even the world’s best detective isn’t immortal. There’s the ever-present hum of the computers and machines scattered throughout the room, the distant sound of traffic. Otherwise, there is nothing. 

Ordinarily, you’d expect any number of reactions to the news you just shared. But L is familiar with your ability now, and more importantly, he’s L. You don’t really expect him to react, and indeed, he doesn’t. He gives you nothing more than a slow blink, as if his eyes are merely dry. 

“How soon?” L asks. He sounds almost deceptively casual. 

“Like, less than a week soon,” you respond, watching him intently and trying to get a read on his body language. For all the detective likes to preach on body language, his own can be quite telling. And being in close quarters with L for this long has given you a rare glimpse at his tells. He bites at his thumbnail when he’s particularly worried. 

Somehow, he isn’t doing that now. But his shoulders are drawn tight like always, and his hands rest on his kneecaps instead of on the keyboard. Hm. You can’t really see the look on his face, but his voice isn’t cracking with emotion and his breaths sound about the same. Is he really… fine? Even after hearing about his own death? Yes, he’s almost freakishly intelligent and he acts as if he doesn’t fall prey to emotion. But he’s human—fear of death is ingrained into his being. 

“Ah,” L remarks, breaking through your contemplation. You still can’t see his face. You almost want to get up and look over at him, but you know that wouldn’t be appreciated. 

“Yeah,” you reply.  

And that’s the extent of your conversation. 

…You feel kind of bad. 

Then again, you’ve always been the bearer of bad news. There’s a reason the kids in your elementary school called you the Grim Reaper. There’s a reason the train seats near you are always empty. Wherever you go, death follows. 

You just wish you hadn’t brought it here. 

next chapter

©2026, @defectivevillain | @defectivehero, All Rights Reserved. Reblogs are greatly appreciated—just don’t steal or share outside of Tumblr, please.

endnotes: wanted to end on that line cause i thought it was kinda cool hehe

here’s a sneak peek at next chapter:

“And how do you two know each other?” Misa asks L. She’s very politely ignoring the giant chain binding your wrists together. You turn to L with an amused look, curious to see how he’ll rationalize this.

thx for being patient with meeee folx.

and thanks for reading! <3

check out my other works, sorted by fandom.

general taglist: @its-ares @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @the-ultimate-librarian @gayaristocrat @always-lying-to-you @moss4ev3r @hottskull

author’s notes: The reader’s pronouns are he/him and he’s stated to be around average height for a guy (5’8-5’9). There’s a brief moment where he’s mentioned to be growing out his hair (just long enough to tie back), but I didn’t specify texture, so hopefully race is still ambiguous. He’s a transfer student to Karasuno from Nekoma.

Typos are for texting realism. Expect this to be canon divergent/non-compliant.

Warnings: cussing, Tsukki being a dick for a while (that is confronted eventually).

Twitter

Tsukishima (private account) god this guy is so fucking annoying 

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Twitter

You (private account) well can’t win em all ig

Kenma: mission infiltrate karasuno = success ? → You: no fr → Kenma: 🙃 → You: miss you guys :( → Kenma: miss u2 → Kuroo: omg i came as soon as i heard → Kuroo: @/Kenma showing emotion?????? is this a christmas miracle → Kenma: shut up → Kuroo: never! → Kuroo: @/You we do miss u tho 😿 → You: @/Kuroo miss you tooooo

Yaku: living for these updates lowkey → Lev: Me too! → You: heheh good. miss you guys 😭🖤 → Yaku: ♥️ → Lev: ♥️ → Kuroo: ok so why do lev and yaku get hearts but kenma and i don’t → You: sry here you go @/Kenma 🖤 → Kenma: … < 3 → Kuroo: oh WHAT THE FUCK 😭 → You: jkjk senpai 🖤 → Kuroo: you better be kidding 🙄 → You: did u just do that and then not give me one back → You: fake asf → Kuroo: o shit my b → Kuroo: miss ya 🤍

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Twitter

Yamaguchi (private account) tsukki and the new guy are beefing. and by tsukki and the new guy, i mean tsukki is beefing w the fact that the new guy exists and is better than him

Tsukishima: shut. up. → Yamaguchi: am i wrong ???? → Yamaguchi: exactly. → Tsukishima: he’s not better than me → Yamaguchi: maybe not at blocking → Yamaguchi: but he’s better at serve-receive, defense, setting, hitting, and definitely serving. → Tsukishima: so, in your eyes, he’s better at everything except throwing his hands in the air over the net. → Yamaguchi: yep → Tsukishima: i regret every moment that led to our friendship → Yamaguchi: ily2 

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Twitter

You (private account) ok so update,,,, everyone’s rly nice!!! well. almost everyone, except for this one other first-year. but yeah!!! they’re sweet and pretty good so 🤷 plus ya boi doesn’t have any other choice so…

go karasuno ig?? or whatever the slogan is 

Kenma: i thought the slogan was ‘fly’ → You: idfk → Kenma: well u better figure it out since ur a student there now → You: but i don’t wanna admit defeat → You: i feel like it’s gonna get real soon and i don’t want it to… :/

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Twitter Timeline

You (private account) good practice 👍

Tsukishima (private account) i. hate. him. 

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Twitter

Kinoshita (private account) tsukishima hates the new guy for literally no reason lmao. at least have a reason. like, i hate him because he’s way better than me and will be taking starting position as opposite hitter

→ Ennoshita: We are kind of screwed → Kinoshita: yeah, like, he can play back row well too… ukai will probably just run a 5-1 with kageyama and put the new guy as rightside… then suga will be benched too → Kinoshita: except i can’t even be mad or actually hate the guy because he’s nice → Ennoshita: Yeah he is → Kinoshita: and he has a jump float too… like leave something for the rest of us 😭💀 → Ennoshita: It’s these first-years… → Kinoshita: right like it was bad enough that three just waltzed right in and took all the starting positions. and now there’s four w this new guy → Ennoshita: Yeah… 

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| Karasuno First-Years | Yamaguchi added you. Yamaguchi: @/You  heyyy! this is our gc where we do whatever Yamaguchi: well we don’t rly do much You: lolll thx for adding me! Yamaguchi: np!

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{Direct Message} Tsukishima: i will kill you. Tsukishima: violently. Yamaguchi: k 😄

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| Karasuno First-Years | Yamaguchi: just added u to the main team chat too You: tysmmm, yamaguchi! appreciate it 🫶 Yamaguchi: np! we’re happy to have you! Hinata: yeeeeah! 😊💪🏐 You: 🖤 Yamaguchi: @/You tsukki and kageyama don’t text much. mostly cause they think they’re better than us You: LMFAOOO You: noted Tsukishima: using heart emojis when u just met us is pathetic You: k You: anyways thanks guys @/Yamaguchi @/Hinata 🖤🖤🖤🖤 Yamaguchi: LMFAOOOO i think you’ll fit in just fine xD Hinata: yeeee! Kageyama: Stop texting. My phone hasn’t stopped vibrating in ten minutes. Yamaguchi: do not disturb is a thing Kageyama: Yes, it is. Do not disturb me. Yamaguchi: no, i meant it’s a setting Yamaguchi: sigh nvm

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Twitter

You (private account) lmfao the one guy who hates me just snapped at me for using heart emojis in the gc 

Kuroo: jealousy is a disease 😷 get better soon bitches 🖕 → You: THIS

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| Karasuno VB | Daichi: @/You Welcome to the team! You: tyyyyy! Liked by Daichi, Sugawara and 7 others. 

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| Karasuno First-Years | You: @/Yamaguchi do u know where room 113 is Tsukishima: you do realize this is a group chat You: yeah You: figured if i appeared pathetic enough y’all would take pity on me You: u know where 113 is? @/Tsukishima Tsukishima: . You: ok fck u too then 😭😭 You: @/Yamaguchi @/Hinata 👉👈 halp Yamaguchi: omgggg, so sorry! had my phone on dnd by accident You: no worries !!! You: do u have any idea where room 113 is? for some reason i’ve found 112 and 114 but 113 is nonexistent Yamaguchi: yes omg i had trouble with that one too Yamaguchi: it’s around the corner inf th Yamaguchi: wait Yamaguchi: tsukki don’t u have ap euro in there this period ??? like, rn? in two minutes??? Tsukishima: maybe Yamaguchi: WHY TF WEREN’T YOU HELPING THEN You: bruh You: ok whale if you need me i’ll be sitting on the floor outside Yamaguchi: no noooo Yamaguchi: it’s under the staircase!!! weird ass entrance, turn the corner with 112 on ur right, then go to the underside of the staircase that’s facing u right there You: omg found it tysmmmmmmmmmm Yamaguchi: np!

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{Direct Message} Tsukishima: why. Would. You. do. That. Yamaguchi: he has to get to class Yamaguchi: why r u so opposed to him Tsukishima: wasn’t aware i needed to write an essay abt the guy Yamaguchi: i mean, no, but… Yamaguchi: u weren’t even this rude to hinata and kageyama. and that’s saying something Tsukishima: they’re also idiots. it was much easier. Yamaguchi: riiiiight… Yamaguchi: well good luck

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Twitter

Tsukishima (private account) all the seats in the room and he has to choose the one right next to me Yamaguchi: did he rly ? → Tsukishima: yes → Yamaguchi: why do i feel like there’s something ur not saying → Tsukishima: it may or may not have been the only open seat → Yamaguchi: yeah there it is

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| Karasuno First-Years | You: omg @/Hinata was that u just now Tsukishima: how many other short redheads go to this school You: at least 10, i would assume Hinata: yeeeeeee that was me !!! You: omg i’m saurrrryyyy!! i recognized u but by the time i processed u waving i was already gone 😭😭 Hinata: don’t worry about itttt 😊 You loved this message. 

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INT. – Karasuno gymnasium, after school. 

You emerge from the locker room in your volleyball gear, stretching your arms a bit and walking over to the guys. Yamaguchi is sitting off to the side with Tsukishima; Hinata and Kageyama are passionately arguing about something; Suga, Daichi, and Asahi are discussing something in hushed tones; and Tanaka and Nishinoya are practicing their rolls. 

You head over to Yamaguchi. 

Yamaguchi Hey! How’d your first day of classes go?

You Oh, it was good. 

Pretty boring, but good. 

Yamaguchi Nice! You like your classes?

You Yeah. Though I was surprised I didn’t see any of you guys in them. 

Tsukishima scoffs, reminding you of his presence. You resist the urge to roll your eyes. 

You (dismissively) You don’t really count. 

Yamaguchi Yeah, I meant to ask, what classes are you taking?

You The basic ones, I think. Um… Accelerated Lit, Bio 102, English 2, Geometry, and Life Studies.

Tsukishima (snorting) Life Studies?

You Yep. It’ll be an Easy A, I’m thinking. 

Yamaguchi Hmmm… We’re in mostly the same classes. That’s weird! Then again, the school’s pretty big, so I guess it makes sense. 

Sorry I didn’t see your message earlier. 

You No, no, I meant to say thanks! You saved my life, dude.

Tsukishima (dryly) Yes, we’re all very grateful for your assistance, Yamaguchi. 

He gets to his feet, seeming to enjoy the few inches of height he has over you. You just ignore him, and he soon walks off to help set up the nets.

Yamaguchi sighs and gives you a sympathetic look. 

Yamaguchi Sorry about him. 

You Don’t be. I mean, you have nothing to apologize for. 

Yamaguchi He’s usually like this with new people. 

Though I’ll admit he seems pretty prickly with you. 

You And I didn’t even do anything to him. 

Unless you count ‘leaving a hole in the block’, as if it isn’t his entire job to close the seam.

Yamaguchi huffs in amusement, crossing his arms over his chest.

Yamaguchi He’ll relax a bit.

…Eventually. 

_______

INTERIOR – Karasuno gymnasium, during boys’ volleyball practice. 

After stretching and some light warm-ups, you separated for some brief positional training before your team moved into serving practice. Now all of you stand on one of the two sides of the court, scattered across the endlines. 

You’ve gotten to the point where you don’t necessarily need a ton of room for your serve, though you prefer having at least a few feet. You have a jump float serve, so at the very least, you take consolation in knowing it requires less space than the average top spin jump serve. 

Somewhere in the casual dispersal of your teammates, you end up near the edge of the far endline—with Tanaka on your left and Tsukishima on your right. Tanaka’s serve can get a little crazy, though he seems more focused on attempting to get an ace on Nishinoya—who is practicing serve-receive on the other side. 

You go through your typical routine, hitting the ball a few times against the ground before moving into your approach and sending a serve into the seam of zones six and one. It’s a good float, and you end up being distracted for a few moments as you stare across the net. 

Tsukishima Do you mind?

You blink and turn to find him waiting to serve. You begrudgingly step out of the way and keep an eye out for any incoming serves, so you can grab a ball and practice some more. Eventually, Asahi sends a serve nearly sailing over your head—well out-of-bounds—and you have another ball. 

For some reason, Tsukishima still hasn’t served. You look over to find him standing there with a scowl. 

Tsukishima You’re in my way. 

You …Then go around. 

Tsukishima I always serve from here. 

You Well maybe you should branch out. 

You proceed to ignore him and go into another serve, tossing it up and sending it to the deep far corner of the court. It lands just past the line. 

Tsukishima That was out. 

You (flatly) Yeah, I got that, thanks.

Tsukishima tosses the ball up for his standing overhand serve, and you watch as it’s lobbed across the net without significant spin or float. 

You (scoffing before you can stop yourself) Are you serious?

Tsukishima What?

You You kicked up such a fuss for me being in your way, and then you serve like that? Not even a jump serve? Girl.

Tsukishima Don’t call me that.

You just turn your back and roll your eyes. 

_______

INT. – Karasuno gymnasium, later that same practice.

Coach Ukai separates you guys into two teams for a makeshift scrimmage. You end up on the same team as Yamaguchi and Hinata, while Tsukishima and Kageyama are across the net. Suga, Asahi, and Kinoshita are also on your side, with Nishinoya, Tanaka, Daichi, and Ennoshita on the other side. It’s a bit of an unconventional setup, but you see what Coach Ukai is trying to do. With Hinata and Kageyama separated, Hinata is challenged to work on his adaptability. 

You’re put in the position of opposite hitter, as you always are. Typically you play backrow for yourself, which means you’re in the game for all six rotations. For this scrimmage, you guys only have six players—so everyone will be in at all times. It doesn’t look like there will be any serving, though—Coach Ukai stands at the sidelines with a ballcart, and he pops the ball into the other team’s side. 

And before long, it begins. 

The first few points have a few shaky digs from your side, which forces Suga to set Asahi more often than not. After you guys start to get into your groove, Hinata manages a standard quick attack—though he’s immediately blocked by Tsukishima. Fortunately, you’d been covering him pretty tightly and you pop the ball up before moving over to the intersection of the ten-foot line and the sideline.

You call for the ball and Suga is quick to deliver, sending a well-placed set just where you want it. You move into your approach and jump, as the huge shadow that is Tsukishima Kei goes to block you alongside Tanaka. Your left arm falls away as you extend your right arm and follow through, the ball hitting the stripe of your palm and shooting across the court towards Kageyama. Tsukishima manages to get a decent hand on the hit, but this also means the ball is ricocheting and moving at an unnatural angle. Kageyama passes the ball up to the center of the court for Nishinoya to move in and pass it to Tanaka. 

You go up to block the cross shot, hands splayed wide as you attempt to cover for Hinata’s somewhat shorter block. He still manages to jump over and close the block in time, though he bumps into you and immediately goes “Sorry!” You reassure him it’s fine, eyes on the court as you backpedal to the ten-foot line and ready for another hit. It’s a bit of an off pass, so Suga sets Asahi and he gets a kill by hitting a cross shot in the deep corner. 

The rallies continue like this for a while, both of your impromptu teams evenly matched. You manage to get a few good touches on Tanaka’s hits, but nothing as solid as a complete block. Meanwhile, Tsukishima is proving to be a pain in the ass to hit against—if only because his arms are so damn long. He managed to stuff your last hit—and that pissed you off, just seeing the smug smirk on his face—so you’re determined to get past him this time. Fortunately, you haven’t hit a line shot through the game yet, instead opting for cross and dragging him closer to the middle of the court. 

This means that, when Suga gives you a perfect set hovering towards the antenna, your line shot is completely free. It’s almost beautiful—Tanaka and Tsukishima both blocking cross, that small gap between their hands and the net… It’s like seeing a light at the end of the tunnel. Nishinoya is playing somewhat lackluster defense at the moment, namely because he hasn’t been hit with a line shot all game. You’re going to change that. 

You pull your arm back and snap your wrist, twisting it to the right as you hit the ball right on the sideline. Nishinoya isn’t expecting it, and though he makes a half-step towards it, it’s too late. You get a kill. Entirely untouched by their defense. 

“Woo!” Hinata yells, his enthusiasm contagious as you high-five your teammates. 

Coach Ukai is quickly sending another ball in, though, giving you zero chance to celebrate. This also prevents you from noticing the darkened scowl on Tsukishima’s face, or the way his eyes track your movements across the court with unnerving precision. 

_______

INT. – A few weeks later, after practice in the gym. 

Practices have been going well, as you start to get the hang of playing with your new teammates. Coach Ukai assures you that you’re doing well, and Daichi is quick to affirm the sentiment. The majority of the other players have warmed up to you, though Tsukishima is still callous and Kageyama remains uninterested in socializing. 

Today’s practice was pretty normal, though Takeda’s unexpected appearance as you all were taking down nets quickly ruined the mood. It wasn’t his fault, of course—but the news he brought with him was particularly troubling: Kageyama and Hinata are failing their classes. 

While the average student may not face too harsh of penalties for lower grades, students in athletics are usually held to a higher standard. You have to be passing all of your classes at a certain grade in order to be eligible for the team, and poor grades could mean suspension from both your sport and, eventually, school altogether. 

It’s kind of a big deal, which is how you end up in a circle across from Kageyama and Hinata—who both look pale as ghosts. Their eyes are wide and they’re clearly panicked. Suga stands next to you, a slight frown on his face as he tries to get more information from them. 

From what they’re saying, it’s clear they don’t care much for the academic part of school. That doesn’t necessarily surprise you—they’ve always seemed like volleyball players first and students second. Unfortunately, those priorities should really be reversed. Volleyball isn’t forever, but academics are. 

Suga Why didn’t you guys go to a tutor?!

Kageyama & Hinata A tutor…?

Suga Yes, someone who can help you. 

Kageyama I don’t want help. 

Hinata Yeah, I don’t even need it!

Tsukishima (muttering to himself) Can’t build on existing knowledge if they don’t even have any. 

You take another look at Kageyama and Hinata, starting to feel a bit bad for them. Hinata is devastated, and Kageyama looks moments from having an aneurysm. 

You …I can help. 

The group turns to look at you. You try your best to ignore it. 

I’m a tutor. 

Tsukishima (skeptical) Since when? You just got here.

You Since a few weeks ago.

Tsukishima scoffs. You turn to Kageyama and Hinata. 

You I tutored at my old school too. I’d be happy to help you guys.

Kageyama still doesn’t look thrilled about it, though it’s clear he’d much rather have you as a tutor than Tsukishima. 

Tsukishima Thought you flunked out of your old school.

You (glaring) No, I didn’t—

Suga (placatingly) That’s a great idea. You can tutor them in their writing and history classes. Tsukishima can help with science and math. 

Tsukishima I never said I would help.

Suga (innocently) I mean, Coach Ukai could just bench you instead. 

Tsukishima (glowering) …Fine.

Suga Perfect!

_______

| Karasuno First-Years | Hinata: my mom said u guys could come over!!!! You liked this message. Yamaguchi: i won’t be able to go, sorry guys :( You: np!! Hinata: dw abt ittttt

_______

INTERIOR – Hinata’s house. 

The four of you—Tsukishima, Kageyama, Hinata, and you—sit at the dining table, notebooks and tablets spread out everywhere. Tsukishima has already drilled into them about their biology and algebra classes, so they’re looking a bit disheartened. You guys all took a break after that, but unfortunately, there’s still work left to be done. Namely, the essay they were both assigned for their literature class. 

Once you’re all back at the table, you’re quick to get back into things. 

You Okay, so for essays, it’s usually easiest to start with an outline and flesh it out from there. I’ve made a general one that you can just fill in. 

It starts with your introduction paragraph, which you can think of as a funnel. Start broad and introduce the topic or problem. Then slowly narrow in, until you get to your thesis statement. Your thesis is what you’re trying to prove, the argument you’re trying to make. 

Kageyama and Hinata are both listening; Tsukishima is staring down at his tablet with an annoyed expression. You try your best to pretend as if he isn’t here. 

You Typically, it’s easiest if your thesis statement has multiple components, because then those components can just serve as the topics of your body paragraphs. 

The body paragraphs are the majority of your essay. For each body paragraph, you want it to be structured in what’s called AEC format. Start with an assertion, provide evidence, then add commentary. 

It doesn’t look like your teacher has a counter argument in the rubric, and the word count’s short, so we can skip that. 

Lastly is the conclusion paragraph. Think of it as an inverted funnel. So you know how we went from broad to specific in the introduction? We’re trying to do the opposite here. You’ll start by restating your thesis, reminding your audience of your argument. Then, you’ll start to expand the scope and end with highlighting the broader implications of your argument. 

Kageyama and Hinata are silent.

You (a bit self-conscious) Sorry, uh… does that make sense? That’s the general structure of an essay; once you understand that, it’s easy to apply it to most prompts.

Hinata Uh… yeah! That makes sense. I think. Maybe.

Kageyama nods.

You Maybe it’ll make more sense with an example. So, with this prompt… 

_______

Twitter

Tsukishima (private account) …

Yamaguchi: what’s up → Tsukishima: he’s not as dumb as i thought → Yamaguchi: he’s smart, you mean → Tsukishima: …unfortunately. → Yamaguchi: whoaaaaa!!!! omg. if ur admitting it then he must be a lowkey genius 😭😭

_______

Twitter

You (private account) tsukishima was glaring at me the whole damn time i was tutoring kageyama and hinata, wtf 😭😭

_______

Twitter

Tsukishima spare me from this idiot fest

You: pls. i was suffering too → Tsukishima: how did you find this account. → You: it was attached to ur number miss girl → Tsukishima: stalker → Tsukishima: also, bold of you to say you were suffering, considering you’re also an idiot. → You: STFU

_______

Twitter 

Yamaguchi (private account) they’re flirting already [suffering.jpg: A screenshot of your recent exchange with Tsukishima in the comments of his post.]

Tanaka: roflllll

_______

INT. – The dining table at Hinata’s house. 

You’re finally nearing the end of your tutoring session when the front door of the house is heard swinging open. The sound of light footsteps grabs Hinata’s attention, and a smile grows on his lips as his little sister Natsu walks into the room. She’s practically a carbon copy of him, down to the red hair and bright grin. 

Natsu Hi, Shoyo!

Hinata Natsu! 

Natsu Who are these people? 

Hinata These are my teammates! This is Kageyama.

Kageyama nods. Natsu looks up at him. 

Natsu Hi! You’re grumpy. 

Hinata And Tsukishima—

Natsu You’re tall. 

Hinata (stifling a laugh before turning to you last) And this is—

You give her a smile. You’re mid-wave when she interjects. 

Natsu (looking at you) You’re pretty. 

You Wh— 

…Uh. Thanks.

Natsu (beaming) You’re welcome!

You feel weirdly flustered. Hinata looks both embarrassed and mildly amused, and he’s quick to apologize to all of you once he ushers Natsu out of the room. 

_______

Twitter

Tsukishima (private account) put me out of my misery

Yamaguchi: i volunteer → Tsukishima: anyone but you → Yamaguchi: as if i’m not the only person on ur priv → Tsukishima: shut up

_______

The following week… 

Twitter

Tsukishima (private account) who actually tries in gym class… 😐

Yamaguchi: not u apparently → Tsukishima: he’s in my gym class → Yamaguchi: who? the new guy? → Tsukishima: yeah. → Yamaguchi: okay… why is that a problem → Tsukishima: because i have to see him. changing in the locker room, in the gymnasium, in my peripheral, across the field, etc. → Yamaguchi: …ok…? → Tsukishima: ugh never. mind. → Yamaguchi: NAUR WAIT → Tsukishima: nope too late i’ve lost my patience → Yamaguchi: fck u 😭😭

_______

Twitter

Nishinoya why tf does the newbie get to hold kiyoko’s lunch

Tanaka: WHAT. → Nishinoya: EXACTLY 

Daichi: Probably because he doesn’t act weird about it. Unlike a certain libero on our team. → Nishinoya: HEY 😭 → Daichi: And he has a name. It’s not “newbie”. → Nishinoya: It is now!!!!!! betrayallllllllll ; (

_______

Twitter

Tsukishima of fucking course.

of fucking course.

Hinata: you good? → Tsukishima: shut up. → Hinata: ok :/ → Tsukishima: you can’t keep a secret to save your life. → Hinata: yes i can!!!!!!!! i never told u yamaguchi was the one who broke ur binder → Tsukishima: what. → Hinata: ahhahahahahahahahahhaa i mean what bye 😄😄😄😄 → Yamaguchi: NAURRRR don’t listen to him

_______

After practice on Thursday… 

| Karasuno VB | You: kiyoko-san i think you left ur bag You: it’s the pastel blue one right Kiyoko: Yes, that one is mine. You: should i grab it or smthg? don’t want it to get stolen + it’ll reek if i put it in our locker room lmao Kiyoko: Can you put it in my hall locker? I’ll send you the combination. You: sure Kiyoko: Thank you. You: ofc! 

_______

{Direct Message} Tanaka: bro Nishinoya: bro Tanaka: bro… Nishinoya: i know bro… i know. Tanaka: WE LOST HER 😭😭😭😭 Nishinoya: it’s not too late we can still fix this Tanaka: how?! Nishinoya: SOMEHOW! Tanaka: lmao Tanaka: u right 

_______

{Direct Message} Kiyoko: My locker’s 2331. The lock combination is 17-33-19. You: kk! i’ll just put ur bag in there then Kiyoko: Thank you. You: np! You: done

_______

INT. – An empty hallway in the school, after your volleyball practice. 

You close Kiyoko’s locker and turn around, only to flinch back into the lockers as you realize Tanaka and Nishinoya are standing right there. You didn’t even notice them walk up.

You Uh, hey, guys.

Tanaka Hey.

Nishinoya (a smirk growing on his face) So… we saw what you just did.

You What, putting Kiyoko-san’s bag back?

Tanaka Yeah.

Nishinoya You know what we want. 

Open the locker for us…!

You …I don’t think that’s a good idea. Plus that’s her stuff.

Tanaka So you were looking?!?

You Well, no, but… I mean. She didn’t give us permission to look.

Nishinoya So?

You So—

Tsukishima Don’t bother.

There’s the sound of footsteps approaching. You turn to find Tsukishima heading over, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his warmup jacket. He doesn’t so much as spare you a glance, instead looking at the wall ahead. 

Tsukishima Stupidity’s contagious, you know. 

Nishinoya Hey!

Tanaka Yeah, hey!! 

Tsukishima Kiyoko-san is not into you.

Tanaka Oof…

Nishinoya Harsh.

Tsukishima rolls his eyes. Tanaka and Nishinoya soon walk off, albeit muttering and casting suspicious glances back at you. 

You take a deep breath and push off from where you’d been unconsciously leaning against Kiyoko’s locker. 

You Thanks.

Tsukishima For what?

You Helping.

Tsukishima gives you a sharp look.

You Fine, whatever. Never mind. 

You adjust your volleyball bag on your shoulders and head down the hallway towards the parking lot. To your surprise, Tsukishima follows you. His long strides eat up the distance between you, despite your quick walking pace. 

You Do you have a problem with me?

Tsukishima (dryly) Several.

You No, I’m serious. Why don’t you like me?

Tsukishima Why do I need to?

You You don’t. 

But it seems like you didn’t even bother getting to know me first. You just hated me from the beginning.

Tsukishima scoffs, muttering about dramatics. He looks askance and murmurs something indistinguishable.

You What?

Tsukishima (impatiently) I don’t hate you.

You (skeptical) You… don’t. 

Tsukishima You’re incredibly annoying—

You Wow, thanks.

Tsukishima (interjecting) —but I don’t hate you. 

You Oh. 

…Okay. 

Tsukishima That doesn’t mean I like you.

He scoffs. You just look away, not trusting yourself to say anything more. It’s quiet for a while.

Tsukishima Why’d you come here?

You My dad got a new job.

Tsukishima In the middle of nowhere.

You Yeah, I know. 

He’s a manager at an engineering plant.

Tsukishima Ah. That makes a bit more sense.  

_______

Twitter

You #8 :) (mirrorpic.jpg: A selfie in the mirror of you in your jersey.)

Kuroo: SOBS they grow up so fast → Kenma: -_-

_______

INT. — Nekoma dorm, Nekoma High School. After a hectic day of scrimmages at summer camp, the teams are all left to some relaxation and free time in the evening. You decide to visit the Nekoma guys, since you hadn’t seen them since you left. 

Now you sit next to Kenma as he plays something on his Switch. The two of you are sitting close together on his bed, as you occasionally look over his shoulder to spectate. 

You —Anyway, I just hate that it’s turned into overpriced nostalgia baiting. Like, why would I pay eighty dollars for a less sophisticated version of Animal Crossing?

Kenma nods.

You Are you getting the Switch 2?

He shakes his head.

Yeah, me neither. $450 is crazy. Plus my Switch still works just fine. Knock on wood. 

Kenma …

How are you liking the new team?

You Oh, they’re great. It definitely took some getting used to in the beginning.

I still miss you guys, though.

Kuroo suddenly heads over and falls onto the bed next to you. Kenma gives Kuroo a brief glare at the movement, before returning his attention to his game. Kuroo shoots you a lopsided smile, straightening up and wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

Kuroo We miss you too. Had ya for a few seconds and then boom! Stolen from right under our noses.

You I know, I’m sorry.

Kuroo sighs dramatically. 

Before he can say more, the door is creaking open. Tsukishima stands in the doorway. His eyes flit around the room before finding you. Then they narrow. He pays you a dismissive glance. 

Tsukishima Daichi wants everyone back by 9.

He exits the room as quickly as he came, though you can still see him lingering in the hallway. 

You sigh and hug your friends goodbye, before reluctantly exiting into the brisk air of the hall. You shove your hands in the pockets of your sweatshirt and fight off a chill as you follow after Tsukishima, who seems intent on leaving you in the dust. 

_______

| Cool Cats | Kuroo: @/You blondie’s definitely into u, just thought u should know You: what You: tsukishima? Kuroo: whoever the beanpole was who came in and stole you from us 😠😷 You: lmao You: he’s definitely not into me You: he hates me Kuroo: wait. wait wait wait wait wait. Kuroo: that’s the guy who hated you in the beginning??? You: yeah You: well apparently he doesn’t hate me anymore, but that “doesn’t mean he likes me” You: i mean ig i’ll take it 😐 Kenma: no u won’t You: yk i will i’m a people pleaser Kenma: ye and he seems like a dick You: i mean, to be fair, so does kuroo Kuroo: HEY Kenma: *seems* like Kuroo: … Kuroo: i’ll allow it. Kuroo: but ur on thin ice 

_______

INT. – Nekoma summer camp. 

Your team is scrimmaging against Shinzen. You’re up 18 to 16, but you’ve been stuck in this rotation for a few points too many. This server’s pretty good, his top spin serve always aimed at the seams or edges of the court. 

He holds the ball out in his left palm, before flipping it up and going through his approach to send the ball rocketing across the net. Nishinoya manages to get his arms under the serve, but his platform is facing the wrong way, and it sends the ball skewing off to the far right side of the court. Immediately, you know Kageyama won’t be able to get to it—he’s playing front row right now, and was just blocking. 

You’re still in serve-receive, though. You’re the closest to the ball.  

“I go, I go, I go,” you call quickly. You’re running for the ball, which is swiftly careening way out of bounds and towards your sidelines. There’s a chaotic scramble as your teammates leave the bench and give you a clear path to the ball. It’s moving faster than you think, and with your eyes on the ball, it’s impossible to get a real sense of your surroundings. You don’t really get your bearings until after you’re popping the ball up behind you, at which point your momentum is sending you lurching forwards. 

And the bench is quite literally right there. 

You just barely manage to catch yourself before tripping forward and faceplanting, getting a hand on the bench and promptly turning to run back to the court. Asahi is sending a free ball over to the other side, passing it high enough to give you some time to get back into defense. 

And the game continues. 

_______

Twitter

Tsukishima (private account) almost tripped over the bench and broke his face. it’s not that serious.

Yamaguchi: if i didn’t know better i’d think this account was a stan account for him :3 → Tsukishima: but you do know better. → Yamaguchi: ehhhhhh… do i? → Yamaguchi: cmon u have to admit,,, it was a great save → Tsukishima: i don’t *have* to do anything. 

_______

INT. – Wakutani Minami High, a few weeks later. In between matches of the tournament, the Karasuno team is scattered across the ugly carpeted flooring of one of the school’s many hallways. Most of you are either conversing with one another; stretching or attempting to stay warmed up; or focused on your phones. 

You’re reclined on the floor, shoes flat on the ground and legs slightly bent as you set a ball up and down. You typically do four short sets and then a longer one, occasionally switching up the order or height of the set. Quick, quick, quick, quick, long— 

The ball doesn’t come back down. You squint through the fluorescent lighting to find Tsukishima standing over you, the ball in his hand. 

You …Can I have that back?

Tsukishima No. 

It’s annoying. 

You …Okay. 

Put earbuds in, then. 

Tsukishima (clarifying) You are annoying. 

You (wryly) Well, I apologize for my existence, truly. 

Tsukishima The ground is filthy, you realize. 

You sigh and begrudgingly push yourself up into a sitting position, looking up at him flatly. 

You Satisfied?

He stares down at you. You hold out a hand expectantly. He ignores it. 

Tsukishima Pepper with me. 

You (disbelieving) You want me to pepper with you. 

Tsukishima … Never mind. 

You No, no, let’s do it.

You get to your feet. 

Just amazed you’re even interested. Maybe it’s a full moon or something. 

Tsukishima and you end up doing some light peppering in the hall, which is a bit difficult with the low ceilings. You pass, he sets, you send a roll back to him; he passes, you set, he tips. And so on and so forth. It’s just peppering. Nothing serious. 

And yet. 

You’ve never once seen Tsukishima touch a volleyball during a break.

Though it starts off as peppering, it quickly turns into that kind of low-effort peppering where the passes are lazy, the sets are one-handed, and the hits become half-hearted tips. At one point, you stick an arm out and pass the ball with one arm, sending it right to Tsukki’s hands. He proceeds to set it to you, and then you tip it nonchalantly. 

From there, it’s almost a miracle the ball is still in the air at all. You hit it with your knuckles to set the ball; Tsukki is barely even moving his arms. Neither of you have even budged from your positions. Just as you’re starting to actually enjoy the companionable silence… 

Tsukki tips it. And not towards your waiting arms, but directly in front of him. At his feet. Short enough that you would have to dive for it. 

You stick a foot out lazily. Predictably, you don’t make it. Tsukishima raises an eyebrow at the nonexistent effort of the movement. 

Feeling the need to explain yourself, you huff. “What?” you say. “I’m not diving on carpet.” 

“Lazy,” he chides you. Though he still crouches down to palm the ball, before tossing it back up to you and sending it back into motion. This time, you don’t hesitate to hit it at him—not necessarily an impossible hit, but it’s clear he didn’t expect it, because it goes soaring past him and rolling down the hall. 

“You’re getting that,” you declare. 

“No, I’m not,” Tsukishima scoffs. 

You’re staring at each other for a long moment, before you’re groaning and admitting defeat, trudging down the hall like you’ve just been told to run a mile. You reach the ball and hum, turning around to look at Tsukishima. He’s a good distance down the hall. 

“Bet I can serve it from here,” you remark. 

He responds with a scoff. “Ceiling’s too low.” 

“Try me,” you say, before getting on your knees and tossing it up for an overhand serve. You manage to hit it back to him, and he pops it before proceeding to pepper by himself. You blink and get to your feet, starting to head back to him when he tips it again. 

He gives you some time, but you’re still a good several footsteps away. You cuss and run forward, managing to get an open palm under it and pop it up into the air. It goes up… 

And of course, Tsukishima is incapable of being anything but a dick, and his arm is reeling back to hit it back at you hard. You thank your instincts for telling you to turn, and you manage to whip around and dig the ball back up to him. 

“Seriously?” you say aloud. Tsukishima ignores you, just setting the ball back to you. This time, you take particular delight in rolling the ball in front of you and forcing him to dive for it. But his arms are stupidly long, and he somehow manages to get a hand under it and pop it up. “That’s not fair,” you scoff, before hitting it down at him again. Tsukishima throws an arm out and it bounces off the lockers before reaching him again. 

Just as you start to find rhythm again, Yamaguchi is turning the corner and heading over to you both. “There you guys are,” he says. “The other game’s going fast, we should get back.” 

And so the three of you head back to the court, where the game before yours is quickly winding down. You try your best to pay attention and catalog the team’s various strengths and weaknesses, though Tsukishima’s presence at your side is a bit distracting. 

_______

Twitter

Yamaguchi (private account) I’m not saying i feel betrayed but i did walk in on my pepper partner with someone else : ( 

Tsukishima: you’re so dramatic. → Yamaguchi: the amount of times i’ve asked you to pepper or just fuck around and pass outside of games/warmups… and you’ve always said no… SOBS → Tsukishima: you’re so unserious → Yamaguchi: lmfaooo u caught me → Yamaguchi: i mean. :’ (  the betrayal

_______

{Direct Message} 28 more texts above. [Expand] You: i knowwww,, ridiculous Kenma: well good luck at ur game tho Kenma: don’t do too well You: LMFAOOOO You: ty 🖤 Kenma: yw

[A few minutes later…]

Kenma: u won’t believe it Kenma: u literally wnt Kenma: guess what i got Kenma: starts with s Kenma: ends with hiny eevee Kenma: in legends az Kenma: (shinyeevee.jpg) Kenma: shiny sylveon methinks You: stop spam texting him during warmups. Kenma: ?

_______

{Direct Message} Kenma: any idea what this means (spamtexting.jpg: A screenshot of your recent conversation with Kenma.) Kuroo: wtf Kuroo: that doesn’t make sense Kuroo: why’s he referring to himself in the third person lmao Kenma: ya idk Kuroo: wait Kuroo: maybe someone else took his phone to text that Kenma: o Kenma: that makes sense actually Kuroo: yEa wait til he’s done w the tournament then ask

_______

Fast forward to that evening… 

{Direct Message} Kenma: u good? You: yeah why Kenma: scroll up You: k You: wait wtf You: that wasn’t me 😭😭 identity theft 😭 Kenma: i was confused You: ohhh yk what You: tsukishima was bitching abt my phone vibrating every five seconds You: i left it in our water bottle bin by accident Kenma: ah he probably sent that then You: ig so You: sry! i don’t mind at all if u text during warmups or games or whatever Kenma: kk same here You: cool! Kenma: how’d the tournament go otherwise You: oh, it was good! we went 3-1 You: our schedule was absolute ASS tho Kenma: what was it You: ref play ref play off play play Kenma: that does suck omg Kenma: nightmare schedule Kenma: reffing right away is nightmarish You: I KNOW WE HAD TO GRT THERE SO FUCKING EARLY JUST TO REF LIKE WTF You: i understand getting there early to play but why did we have to get there at 7:15 if we were reffing at 8 You: the bus damn near left at 6am Kenma: did u do score or smthg easy at least You: NOPE You: NOPEEEEEE You: i did book for the first game, which went to 3. and then libero tracking for the first set of the second game we reffed Kenma: eeeeeesh Kenma: only one set off is crzy You: ya i was v tired by the last match Kenma: r u the only one who knows how to do book on ur team >? You: no, daichi does too You: but that’s IT!!! even tsukishima only knows libero, not even book You: unless he was lying… which is very possible You: damn it fuck shit bitch FUCK Kenma: (⊙_⊙) You: sry im so tired 😭😭😭 Kenma: np You: how’d ur day go Kenma: it was good. we only had morning practice. You: luckyyyyy Kenma: not too late to transfer back You: i wish You: karasuno’s out in the middle of nowhere so our bus rides to other schools always take forever You: sry lemme quit complaining. You: i’m gonna shower and nap and collapse. thx for keeping me sane Kenma: not sure if i deserve thx for that but yw 

_______

| Karasuno First-Years | Tsukishima: some nerd left his geometry notebook on the bus You: FUCK ME BRO Yamaguchi: woah Hinata: i think i know whose it is 😅 You: ughhhhhh You: pls tell me u grabbed it You: @/Tsukishima PLEASE Tsukishima: … i grabbed it You: THANK YOU JESUS Tsukishima: …and threw it away You: liar You: lying liar who lies Tsukishima: i’m not lying. You: you better be. Yamaguchi: he is Tsukishima: shut up. You: if you don’t have my notebook in hand at practice tmrw it’s over Tsukishima: what’s over You: you. your existence on this earth Tsukishima: yeah right shorty You: bruh i’m average height ???? ur like 4 inches taller than me ?? max?? Tsukishima: five. You: i h8 u fr Tsukishima: it’s okay, i know you’re insecure about it. You: 😐 Tsukishima: short guys matter too You: IM NOT EVEN SHORT

_______

Twitter 

Youi would like it on record that tsukishima kei is a LIAR. (notebook.jpg: A picture of you holding your geometry notebook, the floor of the school gymnasium visible beneath it.)

Tsukishima: rude → Tsukishima: also, tweeting about me? ur obsessed → You: u wish → You: i’m just informing the people of ur crimes → Tsukishima: judging by the state of your notes, your geometry grade is what needs your attention → You: fck off i have a 97 that’s fake news → Tsukishima: 97 out of 200? → You: 😐 → You: clap if you’ve ever wanted to kill somebody → You: 👏 → You: alright, let’s move on. → Tsukishima: nerd

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Twitter

Yamaguchi tsukki keeps smiling at his phone should i be scared 

You: he’s probably watching black market gore videos, i wouldn’t worry about it → Tsukishima: what are you doing here → You: uh… idk → Tsukishima: cease. → You: no

Tsukishima: you should be scared, because this is not your private account. → Yamaguchi: i’m aware. → Tsukishima: …

_______ {Direct Message} Tsukishima: you did that on purpose Tsukishima: you knew he’d see it Yamaguchi: i will neither confirm nor deny Yamaguchi: but yes Yamaguchi: yw 😇

_______

| Karasuno VB | Daichi: After speaking with Coach Ukai, we have determined that practice on Saturday morning will be cancelled. You: oh thank you lord jesus god Tsukishima: the amount of religious references you make as an atheist is concerning You: good. be concerned. You: anyways THANK YOU GOD (daichi) 😭😭 Tsukishima: i’m starting to think he’s getting too comfortable. You: i’m literally right here Tsukishima: and? Suga: it is nice that practice is cancelled You emphasized this message. Hinata: NOOOOOOOOO 😭😭😭😭 Suga: it’s okay, hinata. you’ll survive one day without volleyball. Hinata: i WON’T 😔😕

_______

INT. – Tsubakihara Academy, concessions stand. 

You fight off a yawn as you stand in line, a blueberry muffin in hand. This school must be drowning in money, because the air-conditioning is cranked up to the max. It’s freezing. You think you have goosebumps underneath your warmup clothes. 

Cashier Anything else for you? 

You Nope, that’s it. 

You dig your hands in your pockets and find your wallet, pulling it out. Just before you can get some cash, there’s a blur of movement beside you and some sort of sports drink is placed next to your muffin. You look over to find Tsukishima walking off. 

Cashier (confused) …Um… 

You (resigned) And that too, I guess. 

He’s on my team. 

Cashier Ah, got it. Okay, total’s $5. 

You Thanks. 

You head back over to your teammates, who are gathered around a large circular table. You slide Tsukishima’s drink across the table and settle next to Kageyama. 

Tsukishima is looking at you. Really looking. He’s staring at you rather intently, as if waiting for you to do something. You frown. Eventually, he lets out an annoyed exhale and looks pointedly at your phone. You grab your phone. 

_______

{Direct Message} Tsukishima: thanks

You raise an eyebrow at Tsukishima, who is now looking askance. You fight off the urge to laugh. You’re literally sitting at the same table—he could’ve just said that aloud. You want to make fun of him for it, but you resist the temptation and respond. 

You: np

_______

Twitter

You can’t wait to go home and rotttt

Kenma: wanna play minecraft → You: yk i do → You: but also if i don’t respond after this shower then i fell asleep → Kenma: k

Tsukishima: given your appearance today, i would’ve thought you were already rotting → You: thx for the input bud → Tsukishima: don’t call me that → You: wtf am i supposed to call you then → Tsukishima: new idea: Don’t. → You: i can;’t win

_______

Twitter

Tsukishima (private account) he doesn’t notice the way people look at him and it pisses me off 

like, yes, half of the last team was drooling over you and you didn’t. even. notice. idiot. 

Yamaguchi: oh? → Tsukishima: am i wrong? exactly. → Yamaguchi: u didn’t even give me a chance to answer → Yamaguchi: but no u aren’t → Yamaguchi: i saw terushima hitting on him and kiyoko lmao → Tsukishima: what. → Yamaguchi: u didn’t see? → Tsukishima: how would i have seen that → Yamaguchi: ur always watching him → Tsukishima: no, i am not. → Tsukishima: the tongue piercing weirdo was hitting on him? → Yamaguchi: seemed like it, yeah.

_______

| Karasuno First-Years | Tsukishima: @/You i don’t want to be invited to your shitty hot topic dark academia pinterest aesthetic ass wedding with the piercing freak You: huh You: what You: since when am i getting married You: and bold of u to assume u’d be invited Tsukishima: please. as if you haven’t been desperate for my friendship since the first day you got here. You: ???? You: what happened to hello? how are you? my name is??? 

_______

{Direct Message} Yamaguchi: it isn’t working. whatever ur doing Yamaguchi: ur just making it worse Tsukishima: what am i supposed to say Yamaguchi: what do you feel? Tsukishima: annoyed. Yamaguchi: ok… Tsukishima: so i’m expressing my annoyance Yamaguchi: but who’s irritating you? Yamaguchi: him? Tsukishima: yes. Yamaguchi: are u sure? Tsukishima: obviously. Yamaguchi: alr then 🧍 Yamaguchi: since u clearly have it all figured out, i will get out of ur hair

_______

| Cool Cats | You: guys You: what does this mean (wedding.jpg: A screenshot of your conversation with Tsukishima in the group chat.) Kuroo: woahhhhh Kenma: that’s… interesting You: wtf did i do You: i was just existing Kenma: lmao who’s the ‘piercing freak’ You: terushima, i guess? the captain of johzenji Kuroo: what does he have to do with anything You: i mean, he was talking to me after our game You: well. You: he wasn’t taking any of the hints kiyoko-san was dropping so i went over to try to distract him Kenma: and that didn’t work, clearly You: i guess not You: look 💀 (followrequest.jpg: A screenshot of a notification banner at the top of your screen, reading: Terushima Yuuji has requested to follow you.) Kuroo: LMAOOOO You: tsukishima’s message doesn’t really make sense to me, because he wasn’t even there when it happened Kenma: sounds like he’s jls Kuroo: what now Kenma: jls You: …? Kenma: sigh. jealous. he’s jealous. You: jealous of terushima??? no way Kuroo: yeah that is what it seems like Kenma: i’m nvr wrng abt these things You: except all the times you’re wrong Kenma: shhhh You: i feel like i’ve done something wrong, somehow?? even tho i haven’t??? Kuroo: you’ve done nothing wrong Kenma: ^ Kuroo: no apologies needed 😷 torment his ass You: i’m not trying to torment anyoneeeee 😭😭😭

_______

| Karasuno First-Years | You: i don’t even believe in marriage You: ok wtf am i doing, i don’t need to explain myself

_______

Twitter

You (private account) idk what’s happening anymore 

_______

The following week… 

| Karasuno VB | Daichi: I forgot to mention in practice, but please wear Karasuno spirit wear at school tomorrow. Tanaka: u got it Nishinoya: okkkkkayyyyy Hinata: yes, captain 🫡🫡 Suga: @/Kageyama @/Tsukishima that includes you Kageyama: Okay Tsukishima: …fine Yamaguchi: good job tsukki Tsukishima: fck off Yamaguchi: ;) You: hypothetically speaking if i hypothetically only have one sweatshirt and it is currently in the wash and it hypothetically needs to be air dried and it’s You: whoops hit send my bad You: —HYPOTHETICALLY inaccessible what do i do Daichi: We had extras in the storage closet last season, but I believe they’re gone now. You: damn well rip Suga: check the lost and found? You: yeah i can do that tmrw morning Tanaka: just wear ur jersey bro 💪 Nishinoya: OIIII YEAH WE SHOULD DO THAT Tsukishima: why are you yelling Nishinoya: SHUT UP Nishinoya: but we should do that cause that’s what the basketball team does Daichi: Maybe next time. Daichi: For now, plan on rooting through the lost and found tomorrow @/You You: kk 

_______

{Direct Message} Yamaguchi: tsukki Tsukishima: no. Yamaguchi: i didn’t even say anything… Tsukishima: i know what you were going to say and the answer is no Yamaguchi: aw comeon, you don’t really want him wearing moldy lost and found clothes do u Tsukishima: i would quite enjoy that, actually. Yamaguchi: ofc you would… Yamaguchi: but you know damn well you don’t need two of the same sweatshirt Yamaguchi: you can lend it to him and then he’ll wash it and give it back Tsukishima: that sounds like a lot of work. Yamaguchi: being nice? Tsukishima: yes. Tsukishima: quite burdensome. Yamaguchi: fine, fine. Yamaguchi: i’ll just do it for you Tsukishima: NO

_______

| Karasuno VB | Yamaguchi: tsukki has an extra karasuno vb sweatshirt u can wear You: ooh fr? Yamaguchi: yes You: @/Tsukishima is that true and more importantly are you willing to lend it to me Tsukishima: yes and no You: sounds about right Daichi: Tsukishima… Tsukishima: Tsukishima: Tsukishima: Kinoshita: the typing symbol’s been there the past ten minutes lmao Yamaguchi: SHH don’t scare him Kinoshita: lol Tsukishima: Tsukishima: …………fine. Tsukishima: @/You get so much as one stain or speck of lint on it and you’re dead. You: yayyy ty! Tsukishima: the correct response is ‘i understand’ You: 🙄 shut up Daichi: Boys. You: eep Tsukishima: … 

_______

Twitter

Tsukishima (private account) if i don’t get that sweatshirt back i will be furious

Yamaguchi: pls you haven’t even worn it yet → Tsukishima: so? → Yamaguchi: SO stop being a baby 

_______

Twitter

You game day! :3 (selfie.jpg: A selfie of you in Tsukishima’s Karasuno sweatshirt, flashing a peace sign.)

Tsukishima: i see a stain on the right wrist → You: u just made me waste five minutes looking for an invisible stain in this pic u asshole

_______

Twitter

Kinoshita (private account) first-year beef goes crazy. tsukishima is throwing a hissy fit about the transfer borrowing his sweatshirt

Ennoshita: he was glaring holes into the back of his head for the whole bus ride lol

_______

Twitter

You anyone know where to get cheap karasuno spirit wear? asking for a friend who is definitely not me

Tsukishima: you could’ve been asking this last night. before my sacrifice. → You: sacrifice??? bffr → Tsukishima: i am. i’ll never be able to wear that sweatshirt again → You: oh pls i washed it and everything → Tsukishima: unless a new superpowered bleach was invented, i’m not interested → Tsukishima: just keep it. → You: wait rly??? → Tsukishima: ugh. → You: TYYYYYYYYY → Tsukishima: don’t be obnoxious about it. 

_______

Twitter

Yamaguchi (private account) Did something just happen

Tsukishima: no → Yamaguchi: now i know something did → Yamaguchi: u didn’t even take the opportunity to insult me just now → Tsukishima: you’re stupid → Yamaguchi: yeah no it’s too late for that buster

_______

| Karasuno First-Years | You: @/Kageyama can u walk home w me You: i have a shit ton to carry and ur house is like a street down from mine Kageyama: … Kageyama: No. You: oh that’s horseshit You: we literally leave at the same time and i always see u walking ahead of me Kageyama: So? You: SO you should help me carry my stuff Hinata: cmon bakeyama Kageyama: No You: what did u get on ur essay for lit Kageyama: 85 You: and why did you get a good grade, hm Kageyama: Fine. You: thank you

_______

EXTERIOR – The sidewalk lining the street. Kageyama and you walk home carrying your stuff. 

You Thanks for your help. I didn’t want to have to take two trips.

Kageyama marks an assentive noise. Then he frowns. 

Kageyama Why is Tsukishima following us?

You turn around and squint. Sure enough, in the distance, you can see Tsukishima walking behind you guys. 

You I don’t know.

Kageyama You guys are weird.

You He’s the weird one, not me. 

Kageyama …True.

Still. It’s weird. 

You Tell me about it. 

You speak a bit quieter, just in case he’s listening. 

He acted like he hated me for a while there—for literally no reason. And now we’re at this weird spot where it feels like we’re friends. But at the same time, he doesn’t seem like the type to do… friends. So… I don’t know. 

Kageyama nods, a contemplative expression on his face. You continue heading down the street, until you finally see your house. As promised, Kageyama carries your stuff up to the door before setting it down with surprising delicacy. 

You Thanks, seriously. 

Kageyama Sure.

He’s quick to walk off and head toward his own house. Meanwhile you fumble in the pockets of your sweatshirt for your keys, eyebrows furrowing as you don’t find them. They’re not in any of your pockets, or your backpack, or your bags… 

You Shit.

Tsukishima Looking for these?

He holds up your keys.

You Yes, oh my God. 

Thank you so much. 

You reach for them and he pulls them back. 

You Come on. I really don’t want to do this right now. 

Tsukishima arches a brow but hands your keys over. 

You (relieved) Thanks. 

You didn’t have to follow us the whole way, you know. Could’ve just texted or something. 

Tsukishima It was on the way. 

You I’ve never seen you walk this way before.

Tsukishima Then you weren’t looking hard enough, clearly. 

You Okay, whatever. 

Anyway. Thanks, dude. 

Tsukishima Whatever. 

He walks off without another word. 

_______

Twitter

You (private account) was i just indirectly walked home 🤨

Kuroo: knowing you, it was probably direct. → You: HEY. → Kuroo: just sayinnnnn, you never notice until it’s too late → You: what r u saying → Kuroo: nothinnnnn → You: -_- → Kuroo: not like someone at nekoma was flirting w u and u didn’t even notice or anything → You: WHAT → Kuroo: LMAOOO jk → You: i hate u → Kuroo: love u too

_______

Spotify

tsukishimakei is currently listening to Jealous by Eyedress. 

yamstadashi is currently listening to About You by the 1975.

You are currently listening to Ring Ring Ring by Tyler, the Creator.

_______

| Karasuno First-Years | Tsukishima: there’s no accounting for lack of taste (spotify.jpg: A screenshot of your, Tsukishima’s, and Yamaguchi’s profiles on Spotify with the songs you’re currently listening to.) Yamaguchi: don’t fall for it You: EXCUSE ME Yamaguchi: nvm You: keep my husband’s name out ur fuckin mouth Tsukishima: tyler the creator You: SHHHHH You: and lack of taste? that’s ironic, coming from the one who’s stuck on 2022 tiktok music Tsukishima: says the one who thinks melanie martinez is an underground artist You: MELANIE MARTINEZ IS A NATIONAL TREASURE AND I WILL NOT TOLERATE ANY SLANDER, LIBEL, OR MISINFORMATION Yamaguchi: ok true You: thank you You: just for that i’m listening to cupcakke Tsukishima: is that supposed to be a threat You: have you ever listened to her music Tsukishima: You: yeah listen to a song then come back to me flop Yamaguchi: not flop 😭😭 Tsukishima: @/You why do you have a playlist called pissing in a hot topic You: omfg are you stalking my spotify You: SOTP THAT Tsukishima: it’s not stalking. it’s public information. You: STFU EVERYONE LOOK AWAY RIGHT NEOW Tsukishima: no one was looking in the first place, because no one cares. You: well u were, so clearly u do Yamaguchi: oop Hinata: @/You add me on spotifyyyyyyy! [link] 🌞🌞🌞🌞 You: omg yessss, just did You: if u see a playlist and then it’s gone, dw abt it Hinata: wait you do have a playlist called pissing in a hot topic 🤨🤔 You: I SAID DW ABT IT 😭😭😭😭 it’s a reference 😭😭 Kageyama: A reference to what ? You: not you too 😭 everyone look away

_______

Twitter

Yamaguchi i don’t think tsukki realizes that insulting the person you like doesn’t indicate interest to them

You: he does give the vibes of someone who would bully their crush in grade school and steal their water bottle and shit → Tsukishima: speaking from personal experience? → You: as a victim of water bottle theft, yes → You: and actually, it wasn’t grade school. it was a few months ago → Tsukishima: every new thing i learn about you makes me lose more respect for you. → You: ok but u never had respect for me in the first place → Tsukishima: we’ve been in the negatives since the beginning. → You: damn 😭😭

Tsukishima: dms

_______

{Direct Message} Yamaguchi: wassup Tsukishima: why. Did. you. Not. post. That. on. Your. private. Account. Yamaguchi: i thought i did…? Tsukishima: no, you did not Yamaguchi: OH SHIT mY B

_______

Twitter

Yamaguchi THAT LAST TWEET DON”T LOOK AT IT DON”T TOUCH IT LEAVE IT ALONE I MEANT TO SAY>>> UHHH…>>> NOT TSUKKI. SOMEONE ELSE WHOSE NAME STARTS WITH A T

You: r u good 😭 → Yamaguchi: NO IM NOT → You: i mean mood but should i be worried → Yamaguchi: THANK YOU BUT NO IM FINE JSUT NOT FINE

_______

{Direct Message} Tsukishima: were you invited to the shiratorizawa camp You: no, don’t think so Tsukishima: hmph Tsukishima: who’s the flop now You: AYO 😭⁉️

_______

INT. – Karasuno gymnasium, at a water break.

Coach Ukai Huddle up. Before I forget… 

I’m sure some of you are already aware, but a few of you were invited to training camps over the next week or two. 

Tsukishima will be heading to the first-years training camp at Shiratorizawa. Congratulations. 

There’s some scattered applause, quickly quelled by Tsukishima’s glare. 

Coach Ukai And we had two players invited to the All-Japan Youth Training Camp. 

He says your name followed by Kageyama’s. Your teammates clap supportively. You feel Tsukishima’s eyes boring into the side of your face, but you do your best to ignore it. 

After the congratulations, you guys return to practice. The current drill has Ukai or Kiyoko throwing the ball in for the hitters, who pass it to Kageyama or Suga before going directly into their approach. You guys split into opposite sides of the court, and you end up near the back of the line. 

Tsukishima (from behind you) All-Japan?

You (turning to look at him) Oh, hey. Yeah.

Tsukishima is silent. 

You What?

Tsukishima You didn’t think to mention that you were invited to another camp. 

You Well, I didn’t want to be rude. You just asked about the Shiratorizawa camp.

Tsukishima gives you such a flat look that it morphs into a glare. You just give him an awkward grimace-smile back. 

You’re spared from further conversation by Kiyoko throwing the ball in for you; you pass it up to Kageyama and soon forget about the awkward interaction with Tsukishima. 

_______

| Karasuno First-Years | Yamaguchi: @/Kageyama @/You you guys make it to the train okay? You: yep! thanks for all your help, yamaguchi! Yamaguchi: no problem! go kick some ass hehe You: i’ll certainly try Tsukishima: and fail You: thanks for the vote of confidence 😐 Yamaguchi: tsukki… come onnnn, this is a big accomplishment for them!!! all-japan !!!!!!!!! You: it’s fine don’t force it You: thx again, yamaguchi 🖤 Yamaguchi: np <3

_______

Twitter

You these chairs hurt my ass

Tsukishima: riveting update. glad to hear you’re learning at this training camp → You: thx just thought u should know

_______

Twitter

You zero likes and i’ll drag atsumu’s snoring ass into the hallway and lock him out of our room

Atsumu Miya: NEOOOOOO DON’T → You: stop snoring then → Atsumu Miya: i can’t help it, i was born this way 😔 → You: well fix it

→ You: u have me wearing noise-cancelling headphones with white noise and everything → Atsumu Miya: damn fr?? My b → You: sigh

Osamu Miya: i sincerely apologize but also thank you for the freedom → You: lmaoooo

_______

Twitter

You thanks, everyone! 🖤 (trainingcamp.jpg: A group picture of you and all the training camp participants. You’re smiling and throwing up a peace sign, while Atsumu has an arm around your shoulders. Sakusa and Kageyama stand off to the sides, respectively; Hoshiumi is reclined across the ground in the middle of the picture; and Komori is smiling with wide eyes.)

Atsumu Miya: greet to meetcha! let’s hang sometime 💪 → You: for sure!

Hoshiumi: ur an awesome player, dude! → You: right back at youuu!

Komori: nice to meet you, and best of luck with your season! → You: same to you!

Sakusa Kiyoomi: I guess you’re not so bad. → You: aweeee thanks kiyoomi 🫣 → Sakusa Kiyoomi: Don’t get too excited. 

Tsukishima: i see you still haven’t learned how to pose for pictures → You: stfu

_______

Twitter

Tsukishima why do people use so many exclamation points

You: …is this a read → Tsukishima: what makes you think this was about you → You: …ok…  good… 

_______

Twitter

Tsukishima (private account) i think i want him

Yamaguchi: holy fucking hsit → Yamaguchi: you’re supposed to TEXT ME THIS not LEAVE ME TO READ IT IN THE MIDDLE OF CLASS → Tsukishima: oops → Yamaguchi: EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE → Tsukishima: this is why i don’t tell you things

_______

INT. – Karasuno gymnasium, a morning practice on the weekend before school goes back into session. 

You shove your hands in the pocket of your jacket and head over to the gymnasium doors. They creak open upon your arrival, and you make your way to the bleachers. Several of your teammates are already getting ready; you exchange waves with the third-years, who are studiously setting up the nets. Tanaka and Nishinoya are busy passing the ball back and forth over the divider where the net should be. 

It’s business as usual. You feel relieved and, honestly, happy. When you head into the locker room to get your gear ready, you’re unsurprised to find the rest of your fellow first-years. They all look over as the door swings open, and Hinata gives you a bright wave; Kageyama nods at you stoically; Yamaguchi smiles. Tsukishima doesn’t even turn his head. 

You (with a happy but somewhat awkward smile) Hey, guys.

You head over to your locker, dropping your bag on the nearby bench. 

Yamaguchi Welcome back! How was Tokyo? 

You Thanks! It was good. 

Hinata I like your hair! It looks cool. 

For a few months now, you’ve been growing your hair out. It started as you being too busy to get a haircut on the weekends, but before long you just decided you liked it a bit longer. It’s barely even at your shoulders—just long enough to tie back out of your face. 

You Thanks, Hinata. I didn’t feel like getting a haircut, so. 

You head over to your locker and put your bag inside, before taking your sweatpants off and starting to get your gear on. It’s quiet for a moment. 

You How’d things go here? 

Yamaguchi Oh, fine. 

Hinata snuck into the Shiratorizawa camp. 

You pause in the middle of fixing your left ankle brace. 

You (amused) You seriously snuck in? 

You look over at Hinata, who’s about to speak, when Tsukishima interjects. He’d been standing stiffly at his locker until now, showing no indication of even listening to the conversation. But he must’ve been. 

Tsukishima He seriously did. It was embarrassing. 

Hinata (huffing) It was not!

You It does seem weird that you weren’t invited, Hinata. 

Hinata Thank you!

Coach Washijo doesn’t like short players. 

You (frowning) That’s a bit… antiquated of him. Considering your vertical. 

Hinata I know, right?!

Yamaguchi I agree. 

But how was your training camp?

You look at Kageyama, unsurprised when he doesn’t respond. Looks like it’s on you. You get your other ankle brace on and work on tying your shoes as you speak. 

You Oh, it was good. It was pretty fun, actually. Cool to see the facility and everything. 

Yamaguchi I bet. I’m glad you guys made it in one piece. 

You Oh my God, yeah, thank you. We couldn’t have done it without you, seriously. 

Tsukishima (muttering under his breath sardonically) Navigating public transport, how difficult. 

Hinata Ooh, who’d you meet there?! Anyone cool?

You Uh… yeah. We met Sakusa Kiyoomi, he’s one of the top three aces, I think. Hoshiumi—oh, you’d like him, Hinata. He’s an ace and he’s your height, I think. 

Hinata Whoaaaaa, seriously?!

He starts jumping around in excitement. Kageyama scoffs. 

Kageyama Shut up, he’s way better than you. 

Hinata I bet he’s so cool! His vertical’s probably insane!

Kageyama and Hinata continue bickering. Yamaguchi says something quietly to Tsukishima. You just shrug off your sweatshirt. The movement must draw attention to your hand, because Yamaguchi soon says something to you.

Yamaguchi Did you jam your finger? 

You (blinking) Oh, yeah. Sakusa’s doing. It’s just the pinky, though. 

You hold up your left hand, which has your pinky and ring fingers taped together. Yamaguchi sucks in a breath through his teeth, more than familiar with the plights of blocking. 

Kageyama He’s really good. 

You Yeah. 

Tsukishima And now you’ll never see him again. What a shame. 

Without further explanation, he gets up and walks out of the locker room. You stare after him disbelievingly, before turning to Yamaguchi. 

You What’s his deal? 

Yamaguchi shrugs. 

Hinata Crankyshima has been in a bad mood lately. 

You stifle a laugh at the nickname. 

You Good to know. 

_______

Twitter

Tsukishima (private account) the long hair... 

Yamaguchi: don't worry you totally weren’t obvious about it → Yamaguchi: not like you forgot to block because you were too busy staring → Yamaguchi: oh wait → Tsukishima: silence

_______

A few days later… 

INT. – Karasuno gymnasium, practice. 

Volleyball is a team sport. Obviously. There are six of you on the court, numerous more on the sidelines. Most of the game revolves around collaborating with your teammates, building on their existing work and sending it off to someone else. Passing to your setter, setting to your hitter, hitting to get a point for your team. 

You win together, you lose together. And even though you lead separate lives off the court, you come together to play. So it seems natural that there are good days and bad days. Unfortunately, this also means that one isolated incident can affect the whole team: a difficult day; a tough time in serve-receive; an injury. Any of it can prove to be detrimental to the team’s success. 

Take this afternoon, for instance. For whatever reason, Tsukishima is in a foul mood. All of you can tell from the moment he steps onto the court. He doesn’t help with setting up the net; he goes through stretching and warmups with his jaw clenched and his eyebrows furrowed. You all try to give him a wide berth, but that doesn’t even seem to matter. Besides, there’s only so much space you can give another person while you’re sharing the court. 

His negative energy is starting to make practice worse, too. It’s almost a tangible thing, this tension in the air that makes communication with one another more difficult. It doesn’t help that he’s constantly glaring or scowling, and you swear he’s even making comments about you under his breath. 

When you end up getting some accidental spin on a set, you overhear him mutter, “Guess they didn’t teach you how to set in Tokyo.” You ignore it. Serve-receive comes along, and you get an iffy pass. “Nice one,” he scoffs sardonically. 

You’re trying your best to ignore him, but the jabs and taunts start to pile up. By the end of practice, you’re exhausted—not just physically, but mentally and emotionally. You feel like shit. You were having a good day, until Tsukishima came along and decided to fuck it all up. 

You shrug your sweatshirt and sweatpants on quickly, walking out of the building and tightening your grip on your backpack as you head home. 

_______

| Karasuno First-Years | Tsukishima: petition to send #8 back to nekoma Yamaguchi: … Yamaguchi: don’t be a dick, tsukki Tsukishima: @/You practice sucked today bc of u You: because of ME????? Yamaguchi: Tsukki, stop. Tsukishima: no You: keep going You: i’d love to hear how *my* sour ass mood made practice worse Tsukishima: u missed ur serves, i stuffed u like four times, and ur serve receive was shit You: Yamaguchi: pls ignore him Yamaguchi: u were fine Hinata: yeah the only one who made practice suck was you, tsukishima! 😠 don’t be a jerk!!! Kageyama: Bold of you to say, when you could only hit the ball out of bounds. @/Tsukishima Tsukishima: yeah yeah snap ur wrist i fckn know Yamaguchi: everyone just ignore him

_______

{Direct Message} You: wtf is ur problem? Tsukishima: ? You: don’t play dumb You: why are u constantly picking on me You: i thought u were just joking but u do it all. the. time. Tsukishima: i had a bad day today You: yeah sure. just today. You: bc it’s definitely not an every day thing. You: u literally call me stupid and idiotic and bad and annoying all the time. You: this has been a thing since we first met and i’m sick of it tbh You: i like u when ur a decent person but ur always treating me like shit You: i get that you have bad days. but that’s no excuse to take it out on me and everyone else

_______

{Direct Message} Tsukishima: . (problem.jpg: A screenshot of your recent conversation.) Yamaguchi: im not gnna say i told you so, but… Yamaguchi: yeah Tsukishima: what do i say Yamaguchi: whatever you want Tsukishima: that’s horrible advice. Yamaguchi: i mean??? u gotta do this on ur own, u can’t come to me every time u fumble

_______

{Direct Message} Tsukishima: … Tsukishima: you’re right. Tsukishima: i’m sorry.

_______

Twitter

Kinoshita (private account) lover boys 1 and 2 are fightinggggg

Ennoshita: that was one of the worst practices we’ve had in a WHILE. → Kinoshita: yeah. whatever they have going on is kinda messing with the vibe. hope they get it sorted out soon → Kinoshita: or not, and then i’ll be a starter → Ennoshita: lmaoooo keep dreaming → Kinoshita: 😔

_______

Twitter

You well that was one of the worst practices i’ve ever had : ) 

Hinata: omg it’s okkkkkk!! I know you’ve been feeling off, i’m always here if u wanna talk ! → You: thank you, hinata. you’re too sweet 😭🖤

Yamaguchi: we all have those days, don’t worry about it! → You: thanks yamaguchi… yeah… sigh… 

Kageyama: Stop moping. You’re wasting my sets. → You: uh… okay, noted. lol

_______

{Direct Message} Yamaguchi: so are you good or do i need to curb stomp tsukki again You: lol i’m ok Yamaguchi: u sure? You: yeah, i think so. You: i just went off on him a few days ago thru text Yamaguchi: warranted You: yeah i think so too You: did he tell u abt it? Yamaguchi: he showed me the initial texts but i told him he’s on his own You: oh ok. well, he did apologize Yamaguchi: ok good Yamaguchi: don’t be afraid to hold him to it Yamaguchi: he’s used to kinda paving over other ppl so u sometimes have to assert ur boundaries Yamaguchi: speaking from experience You: ahh… sorry yamaguchi Yamguchi: no, it’s totally fine! tsukki’s a cool guy. but he’s used to pushing ppl away and being a dick. so u have to whip him into shape sometimes You: i’m sensing that, yeah Yamaguchi: but w him, it tends to be the opposite treatment. You: wdym? Yamaguchi: like, if he respects u or likes u, then he’s ruder. if he’s ‘cordial’ (ik this is tsukki we’re talking abt), then he hates u. Yamaguchi: ik it’s kinda fucked up and i’ve told him before Yamaguchi: anyway. long story short tell me if he oversteps again. You: thanks, i will. You: thank you yamaguchi 🖤 you keep me sane fr Yamaguchi: anytime. we’re in this together Yamaguchi: just don’t be surprised if he needs some time to get himself together. he has a habit of giving the silent treatment when things go awry You: ok

_______

Twitter

You 🖤🤘 (boba.jpg: A selfie of Yamaguchi and you at a boba shop after practice.)

Yamaguchi: <333 → You: <333333

Hinata: why wasn’t i invited :< → You: u and kageyama were, u said u wanted to stay late to work on ur serves! → Hinata: oh yeahhhhh. nvm! 😊

_______

Over the course of the next few weeks, you notice that Tsukishima’s behavior starts to change. It’s gradual at first. But you can tell. He’s biting back his insults and sharp comments. He stops giving you scathing looks after a poor receive or fumbled hit. That permanent scowl on his face starts to lighten a bit. 

As Yamaguchi expected, Tsukishima does give you a bit of the silent treatment. Well, you’re not sure if that’s the right phrase for it. He acknowledges you when you speak to him, and he’ll address you if necessary. But he doesn’t give his opinion unwarranted anymore. 

And from there, things start to go back to normal. Tsukishima starts talking to you more, with a characteristic lack of callousness. He still has a dry sense of humor and more sarcasm than he knows what to do with, but he’s freed you from his scrutiny and intense judgment. Finally.

_______

Twitter

You TOMODACHI LIFE TOMODACHI LIFE TOMODACHI LIFE TOMODACHI LIFE TOMODACHI LIFEEEE

Kenma: IK → You: tomodachi? → Kenma: tomodachi.

Yamaguchi: will to live restored? → You: YOU KNOW IT

_______

Twitter

You everyone stfu and look at my tomodachi (tomodachi.jpg: The Mii you made of yourself in Tomodachi Life.)

Tsukishima: that is frighteningly accurate → You: thank you I KNOW MYSELF 🗣️

_______

Twitter

Tsukishima …cute 

Yamaguchi: i see we’ve moved to public now → Tsukishima: idec → Yamaguchi: character development 

_______

Twitter

Tsukishima (private account) just walked in on him being confessed to

Yamaguchi: WHATTTTTT → Yamaguchi: whooooo was confessing to him???? → Tsukishima: some first-year girl. looked vaguely familiar but not really → Yamaguchi: what’d he say????? → Tsukishima: not sure. once i walked in he practically ran off _______

Tsukishima (private account) fml

_______

Twitter

You ahhaha… what 😀😀😀😀😀😀😀😀 just 😀😀 happened 

Tsukishima: i think it’s called being confessed to → You: yeah i got that part thanks 😭 → Tsukishima: then what part are you confused about → You: ummm yeah. have you seen her??? have you seen me??? → Tsukishima: i don’t see the issue. → You: ok well whatever → You: thanks for interrupting, that was impeccable timing → Tsukishima: right place at the right time ig

_______

INT. – Eiwa High. 1:24 p.m. 

It’s been a long day, and it’s only halfway over. 

Your school tournaments are usually like this, starting at the ripe hour of 6 a.m. at Karasuno and usually dragging into the late afternoon. The bus ride this morning feels like several days ago. You guys had trudged into the school tiredly; even Nishinoya and Tanaka’s typical antics were dulled by fatigue and the early hour. 

You’re a little more than halfway through the schedule for the day now, and you’ve won all your matches so far. You guys will have to ref the next one, before playing two more. Then, finally, you’ll be able to go home. 

You can only hope your court doesn’t run behind. You’re already looking at a 5:00 p.m. bus ride back to Karasuno—and that’s if the matches are timely. If this next one you’re reffing goes into three sets, you’ll be annoyed.

Your teammates and you are scattered about in one of the many winding hallways of this school, bags and belongings strewn about the carpeted floor haphazardly. The lockers on the walls seem to stretch infinitely, and the fluorescent lighting feels particularly bright. 

You fight off a yawn, looking around at the group. Hinata and Kageyama are passing a ball back and forth; Tanaka and Nishinoya are watching some video on Tanaka’s phone, sharing earbuds; Daichi, Suga, and Asahi are off in one corner; Kinoshita and Ennoshita are whispering amongst themselves; and Yamaguchi is scrolling on his phone, while Tsukishima stares off into space. 

After a moment’s contemplation, you fiddle with your volleyball bag and place it on the ground, leaning back against it like a pillow. You then bury your hands in the pockets of your sweatshirt and turn on your side, the background noise of Kageyama and Hinata’s bickering fading away as you drift off. 

You fall into one of those semi-restful sleeps, where you’re somewhat aware of what’s going on around you. You hear some shuffling, the occasional murmured conversation. 

Then there’s a harsh slam as a ball hits the lockers, and you’re jerking awake. You reluctantly blink your eyes open to find Hinata standing across from you with a sheepish expression on his face, while Kageyama looks on with a scowl. 

Hinata Sorry!

You It’s fine. 

Hinata is quick to grab the ball and head further down the hall with Kageyama. You just readjust and close your eyes again. 

Tsukishima …Idiots. 

_______

INT. – Court #3, on the sidelines during a timeout. Karasuno is up 18-13 in the second set, after a victory in the first set. 

You guys huddle up on the sidelines, arms around each other’s shoulders. You end up between Tsukishima and Kageyama; Kageyama grabs his water and tosses you yours. Those of you who just came off the court are breathing hard, and Coach Ukai gives you a moment to catch your breath before starting to speak. When you lean over and put your water bottle back, Tsukishima’s hand slips from your shoulder. You lean back and stand up straight; his arm slips down to your waist and you promptly miss what Coach Ukai just said to you. 

You Uh, sorry, what?  

Coach Ukai (exasperated) Their libero keeps sneaking in closer to center court, so you should focus on hitting line.

You Oh, yeah. I was planning on it. 

Or going for a cut shot, maybe. Their rightside hasn’t been playing defense.

Coach Ukai nods. 

_______

Twitter

You his hand was on my waist during timeout

Yamaguchi: … → Yamaguchi: i don’t suppose you meant to post this to a private account → You: OH FUCK MEEEEEEE → Yamaguchi: LMFAOOOOO → You: none of you saw that → Tsukishima: i did → You: no you didn’t → You: time to pull a yamaguchi. EVERYONE DON”T LOOK

Kuroo: oh? → You: oh? → Kuroo: oh 😏 → You: …oh! → Kenma: ur both weird → Kuroo: ^u love us anyway <3 → Kenma: sure abt that? → You: yes 😠

_______

You (private account) broooo i’m screwed now

_______

You …april fool’s

Tsukishima: it isn’t even april → You: april fool’s is a state of mind → Tsukishima: yeah cause ur always playing the fool → You: bruh → Tsukishima: joking.

_______

INT. – Nohebi Academy. Court #3, after a timeout is called by the other team. Karasuno is up 21-13 in the second set, after a victory in the first set. 

Coach Ukai Just huddle up. 

The six of you on the court huddle up, arms around each other’s shoulders. You end up next to Tsukishima and Kageyama, with Tanaka, Nishinoya, and Asahi across from you. It’s quiet for a few seconds. You glance over at the other team in their huddle. They’re probably discussing strategy. 

You (sighing) I want McDonald’s. 

You get a few skeptical glances—namely, from Tsukishima and Kageyama—while Nishinoya and Tanaka both gasp and Asahi smiles weakly.

Tanaka Oh, dudeeeee. 

You Hash browns specifically. 

Nishinoya Now I want chicken nuggets. Thanks a lot! 

Asahi I don’t think this is supposed to be what we’re talking about… 

Kageyama nods. 

You I mean, we’re up by 9 points. And they kind of suck. I think we can take a break from strategy. 

You look down at your shoe.

Tsukishima You really want McDonald’s breakfast. Right now. It’s 3 p.m.

You Yeah. You got a better idea?

Tsukishima (dryly) Several. 

Kageyama glances at you sidelong.

Kageyama Just keep up the serving. 

You Yeah. Maybe I’ll hit them with a short serve. 

Tsukishima Go for zone 2, then. Their outside has just been standing there. 

You True. 

Tanaka (looking at Nishinoya) Thanks for saving my ass on that last cover, bro. 

Nishinoya No prob. 

The referee blows his whistle, signaling the end of the timeout. You all return to your positions. 

_______

INT. – Hakusuikan High School, Court #2, on the sidelines of the Karasuno side. 

You’re on the court, as per usual. Tsukishima is on the sidelines as the current rotation has Hinata up front. He’d been given the tablet to take stats, but he finds his attention slipping elsewhere. Namely… to the guy playing defense right in front of him: you. 

One of the best parts about volleyball is that everyone is constantly in motion. A spectator can choose a player to watch and see an entirely different game. Defenders are always shifting: pulling up to cover hitters and watch for setter tips; getting back to dig attacks. The same goes for every other player. Everyone is moving. 

And yet, with all these moving parts… Tsukishima’s eyes are still locked onto you. He doesn’t even notice it at first, just tells himself he’s monitoring for stats. But the truth is, he hasn’t touched the tablet in at least three points. Watching the almost effortless way you play, the bright smile on your lips when the team scores, the determined expression that rises on your face when you’re stuck in a rotation— 

Kiyoko I can take stats if you’d like, Tsukishima-kun. 

Tsukishima blinks, snapping back to attention. 

Tsukishima …It’s fine. 

Yamaguchi (grinning) Busted. 

Tsukishima glares at him; Yamaguchi just laughs. 

_______

Twitter

You “A man is coming next month” WHO??? WHEN? I’M SCARED

Tsukishima: pls don’t tell me you fall for that tarot bullshit → You: ofc not 😭 → You: just funny how vaguely threatening those videos are. → Tsukishima: true.

_______

INT. – Karasuno High School gymnasium, home game. Seijoh is trailing 19-21 against Karasuno. 

Nishinoya gets under a tough top-spin serve, though his pass only sends it to the middle of the court. You call for a back row attack and Kageyama gives you a perfect set right on the ten-foot line. You wind your arms back and head into your approach, shoulders and body facing the cross shot. At the last second, you rotate, twisting your wrist to send a sharp hit right down the line. Oikawa barely gets a hand on the ball, shanking it off to the side and awarding your team a point. 

Everyone cheers. Tanaka thumps you on the back way too hard and you fist bump with Kageyama. As you stare ahead and wait for Asahi’s serve, you accidentally lock eyes with Kuroo and Kenma in the stands across the court. Kenma gives you a very small wave—a slight raise of the hand, really—and Kuroo grins, sending you an over-exaggerated wink. You choke on a laugh.

_______

Twitter

Tsukishima if ppl could stop bringing their fan clubs to our matches that would be great

You: @ him next time coward → Tsukishima: ok → Tsukishima: @/You → You: i meant suga-senpai/???? he brought the whole third-year class lmao → Tsukishima: well i meant you. → You: UR LITERALLY LYINGGGGG → Tsukishima: u were greeting fans after → You: those were my FRIENDS????? kuroo and kenma??? → You: GOD FORBID I HAVE FRIENDS → Tsukishima: you made us wait on the bus → You: now i know damn well → You: when i got there we were still waiting for hinata and kageyama → Tsukishima: yeah, because they got lost. because they’re idiots. → You: bruh

_______

| Cool Cats | You: thanks for coming, guys! it was so nice to see youuuu Kuroo: thx for having us! Kenma: ^ You: that was fun Kuroo: glad we got to see you guys play! ur pretty good Kenma: pretty good? Kuroo: well, we’re better ofc Kenma: i’m not so sure Kuroo: SHHHHHHH You: lol Kuroo: @/You you missed it, tsukki was giving us the death stare You: rly? lol Kenma: mostly kuroo but yes Kuroo: nah he was glaring at u too Kenma: …it made me profoundly uncomfortable You: ya knowing tsukishima that was probably the goal You: he thought i had a fanclub lmao Kenma: did he You: yeah he tweeted ‘if ppl could stop bringing their fan clubs to our matches that would be great’ Kuroo: oh so he wants you BAD is what i’m hearing Kenma: soundslike it You: lol _______

Instagram

You w the fanclub 😎 (selfie.jpg: A selfie you’ve taken with Kuroo and Kenma. Kuroo has an arm slung around your shoulder and flashes a peace sign, while Kenma just stares at the camera with a blank expression.)

Tsukishima: so i deserve credit for this caption, is what i’m hearing → You: i mean if u rly want it → Tsukishima: i want credit for the idea, not the execution → You: of course you do 

_______

| Karasuno First-Years | You: kageyama You: kageyamaaa You: @/Kageyama Yamaguchi: lmao u realize dms exist You: shhhh i need y’all here for peer pressure Yamaguchi: lollllll You: @/Kageyama help Kageyama: What. You: i need u to pretend to be my boyfriend Tsukishima: what. Hinata: 😲 Yamaguchi: bahahha Kageyama: Why. You: this girl won’t leave me alone Tsukishima: the one who confessed to u? You: diff one Yamaguchi: 🤦 You: @/Kageyama just stand next to me and pretend like u moderately tolerate me You: ur scary it’ll work You: just pretend she’s hinata and glareeee Hinata: hey 😭😭😭 Tsukishima: this is stupid You: no, it’s genius Tsukishima: it’s stupid. Tsukishima: just tell her the truth. You: i did!!! You: well You: i said i have a bf Tsukishima: so, in other words, you lied You: i prefer to call it manifesting Tsukishima: yeah i’m sure Yamaguchi: u told her u weren’t interested? and she’s still bothering u? You: whale Tsukishima: of course he didn’t Tsukishima: he’s a people pleaser without an assertive bone in his body You: hey. hey. rude. Tsukishima: it’s just the truth Yamaguchi: i mean, give him some credit. he did get that guy away from kiyoko-san Tsukishiam: the hot topic wannabe??? color me impressed. Yamaguchi: tsukki… Tsukishima: Tsukishima: right. Tsukishima: @/You i’ll pretend to be ur bf You: it’s fine dw abt it guys, thanks anyway kageyama You: wait whut Tsukishima: i will pretend. You: how much will this cost me? Tsukishima: who says i neerd payment to be nicee You: u couldn’t even get the words out right Tsukishima: just shut up and tell me where u need me to be You: ok You: not sure if ur serious,,,, but she always jumps me after my bio class next period in 181 Tsukishima: k

_______

Twitter

You (private account) ig i have a boyfriend now???

Kuroo: WHAT → Kenma: ^^^ → Kuroo: when were u planning on telling us this??? → Kenma: ^ → Kuroo: lmfao kenma pls → Kenma: ^ → You: @/Kenma ur funny → Kenma: ty → You: @/Kuroo it’s a joke sorta → Kuroo: SORTA???? → You: lol so i asked kageyama to be my fake bf for a second to get rid of this girl → You: and i ended up w tsukishima instead → Kuroo: dude how many times do we have to say it. He is INTO. YOU. ATTRACTED. TO. You. ROMATNICALLY> → Kenma: ^that but romantically* → Kuroo: wowwww so you’ll correct my typos but not ur own → Kenma: shut up

Kuroo: also why is it always wendy lmao → You: bc she’s iconic???

_______

Twitter Kuroo Tetsurou i stg i’m abt to set these two up just to bail the blond fucker out

You: 🤨 → You: is this fUCKING play about us??? → Kenma: on second thought, yeah, maybe just do it @/Kuroo

You: also u realize that’s wendy again right → Kuroo: OH SHIT LMFAO

_______

Twitter

You (private account) TSUKISHIMA MIDDLE NAME KEI DID NOT JUST MAKE ME A PLAYLIST THERE”S NO WAY

Kuroo: omg UR HIM → Kenma: middle name is crazy lmao → Kenma: what kind of songs r we lookn at → You: let’s seeee → You: first few are Nothing’s New by Rio Romeo, Heart to Heart by Mac DeMarco, Heather by Conan Gray, and The Subway by Chappell Roan. → Kenma: so songs that are very queer → You: yeth → Kuroo: and therefore you-coded → You: this is unfortunately true → Kenma: yeah he rly likes you → you: yeah i’m starting to see that now → Kuroo: now???? what finally did it for you???? the flashing red neon sign that said ‘DATE ME’??? → You: cmon give me a break 😭😭 he’s only ever been a jackass to me. and then we had that convo and now he’s nicer but it’s not like he’s ever even admitted to tolerating me. he’d never even admit we’re friends → Kenma: exactly. → Kenma: he’s been flirting with u this whole time. that’s his idea of flirting. he’s clearly not the feelings type but if he’s going out of his way to be around you, then he likes you. → You: ohhhh → You: so he says one thing and does another → Kenma: yes. guys are stupid like that → You: this is true

_______

{Direct Message} You: wait so do u like me Tsukishima: wdym You: like, do u *like* me like me Tsukishima: ? You: damn it this is already embarrassing You: do u like me romantically Tsukishima: we are not doing this over text. You: ?????!?? THATS NOT AN ANSWER

_______

Twitter

You god help me

Tsukishima: finally giving up the atheist act? → You: yeah it’s been hard pretending i’m not a devout follower of christ → Tsukishima: 😐

_______

The next morning… 

Twitter

You (private account) GUYS IM SCARED i asked tsukishima how he felt and i won’t see him until practice later IM TERRIFIED

Kenma: u got ths → You: ty kenma 😭😭

Kuroo: he’s so whipped, u have nothing to worry about → You: gawd i hope so

_______

Twitter

You Abracadabra abra oo na na abracadabra mor something oo gagaaaaaa

Kenma: he’s lost the plot → You: im terrified → Kenma: ur fine

_______

INT. – Karasuno gymnasium, after practice. 

Tsukishima Why are you so twitchy? 

You Uh… no reason… 

Tsukishima I’m not going to bite your head off.

You I know. 

Tsukishima Do you really? 

You …I mean. No. 

Tsukishima gives you a flat look. 

Tsukishima You realize I would’ve just given you an outright denial. If I didn’t like you. 

You Well. Yeah. But also, you’re known to enjoy other people’s suffering. 

Tsukishima (huffing) Shut up. 

He stares down at where you’re still seated on the ground, untying your volleyball shoes. 

Tsukishima And hurry up. Before they close the locker room. 

You We’re doing this in the locker room?!

Tsukishima Unless you’d prefer— (motions to your teammates a short distance from you, who are valiantly pretending not to eavesdrop) 

You Fine.

Tsukishima heads off to the locker room. You sit there for a few more moments, taking your time getting your gear off. Hinata shoots you a bright grin; Tanaka and Noya both send thumbs-ups. You huff, fighting off a smile, and follow after Tsukishima. 

_______

About an hour later… 

Twitter

Yamaguchi I saw @/You and @/Tsukishima making out in the locker room

You: oh that is a bOLD FACED LIE

Tsukishima: @/You we were making out? you should’ve told me; i would’ve taken my glasses off. → You: lmfaooooo

Hinata: wait does this mean…?????????????? it went well and ur a thig now???? → Tsukishima: *thing → You: yeth we are 🫣 → Hinata: OMGGGGG CONGRATS GUYS 😎🧡@/You @/Tsukishima → You: TY HINATAAA 🖤🖤 → Tsukishima: whatever

Kageyama: I thought I heard some commotion in there. → You: YR LUITERLALY LYING → Kageyama: ? → You: UR LITERALLY LYING* WE WERE JUST TALKING → Kageyama: Likely story. 

_______

Twitter

You

Terushima: hey pretty boy answer yo dms → Tsukishima: he has a bf → Terushima: since when>?!??!? → Tsukishima: since a few hours ago → Terushima: @/You SAY IT AINT SO → You: lol it’s true → Terushima: FUCKKKKKK → Terushima: lemme at him i can fight → Tsukishima: not even dignifying that with a response → You: technically i think u just did → Tsukishima: stfu → Terushima: where is this bf i am confusion → You: he’s right above u lol → Terushima: blondie? → Tsukishima: rich, coming from you. → Tsukishima: and yes.

Kuroo: GASP FINALLY???? → You: yethhh → Kenma: rip → You: 💀 → Kuroo: congratsssss! → Kuroo: @/Kenma be nice → Kenma: whatvr

Kuroo: unrelated but if u hurt him i’ll kill u @/Tsukishima → Tsukishima: how is that not related

_______

Twitter

Kinoshita (private account) lol the firsties finally got their shit together

Ennoshita: they’re cute together tbh → Kinoshita: can’t believe i’d ever call tsukishima cute but here we are → Ennoshita: real → Kinoshita: he’s more mellow now actually → Enoshita: i noticed that too → Ennoshita: he was so pissy after that one game when the nekoma guys visited → Kinoshita: true omg, i think he was trying to hit them in the stands during warmups LMAO

_______

Twitter Timeline

Tsukishima @/You get off, my shoulder is falling asleep 

Yamaguchi: so instead of just telling him, u tweet him? → Tsukishima: yes → Yamaguchi: and how is that working out for u? i see he’s still out like a light → Tsukishima: yeah → Yamaguchi: i’m taking pics → Tsukishima: don’t you dare → Yamaguchi: too late ;P

Yamaguchi look at this gay shit (nap.jpg: A picture of Tsukishima and you in your warmups, sitting shoulder to shoulder against the wall as you rest in between games. Your head is resting on Tsukki’s shoulder and he has an arm around your waist as you take a nap.)

Hinata: heyyyy, don’t be mean → Yamaguchi: hinata, i’m gay too. i was just teasing → Hinata: oh, okay! good 😊

Kageyama: @/Tsukishima If you break up, please do it during the off season so it doesn’t affect practice. → Tsukishima: shut up. we’re not breaking up. → Kageyama: You realize he’s way better than you. → Tsukishima: i know. he’s out of my league → Kageyama: I meant at volleyball. → Kageyama: But yes, that too. → Yamaguchi: 💀

©2026, @defectivevillain | @defectivehero, All Rights Reserved. Reblogs are greatly appreciated—just don’t steal or share outside of Tumblr, please.

wow this thing was an absolute BEAST to write. 86 pages in google docs, sheesh!

thanks for reading! <3 lmk if you enjoyed!

check out my other works, sorted by fandom.

general taglist: @its-ares @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @the-ultimate-librarian @gayaristocrat @always-lying-to-you @moss4ev3r @hottskull

author’s notes: ok so… picture it… me a few hours ago, thinking about patrick bateman x skateboarder! male reader.

well! here we are. it happened. it may not make sense, but i still think i kept patrick pretty in character. hopefully.

this is Patrick/Reader focused, but there’s no explicit romance. The reader’s pronouns are he/him and he’s written to be an Olympic skateboarder; otherwise, race is ambiguous and no physical descriptors are used. Oh. He’s written to be American too.

no warnings i can think of; enjoy!

EXTERIOR – Place de la Concorde, Paris Olympics. Men’s Street Skateboarding Finals. 

Commentator 1 And here we are, back for the Men’s Street Skateboarding Finals. Earlier we saw the eight athletes complete their two 45 second runs. After that, they each get five trick attempts. The best run score and the two highest-scoring single trick scores will count toward their final score. 

America is in the lead currently, with Japan following shortly behind in second and third; then America again, followed by Slovakia, Brazil, Argentina, and Brazil again. 

You | America 

Ren Takamura | Japan

Yuto Fujita | Japan

Tyler Hayes | America

Jakub Varga | Slovakia

Lucas Oliveira | Brazil

Mateo Romero | Argentina

Ravi Costa | Brazil

We’ve seen some incredible stuff here today, and we’re now watching each skater’s final trick attempt. 

The camera cuts to you at the top of the ramp, adjusting the earbuds sitting in your ears. You’re wearing a navy dri-fit short-sleeved shirt, with the Nike symbol on the right and the American flag on the left; matching navy pants, also with the Nike symbol; dark grey Air Forces, with hints of red in the stitching, and a hat with the American flag on it, to block out the sun. A bit too patriotic for your liking, maybe, but this is the Olympics. 

You grip your board, tipping it up as you get ready to enter your final trick attempt. The black and amber of the moth design on your board briefly catches the light, before you’re tilting it down and going into your last trick. 

Commentator 2 And here he goes, the top contender for the gold medal. He already has some great scores, but anything above a 93 would really secure his standing… 

The camera zooms in on you. You take a deep breath, everything fading to background noise. 

I don’t know how I got here. 

Scratch that. I absolutely do. I’m Patrick Bateman. I always know what I’m doing. I’m here in Paris, riding the high of a successful business conference and a few meetings with foreign clients. I figured it would be enjoyable—or serve as a distraction—to watch some of the Olympics while I’m here. Getting tickets last minute would be a pipe dream for anyone but me. Yet here I am, sitting in the somewhat stifling sun and watching… skateboarding.

Not my first choice of sport. But then again, the Olympics are going on for the next several days. I have time to attend other events, and if anything, it is interesting to see such skill and athleticism up close. Even if it comes in the form of a person twisting and turning with a plank of wood on wheels.

The leading athlete is American, too. I have to admit, you are talented. You make it all look far too easy—your runs have been smooth, your other tricks flashy but well-executed. You’ve only missed one trick so far, which, judging from your competitors’ performances, is pretty impressive.

You’re approaching your final trick attempt now, and I can’t help but lean forward in my seat slightly. Over the course of the afternoon, I’ve found myself sucked into the competition. Granted, half of what the commentators say sounds like a foreign language. But I can recognize talent when I see it. 

You take a running start, your board hitting the pavement as you drop into the field of obstacles and ramps. Your sneakers dig into your board, and I watch your legs bend and your body tilt forward as you lean forward. As you jump, your arms go wide, and I see it in snapshots: 

The bandage on your wrist. The determination etched into the crease of your lips. The almost impossible twist of your body, the grind of the board against the edge of the railing before you’re smoothly landing. 

The crowd goes wild, spectators cheering and applauding. I even find myself clapping a few times, though I immediately cease the motion. I watch as you pump a fist at your side and grin to yourself, still riding the board as if it’s an extension of your very body. You approach the end of the course and turn back, reaching down and wiping the sweat off your face with your shirt. My gaze flits to your exposed abdomen and my fist clenches at my side. You make it back to the start and kick your board up to your hand, the cameras following your every move. You retrace your steps and exchange fist bumps or shoulder taps with the nearby athletes, before adjusting your hat and looking over at the screen for your score. 

EXT. – Place de la Concorde, Paris Olympics. Men’s Street Skateboarding Finals. 

Commentator 2 Now that was quite the execution… Let’s see what it gets him. 

Your name is displayed on the giant screen in the stadium, the score area still empty. Above the graphic is the live footage of you standing there, looking up at the screen. It’s quiet for a moment, before your score is revealed. 

Commentator 1 A 94.5…! The highest score we’ve seen today. 

You grin, eyes bright.  

Commentator 2 Yeah, he’s smiling. Definitely worth celebrating. That cemented his spot on the podium. He’ll be taking a bronze medal at the very least. 

His score will be counted now, bringing him to a final total of 282. Let’s take another look at the replay while we wait… 

It’s clear you’re going to win. As each of the other athletes completes their last turn, I only become more convinced of this. Unfortunately, your best competition is poised to go last, which creates an air of tension and suspense across the arena. 

I’m not sure why I’m suddenly invested in this. I want my country to win, obviously. But I can’t seem to stop looking at you. You’ve completed all your rounds now, you’ve done your job and you’ve done it pretty damn well. You’re just left to wait now. And yet, instead of watching the others compete, I’m watching your reactions to them. I’m watching you and your good sportsmanship, wondering how you truly feel at the moment. 

Finally, after what feels like far too long, it’s time for the last trick attempt. 

EXT. – Place de la Concorde, Paris Olympics. Men’s Street Skateboarding Finals. 

Commentator 2 Ren Takamura needs to get at least a 94.6 on this trick if he wants to take the gold medal. If he doesn’t, then he’s going home with a silver medal. Still extremely impressive, but we’ll see if he can land this for the gold. 

The camera briefly flits to you, catching you watching the proceedings with a somewhat anticipatory look on your face. 

Commentator 1 The American went first; he did all of his tricks to the best of his ability. And now, he waits. 

Takamura drops in and goes for a fakie flip back lip, landing it cleanly. 

Commentator 2 Now that was solid… But I don’t think it’s going to be what we’re looking for here. 

Commentator 1 We’ll have to wait and see what the judges think. His rotation was clean and smooth, but he could’ve caught the railing just a bit longer. 

The camera cuts to Takamura watching his score on the screen. It’s revealed to be a 93.3. His face falls a bit, but he’s quick to straighten up and run a hand through his hair. 

Commentator 2 And Takamura will be going home with the silver medal. 

Commentator 2 Which means, the gold medal for Men’s Street Skateboarding goes to the 24-year-old American!

The screen cuts to footage of you from just a few moments ago, watching the score come in and applauding for Takamura. Then you’re putting a hand over your face, bending down as you’re overcome with emotion. You bring a shaking hand up to take your hat off. 

It soon cuts back to live footage, showing you and Takamura congratulating one another. The bronze medalist soon joins you, and the three of you congratulate one another. Your board in hand, you skate down the stadium, feeling an unprecedented sense of euphoria. 

I stay for the medal ceremony. I’m not sure why. I’ve watched some of the other events, and even when Americans have won, I’ve always left shortly after confirmation of their victory. But here I am, watching you as the national anthem plays, wondering just what you’re thinking. 

When the medalists approached the crowd earlier, I was close enough to see the sweat collected at the back of your neck. The relief in your eyes when you saw your parents, promptly making a beeline for them. I watched as they embraced you. I noticed the residual tremble of anxiety and adrenaline coursing through you, as you were still riding the high of your triumph. 

And when I leave the stadium an hour later, my day’s schedule thrown off by several hours, the only feeling I seem to recognize… is adrenaline buzzing up my own skin. 

Twitter

Trending

Olympics Related tags: Street Skateboarding, Men’s Skateboarding

tonyhawkinit he went straight for his parents i’m sobbing #Olympics [audience.mp4: Footage of you and the other two medalists approaching the crowd of people lined up at one of the sides of the stadium. You’re seen making a beeline for your parents and embracing them.] → crazylates: IM UGLY CRYING BRO → x3nomorph3d: his parents both crying too 😭😭 i’m gonna THROW UP. 

chemburnspiralperm the american skater’s hand shaking when he won gold 😭😭😭 #OlympicStreetSkateboarding

floptropicaaa ok but what do skateboarders listen to when they’re in the olympics. where’s their spotify ???? i need to know NEOW. #Olympics 

Instagram 

skaterlaterboy You 83 posts | 501k followers | 353 following 🛹🤘

4 days ago:

You first skate in paris! [skate.mp4: A video of you skating in the arena, set to Left For Good by Bad Omens.]

1k+ comments, most to least recent: 

ghostfacestan1: CONGRATS BRO UU WON U DID ITTTTTT

tjwill13ams: like this comment if ur also stalking him after he won 

cheesewhizzy: u make me feel so patriotic RAHHHH 🦅

petathehorseishea: the only reason i care about the olympics this year is u 

teamusa: 🤩🤩🤩

Instagram 

skaterlaterboy You 83 posts | 5.5M followers | 360 following 🛹🤘

A few minutes ago: 

You  😬🏆🥇 [medal.jpgs: A collection of photos from your time at the Paris Olympics. The first one shows you on the podium with your gold medal. The second and third photos are action shots of you, in mid-air and reaching for your board. The fourth is a reaction picture showing a happy SpongeBob.]

63k+ comments, most to least recent: 

jiggityjiggityjoo: MURICAAAAA

stevesmithstannie: I LOVE U

laterskaterboi: i stole ur username idea and im not sorry

slovenenenenkia: i wanna be mad cause my country didn’t win but ur rly good

jeansarentjorts: KING

sportsgirl179: ate that the fuck UP

kingkeonhee: SIRRRRRR marry me pls 

whoringoutonline: WHY ARE YOU SO FOINEEEEEEEEE

anawithati: answer ur texts boy

bowwowwowzie: i cant believe i know someone so famous 🫣🫣

willowtourwind: damnnnn, 500k to 5.5M followers is crazayyyyy

The next night, I find myself reclined in bed at the exclusive Parisian hotel I’m spending my time at. I can’t sleep, for some reason. I tried going to a few more events today, but I didn’t seem to have the energy. Or, more accurately, I can’t seem to find that feeling you evoked in me. 

My jaw is clenched tight, the artificial mint flavor of my toothpaste sitting on my tongue like a rock. I should have been asleep an hour ago. But here I lie, my phone under my hand on the mattress as I try to fight the urge to look into your online presence. 

Eventually, I give up. I’m opening Instagram before I can think any better of it, reminding myself that this is only research. You’re an Olympic athlete, for God’s sake. You would fit into my following list effortlessly. 

But, ironically, before I can even get to your account, a search of your name is yielding many, many results. Videos of your performance throughout the games, behind-the-scenes clips. I soak them up greedily, trying to measure the person I see to the athlete I remember. 

Then, I finally find an interview. A press piece, evidently filmed shortly after your victory. You’re still wearing your gold medal. I click on it within a few seconds, letting the light pierce through the darkness of my room. 

INTERIOR – Press room, Paris, France. A few hours after your victory in the men’s street skateboarding final. 

You’re seated alone at a long table, a royal blue backdrop with the Paris Olympics logo behind you. 

Reporter 1 How does it feel to be a gold medal winner? 

You (blinking, considering) … I mean. Amazing. 

You smile and huff in amusement, an awkward but polite smile on your face. 

Obviously. I know it’s cliche, but it feels surreal. I still feel like I’m dreaming, and I’m going to wake up and have to try to do it all over again. 

A few more questions are asked and you cycle through them with ease. 

Reporter 5 What’s the meaning behind the design on your board? 

You Oh! Good question. 

So it’s a moth. I think it’s called a death’s-head hawkmoth, if I’m remembering that right? It’s a Hannibal reference, actually. From Silence of the Lambs. I’m super into Hannibal. I watched the TV show, then got sucked into all the books.

Reporter 6 What was your morning routine, going into the finals? 

You Hmmm. I woke up around 8. Had breakfast. Did some light stretching, tried to distract myself by watching some TV. Then I was at the arena by 10, warming up. And the rest was competition, basically. 

Reporter 7 How’s the food at the Olympic village? I’ve heard the chocolate muffins are a hot commodity. 

You The muffins? Oh, yeah, I guess they’re good. I didn’t realize they were, like, viral… That’s funny. 

Reporter 8 What’s the first thing you’re going to do when you get home to the States?

You Probably sleep. 

There are a few laughs. 

Actually, no. Eat and then sleep.

Instagram

pbateman Patrick 26 posts | 150k followers | 33 following Business mogul / Pierce&Pierce

Started following skaterlaterboy.

Twitter

Trending

Skating Related tags: Skater Boy, American Skater

ajthearomanticcc skaterlaterboy thanks for stopping to take pics w us omggg!! ur even prettier in person 🥺😭🖤

courtofraccoons: how does it feel to be living my dream → ajthearomanticcc: pretty good tbh → courtofraccoons: FCK U LMAO (luckyyy)

mickininajfelloff why does america get all the hot skater guys → hannibalslecture: idk but it pisses me off → ladygagagagggg: SUCK IT FLOPS 🦅

mrstevenuniverse Oh y’all really tried hiding him from me cause you knew i’d print this on my retinas  [selfie.jpg: A casual selfie you took, with you smiling brightly.] → flippityfloppity: HE’S EVERYTHING TO MEEEE

pancakeduppp skaterlaterboy released his playlist and i immediately knew what to do (makemewanna.mp4: An edit of you skating at the Olympics, set to Make Me Wanna Die by The Pretty Reckless. The chorus hits just as you land the final trick that won you the gold medal.)

Liked by pbateman and 21k others. 

Pinned comment: pancakeduppp: damn y’all here’s the playlist now stop asking LMAO 

prettyprettyprinceesses: wait did he really have that song on his playlist → pancakeduppp: he rly did! → prettyprettyprinceesses: ok the playlist cover is killing me 😭😭 as if his ass didn’t just win a gold medal 

popularity.dies: my man my man my MANNNNNN

stantwicern: he’s so cool y’all wouldn’t get it

Instagram

You snuck some late night skating in :3 (skate.mp4: A short video of you skating in Place de la République in Paris.)

I’m making my way back to the hotel room when I hear the irritatingly familiar sound of a skateboard on the pavement. Instinctively, I’m taken back to the events of a mere few days ago: when I witnessed what felt like history in the making. Since the skateboarding finals, my life feels… different. I feel off-kilter, as if you just ran through my carefully-laid life plans. 

I’ve never been less sure of myself. And that is extremely frightening to me. I came to Paris to flex, if nothing else—wanting to earn some social capital against my coworkers. In my time here, I’ve slept with beautiful women, tasted decadent vintage wines, dined at opulent restaurants… 

Yet here I am, thinking about a skater who wears a sweatshirt, cargo pants, and sneakers like it’s some kind of uniform. 

The approaching skateboarder rushes past in a flurry of motion. I barely catch a glimpse of white glinting at his wrist, some kind of bandage. Is that you? 

…The guy is already gone before I can confirm it. 

INT. – Roissy-Charles de Gaulle Airport, Paris, France. 7:06 a.m.

I hate airports. They’re teeming with people, loud and obnoxious and generally just wasting space. It feels like time slips through my fingers whenever I’m in an airport. I’m fidgeting and restless, tapping my fingers and checking my watch every few minutes as if an email will come through when it’s an ungodly hour back in New York City. 

Paris has been nice, a refreshing break. What few business ventures I had were successful, and I enjoyed myself here. I rarely take time off from work, but I have to admit, the few days I used were rejuvenating. 

This line for the security check-in, on the other hand, is not. I feel my limited patience already wearing thin. My eyes rove across the crowd, scowling at the pajama pants and Crocs that seem to be everywhere. Where is the decorum? I stand out like a sore thumb in my three-piece suit. I’m moments away from elbowing the woman behind me—who’s been steadily inching closer, as if the line has been moving without me noticing—when I suddenly see him. 

I squint. Surely my eyes are failing me. There’s no way it’s you. Right?

Apparently, I’m not the only one who sees the resemblance, because soon the guy is being approached. I watch with silent scrutiny. 

Fan Hey, you’re the American skateboarder, right? 

You Hey. (looking around self-consciously) Uh… yeah. I am. 

It appears I was right. Hm. 

Fan Do you mind if I get a picture?

You Sure, yeah.

You take a picture, leaning in and smiling. The guy thumps you on the shoulder and grins, the encounter clearly making his day. 

And then, like a light switch, you’re back off—head ducked as you stare at your phone, posture almost effortlessly casual as you stand there in line with everyone else. If I hadn’t recognized you, I would’ve had no idea that you were an Olympic athlete. You look entirely ordinary. 

Though, maybe that’s the point. 

….To my disbelief, that isn’t even the last I see of you. After I get through the security checkpoint, I head for the boarding gate to find people scattered about the lounge. My eyes immediately lock on you sitting in one of the corners, leaning sideways on the chairs and taking up two. You have bulky headphones on and seem to be tuning out the madness around you, which is an admirable strategy. 

I decide to take a seat a few rows away from you. In perfect view. For strategic reasons. I’m only needing to see if you’ll be on the same flight as me. If we’ll share the same air space. I’m not sure why that’s suddenly important to me, but it is. 

I watch you swipe through your phone absentmindedly, before you’re swiping to the right and getting to your feet, slinging your bag over your shoulder and pressing your phone to your ear. You’re taking a call. I watch you unflinchingly; you seem too preoccupied to notice. To your credit, you are trying your best to be undisruptive. 

To my credit, I’ve grown adept at reading lips. 

You Hey, Mom. 

Yeah. Just waiting to board. 

(exasperated) I know. I’ll text you when I get back, okay? 

No, you don’t have to do that—

Okay, okay. Fine. (laughing) Thanks.

Love you too, Mom. Bye. 

You hang up and huff, pocketing your phone. I watch, strangely enraptured. I’m quick to snap myself out of it. I’m tempted to do something I have never, ever done before: introduce myself—not to assert my superiority, but to get to know you. 

The Paris climate must be getting to me. I shake my head slightly, crossing one leg at the knee and scrolling through my phone idly as time crawls by. Soon enough, my boarding group is announced. I make quick work of heading through the hall and onto the plane, nodding at the flight attendant before finding my seat. For whatever reason, on this airline, even the first class seats are in pairs. 

I take the aisle seat, taking on a masculine sprawl that allows me to stretch my legs further. I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh, quite nearly snapping at the person who stops in front of me a few seconds later. I drag my eyes up to look at them, eyebrows climbing up my face when I see you standing there. 

You Sorry, I think I’m next to you. 

You point to the seat next to mine. And I don’t know whether to laugh or scream. 

I do neither, instead stiffly leaning to the side to give you some more room to pass. You thank me for the gesture—weird, because it didn’t warrant gratitude—and slide into the seat next to me. You shrug your backpack off, and I just barely resist raising an eyebrow as I see the Team USA emblem on the front. You must’ve been given it when you arrived at the Olympic Village. Other than the bag, there’s no sign that you’re an Olympic gold medal winner. Your clothing is simple and casual: a deep green sweatshirt, black sweatpants, and green sneakers. I’d almost call it lazy, but I quickly correct myself: If anyone deserves to be lazy at the present moment, it’s you.

As the passengers file in, I try and fail to stop staring. I can’t seem to take my eyes off of you, and no amount of aimless scrolling through my inbox distracts me. Fortunately, the other passengers are soon settled, and the in-flight safety video is playing. I stare at the screen on the back of the seat in front of me, my vision sharpening as I zone out. 

I come back to myself when the plane rumbles and takes off, coasting through the air. I’m a regular flyer, so this is nothing new to me. Though I do notice that you seem tenser, arms curled around yourself as you stare out the window and feel at your temples as if fighting off a headache. I wonder if you get headaches from the pressure. I contemplate offering a decongestant. Then I scold myself for even thinking about it. 

For a while, I mind my business and you do the same. You have a Nintendo Switch and you’re playing some sort of farming game; I occasionally glance over and watch, before growing bored and watching the movie I’ve selected. It doesn’t hold my attention, safe to say. 

A few hours pass like this. The flight attendant comes by to inquire about food and drinks. I ask for alcohol; you ask for water. I wonder if that kind of self-control is typical—even required—for an Olympic athlete. Our fingers brush as I hand you the water; I pretend it doesn’t affect me. 

You get up to use the bathroom, and when you return, I decide to make my move before you can put your headphones on and retreat again. I’m abandoning my pride and dignity for this, but I’ve decided it’s worth the risk. 

Patrick (nodding down to your bag) You were in the Olympics? 

I manage to ask with just the right amount of fake confusion. Pretending as if I haven’t soaked in every single piece of content you’ve created since you arrived here. As if seeing your victory hasn’t sent my entire life veering off course. 

You (casually) Oh, yeah. 

Patrick What sport? 

You Skateboarding. 

Patrick …Nice. 

What the hell am I doing?

I saw. 

You Oh, ha, cool. 

Patrick I mean, I was there. In the audience. 

You Seriously? Nice.

You seem at a loss for words. And suddenly I’m starting to realize that I built you up to be some sort of god in my head, and the reality of the situation… is that you’re, well, a human being. You’re awkward, and God help me, it’s endearing. I’m being brought back down to Earth, and I’m finding that I don’t even mind. That it just humanizes you more, gives me something attainable. 

Attainable? 

You Did you come here for the Olympics? 

It takes me a few moments to snap out of my thoughts. 

Patrick Sort of. I had a business trip. It lined up well, ironically. 

You Nice. 

For some fucking reason, I want to impress you. I want to elicit a better response than an awkward ‘nice’ or ‘cool’. I want to be worth your full attention, and I want to provoke a genuine reaction. 

My eyes find the bandage on your wrist, poking out of the sleeve of your sweatshirt. You don’t notice my scrutiny, too busy staring at your sudoku like it holds the answers to the universe. The veins in your hands shift when your hand flexes. 

Patrick What happened with the wrist?

You (following my gaze) Oh. I fractured it a few months ago. It’s fine now—just gets a bit sore. I landed on it funny a few weeks ago, so. 

I nod. I have nothing to add to that. Hell, I have nothing else to say at all. There’s no instruction manual for this kind of interaction. Or, rather, there is one, but I’ve been ignoring it. Up until now, my mantra has been as follows: Do not interact with those deemed lesser than. And, in my eyes, a skateboarder certainly fits that category. 

But it’s already too late. This runaway train has been careening down the tracks since the moment you started your first run in the finals. 

Patrick You’re quite good. 

You (smiling hesitantly) Thanks.

Patrick I’ve never watched skateboarding before. I didn’t even intend to watch the finals—just happened to be in the area during my sightseeing. 

But… I’m glad I stayed to watch.

It was… invigorating.

You …Good. I’m glad. 

You clearly don’t really know what to make of that information. And I’m once again thinking about the juxtaposition between your online persona—effortlessly cool, gritty, personable—and your real self—authentic, awkward, self–deprecating. 

And, apparently, because I’m committed to making a complete fool of myself, I’m continuing to speak. 

Patrick I like your board too. 

Somehow, this is the right thing to say, because you brighten. I suspect you’re one of those people who doesn’t like to talk about themselves. Surprisingly, I don’t hate it—though it is making things more challenging. 

You Thanks! It’s Hannibal-inspired. 

Patrick I saw. That is, I saw you explain it in an interview. 

You’re popular now, aren’t you?

You I mean… yeah, I guess. It’s kind of weird. 

Patrick It makes sense. 

You (noncommittally) I guess. 

Patrick You didn’t expect to be invisible, did you? 

You Well, of course not, but… I didn’t expect, y’know, that much attention. 

Patrick You’re handling it well, at the very least. 

You Thanks. 

We both fall silent after that. I don’t make further conversation, and you don’t either. I don’t necessarily blame you—if the roles were reversed, I would be thrown off-kilter too. But somehow, I’m unsatisfied. I have no idea what I really want from you, but I’m still feeling as if there’s more I could be doing. Sure, you’re a skateboarder; sure, I assumed skateboarding to be an activity for vaping miscreants; sure, you’ve managed to turn this whole trip sideways without saying more than a few sentences to me. Sure. Sure. 

I need to take the upper hand. Leave you feeling just as conflicted as I am. I need you to think about me after this. I need to be memorable. 

When the plane lands hours later, I find my opening. I slip a hand into my briefcase and emerge with a business card, handing it over to you. 

Patrick It was nice to meet you. 

I get to my feet and head into the aisle. 

You You too.

You take the business card, looking down at it in confusion.

Wait, what—?

I promptly walk off and disappear from your sight. 

Victory: Patrick Bateman. 

…Right?

©2026, @defectivevillain | @defectivehero, All Rights Reserved. Reblogs are greatly appreciated—just don’t steal or share outside of Tumblr, please.

endnotes: if you got alysa liu vibes, that was the intention. she is probably one of the only reasons i’m proud to be american lmao.

anyways, thanks for reading! <3

check out my other works, sorted by fandom.

author’s notes: The reader is written to be the muralist (aka James Gray from the Hannibal TV show) who kills 46+ people and arranges them in a grain silo. Yeah. And this is written from second-person POV, so keep that in mind before you decide to read. I did try to mitigate some of the discomfort by writing the beginning in third-person, and I kept the actual murders as more off-screen. Still!

Warnings: canon-typical violence, murder, serial killing, dismemberment, desecration of corpses

In the cornfields of Virginia, there is a collection of grain silos. Nondescript, entirely ordinary. They occasionally creak and groan with a strong wind, but otherwise remain consistent eyesores in the expanse of golden grains. Metal giants invading nature’s bounty. 

Three of these silos store grain. The fourth grain silo has remained empty for some time, on account of the diminished harvests and fluctuating climate. The air inside is stale, the soil on the ground cracked and dry. For years, this mechanical beast stands alone and untouched.

Until a man comes along. Not a laborer or farmhand, but a different person. From miles away. Familiar with the terrain and environment, in a manner that suggests he has been there several times before. 

He does not come alone. No. His hand remains firmly latched around a pale ankle, dragging a limp body behind him with an almost reckless abandon. The corpse is pale and lifeless; when its head bumps against a jut in the ground, the man lets out an impatient breath and carries on. The dead can hardly complain, after all. 

Upon reaching the silo, the man fetches a key and opens the padlock on the door, before he and his victim disappear behind steel walls. 

This is not the first time the man has brought someone, something, here. He has done this dance before—snuffed the life out of another human being, driven them out to this desolate farmland, and given them renewed purpose. 

Within the hushed secrecy of the silo, the man bustles about now, coating his victim’s corpse in a layer of thick resin before positioning the body next to its new companions. He fixes and rearranges, bending limbs this way and that way until he feels satisfied with the placement. 

The corpse nestles into the space left for it; with this addition, the third concentric circle of his arrangement is now complete. He can certainly appreciate it from down here, though it is better witnessed from above. 

A gradient of human skin tones and bodies. Unseeing eyes looking up to metal confines; cold and frigid bones draped in dried skin. Ears fuse together, temples connect, hands interlock. It’s a portrait come to life. 

And it is almost complete. 

The man who visits the silo does not label himself, but we will: He is an artist.

Art is best created in solitude. 

Best witnessed in company. 

As you make your way to the silo, you can’t shake this unfounded feeling of foreboding. You don’t know why you’re so unsettled, but you’re inexplicably convinced that something will go wrong today. Still, you ignore it. This paranoia greets you with every visit; while it was most intense after your first few murders, it’s started to die down. You’ve been very careful to cover your tracks. 

Dry leaves crunch under your feet as you make your way through the fields. The late afternoon sunlight would be harsh and unforgiving, if not for the pleasant breeze rifling through the air. 

Everything looks to be in order upon first glance, though you quickly realize the error in your thinking: it’s too warmly lit. You haven’t had a chance to lift the roof hatch of the silo yet, but when you look up, you find that it’s already open. You couldn’t have been so sloppy as to leave it hanging open… right? No. You refuse to believe it. 

You squint through the almost blinding sunlight, putting a hand over your eyes to block some of it. Your vision goes fuzzy at the edges for a few seconds, before your eyes adjust to the brightness. There’s only a small chunk of blue sky visible through the hatch, and you eventually refocus on your work. You’ll close it as soon as you’re finished here. 

Everything looks to be in order. You’re nearly finished with the arrangement now.

“Hello.”

You startle, nearly falling over at the unexpected noise. The breath leaves your lungs as you look up to find someone staring down at you through the top of the silo. 

“...Hey,” you respond, slightly breathless. You squint up at the man, your eyes attempting to make sense of his figure. It takes a few seconds for his face to somewhat clarify, revealing high cheekbones, well-styled hair, and deep brown eyes. For a moment, you both just stare at each other. You can hear your heart roaring in your ears. All of your work, through all these days… will it really go to waste like this? In just the blink of an eye? You can practically hear the ominous wailing of police sirens in the distance. Sweat coats your hands underneath your gloves. 

He smiles. This doesn’t make you feel any better. Perhaps he means for it to be reassuring, but there’s a hidden malice in it. As if the smile is dripping from his lips like wax. 

His next words are earnest, however. “I love your work,” the man says. 

“Oh,” you respond. That’s the last thing you expected a bystander to say. Though judging by the strange plastic outfit he’s wearing, he’s more than a mere bystander. “Thanks.”

“You are most welcome,” he answers. The wind rustles his hair slightly. He peers down at your masterpiece, considering it for a long moment. Just as you’re about to resume your work, the man continues speaking. “May I have a closer look?”

“Uh…” you trail off. You’re not really fond of the idea, but you’re not sure you have much of a choice. It’s better to feign cooperation. And you’re armed, of course. The guy seems to have relatively clear skin, so you can always add him to the mural if you need to. “Sure.”

The man’s figure vanishes from the ceiling of the silo, before you hear the echo of his footsteps against the metal ladder outside. Thud. Thud. Thud. 

The door across the silo soon creaks open, as the figure slips inside and closes the door behind him. You watch him guardedly. The man regards your art with an almost flattering amount of scrutiny, his gaze gliding across each carefully-placed limb and joint. 

“I mean no harm,” he assures you, after sensing your wariness. 

“Right,” you say hesitantly. It’s hard to believe. Any sane person would scream and run upon seeing such a sight. Then again, any conception of true sanity left you years ago. 

It’s somewhat difficult to move around in the silo, given the massive display. Many of the victims lie on their backs, unseeing eyes looking up to the skies; a select few are curled on their sides to preserve space. Skin light and dark, hair long and short. There is no semblance of modesty in the stifling air of the silo, but it doesn’t matter. Art and modesty often clash. 

It’s quiet for a few minutes. You eventually decide to just ignore your new visitor, instead making some slight adjustments to a few of the recent victims. The resin still hasn’t fully cured, so you’re able to brush hair away from a person’s temple and adjust another’s hands to rest more naturally at their sides. 

As you make your way around the bodies, stepping between the crevices with practiced ease, you realize there are eyes on you. Not the hollow recognition of the corpses, but a gaze that is unquestionably alive. You look up to find the man’s eyes on you. There’s that feeling of foreboding again, tumbling in your stomach. You feel your hands start to fidget restlessly at your sides. 

When his staring doesn’t falter, you decide to conduct a small test. You take a few more steps throughout the space, expecting him to look away. Instead, his gaze follows you. 

He suddenly seems far more attached to you than the work he just praised you for. And as you come to that realization, the man takes a step closer. 

Then another. 

And another. 

You match his advance with a step backward. Your panic increases as you realize he’s cut the distance between you in half. Another step back, and he’s suddenly on you, and you can already feel the knife buried between your ribs— 

Against all expectations, he yanks you into a hug. Your breath hitches in shock, and you remain stiff against him. He doesn’t seem to mind, instead pulling you into him with a hand cradling the nape of your neck. It’s almost unbearably intimate—far too much, when you remind yourself that you don’t even know his name. You’re pressed into him so tightly that he can probably feel your heart jackrabbiting in your chest. You’re ever so wary of the bodies strewn around the ground, idly hoping that you don’t lose your balance and become part of the mural yourself. 

“You,” the man says, his breaths nearly hitting your ear in his proximity, “are extraordinary.” 

“...Thank you,” you manage to say, your voice strained as you try and fail to process what’s happening. The edges of his plastic garment are digging into your skin through your own clothing. Your arms are flat at your sides, your eyes flitting around as if you can find another exit to the silo. But he’s standing between you and the door. 

Your visitor pulls back, his hands cradling your jaw with far too much intimacy for strangers. You attempt to reel back, but his grip is tighter than you expect. You decide to stay there, instead of risking this man’s wrath. Your breaths are quicker, more uneasy. Your chest burns with the effort. Your throat is locked tight, sealed off; your lips feel glued together. His eyes flit about your face as if he’s the painter and you’re the subject. 

The man’s hold loosens far too late. You already feel like you’re suffocating—you felt short of breath from the moment you first saw him looking down on you. Like some angel bathed in golden light. (No. You suspect this man is no angel.)

“Ironic,” he states. In your proximity, you notice he has a melodic voice, a somewhat eccentric pronunciation that suggests he’s originally from Eastern Europe. He’s wearing a dress shirt and slacks beneath the protective plastic suit. If you had seen him on the street, you wouldn’t have thought anything of him. But he’s found the art you haven’t yet finished, and you feel uncomfortably exposed and vulnerable. 

“What’s ironic?” you manage to ask, every muscle in your body incredibly tense. A deer prancing right into a trap.

A wire-thin smile, as if he’s acknowledging your willingness to play along. “Life imitates art,” he recites. His hand twitches at his side, as if he’s tempted to bring a hand to your face and brush a thumb along your cheekbone again. “The artist is art himself.”

You swallow hard. His eyes track the movement of your Adam’s apple as your throat bobs. You feel as if you’re under a searing spotlight right now, with his scrutiny. His gaze is so intense, almost devouring. Your tongue is locked to the roof of your mouth.

“I apologize for disrupting your process,” he continues politely. “I only wished to commend you.” 

“Thanks,” you say again. There’s an almost dreamlike quality to your vision right now, a hazy sheen at the edge of the lines and curves. It sharpens upon meeting the stranger’s eyes. 

He takes another look around the space, before turning to you. “The FBI is pursuing you, you realize,” he says. A seemingly random turn in conversation. But his words ring true. You don’t bother to question how he knows. 

“Yeah,” you manage to answer. You had to dump a few bodies in the river the other day, when they didn’t meet your standards for the mural. You suspect some local fishermen drew them out of the water, and they fell into the FBI’s hands. Fortunately, you still made sure there was no sign of you anywhere near the bodies—and you’re certain the river water would’ve washed away any trace evidence. Otherwise they would’ve tracked you down by now. 

Still. The discovery of the bodies doesn’t bode well for your future. You’ll have to be very careful now. Paranoia and suspicion are running high in the nearby towns, as word of danger travels fast. It’ll be more difficult to source your victims, which is inconvenient and irritating. 

“I can redirect their attention,” the man offers. And despite knowing nothing about this man, you’re convinced he’s telling the truth. After all, he’s had ample opportunity to turn you in—yet he’s standing here with you instead. “It would be a shame to leave this unfinished,” he adds. 

Why would he assist you, though? Logic follows that he would only suggest such a thing if it benefited him somehow. That begs the question… “What do you want in return?” you ask, regarding him skeptically. Nothing ever comes free in this world. Especially an offer so crucial to your freedom and continued survival. 

And the man smiles. Obliging.  

“Your name,” he answers. 

(Though you don’t have reason for it yet, you suspect that he wants far more. 

Even worse, you suspect that you’ll let him have it.)

Your next breath rings through the air like a gunshot. In this collection of steel giants, hidden behind reflective walls, buried between the fused and frigid skin of your victims, there is but one action left to take. 

You give him your name.

©2026, @defectivevillain | @defectivehero, All Rights Reserved. Reblogs are greatly appreciated—just don’t steal or share outside of Tumblr, please.

endnotes: i’ve been so locked in to the hannibal books that i feel like i’m starting to forget parts of the show... i completely forgot about this episode until i was doing some googling for a different fic idea and saw the whole "i love your work" moment 😭

thanks for reading! <3

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