I shouldn't spend my nights writing bad fanfiction

The sound of laughter and distant fireworks echoed through the halls of Jujutsu High as the students celebrated the arrival of a new year. The main room was a mess of discarded cups, streamers, and confetti, and Y/N stood at the center, broom in hand, surveying the aftermath.

It was tradition now—she’d clean while the others enjoyed themselves, preferring the quiet over the chaos of the party. That's where she belonged, after all.

“You know, there’s no rule that says you have to do this every year.”

The familiar voice made her sigh. She turned to see Gojo Satoru leaning against the doorframe, his blindfold perched on his head.

“Shouldn’t you be off dazzling everyone with your charm?” she asked, resuming her sweeping.

“I already dazzled them,” he said, walking into the room. “Now I’m here to dazzle you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Grab a broom if you’re going to stay.”

He smirked but complied, picking up the other broom. Together, they cleaned in silence, the remnants of the party fading away. This was not possible when Y/N took up the position as a regular teacher, the communication between the two of them was too harsh.

“You’re always cleaning up after everyone,” he said after a while, his voice quieter than usual. “Why?”

She shrugged, keeping her eyes on the floor. Someone has to do the dirty work. At home, it was always her. A bit like Cinderella, only without a prince, but with a good friend with exceptionally good contacts, who couldn't stand her family.

His gaze lingered on her, a softness she wasn’t used to seeing in him.

The first time Gojo had seen Y/N like this was a year ago, on New Year’s Day. She had been sitting in the empty common room, staring at the remnants of another celebration. He’d wandered in, looking for a late-night snack, and found her instead.

“You okay?” he’d asked, leaning against the doorway.

“Just thinking,” she’d replied, her voice echoing back from the end of the universe.

He didn’t press her that night, just sat across from her and shared the silence. It became a habit after that—running into her at odd hours, sharing unspoken moments in the aftermath of celebrations or battles.

She intrigued him, this non-sorcerer who carried herself with quiet strength. He wasn’t used to people like her.

There are 12 months between "Gojo Satoru is really getting on my nerves!" and "You're really hard in love, Y/N" (Shoko smirking diabolically).

It started with little things—passing conversations in the halls, stolen glances during meetings, and a steady rhythm that Y/N hadn’t noticed was building. Gojo had a way of inserting himself into her life, in the spaces between her routines.

One day, she was grading papers in the courtyard, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the stone path. She heard the distinct crunch of footsteps and sighed.

“Gojo, if you’re here to bother me—”

“Bother you?” he interrupted, dropping into the chair across from her. “I’m here to provide you with my much-needed company. You’re welcome.”

“I didn’t ask for your company,” she replied, not looking up from her work.

“Your eyes did,” he teased, leaning back and balancing his chair on two legs. “They practically screamed, ‘I wish someone would entertain me.’”

Y/N smirked despite herself. “My eyes must be malfunctioning, then.”

They fell into their familiar talking, his teasing bouncing off her sharp retorts. By the time the sun had dipped below the horizon, she realized she hadn’t marked a single paper but didn’t feel annoyed about it.

Another time, they crossed paths in the library. She was perched on a ladder, pulling down a stack of dusty books, when his voice rang out.

“Need a hand, shorty?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m fine, Gojo.”

“Come on, let me be your knight in shining armor,” he said, winking up at her.

“Go pester someone else,” she muttered, carefully stepping down the ladder.

But when she mistook the last step, Gojo was there, catching her before she could hit the ground. She blinked up at him, her face inches from his, and for a moment, the air between them shifted and Y/N thought of kissing him.

“Careful,” he said, his voice unusually soft.

“Thanks,” she murmured, stepping out of his arms and busying herself with the books.

The moments kept piling up—him bringing her coffee during long staff meetings, her quietly leaving snacks in the training rooms he frequented. Neither addressed the subtle shift, but it was undeniable, and for everyone to see.

The breaking point came during a mission. A group of students had been sent to exorcise a minor curse but found themselves overwhelmed. Y/N and Gojo had been dispatched as backup.

While Gojo handled the curse with his usual flair, Y/N focused on helping the injured students. She knelt beside one, assessing their wounds, like Shoko had shown her and other non-sorcerers, when she heard Gojo’s voice behind her.

“Y/N, watch out!”

Before she could react, he was in front of her, his hand raised as a barrier materialized to deflect a stray attack. The curse dissolved moments later, but the weight of his protective stance lingered.

“You okay?” he asked, turning to her, his eyes scanning her for injuries.

“I’m fine,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Of course I did,” he replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Can’t have anything happening to you.”

Her heart stuttered at his words, so honest.

Later that night, as she replayed the events in her mind, she found herself questioning her growing feelings. It wasn’t just his charm or his power—it was the way he seemed to notice the parts of her that others overlooked.

And while she hated to admit it, she couldn’t ignore the truth anymore. She had fallen for Gojo Satoru, and it felt like standing at the edge of a cliff, the ground crumbling beneath her feet.

There are 12 months between “Y/N is a pain in my ass!" and "You're down bad, Gojo-san" (Ijichi grinning diabolically).

This New Year’s was quieter than the last. Most of the students had gone home, leaving the school nearly empty. Y/N found herself cleaning again, the silence soothing as she swept confetti into a pile.

“You’re predictable,” Gojo said, appearing as if from nowhere.

She didn’t look up. “And you’re annoying.”

He chuckled, grabbing a nearby chair and spinning it around to sit backward. “Why do you always do this?”

“Do what?”

“Hide away. Take care of everyone else. Pretend like you don’t matter.”

Because she meant nothing. She was just a mixture of bone and flesh. Meaningless. Next to everything else. For the sake of peace, she decided not to say it out loud. You hide something like that behind walls without doors.

She stopped sweeping. “What are you talking about?”

“I’ve been watching you,” he said, his tone serious. “You give so much of yourself to everyone else, but you never let anyone in.”

Oh, how she hated the way he read her like an open book. The way he gently hit the points. The way he tore down the walls, she carefully built around her past.

Her chest tightened, and she turned away. “Why do you care?”

“Because I care about you,” he said simply, standing up. She froze, her heart pounding in her chest. “Don’t joke about that, Satoru.”

“I’m not joking,” he said, stepping closer. “I’ve been trying to ignore it, I really did. Because having this kind of feeling for people, for non-sorcerers especially, is tough. I learnt from my past that it can hurt, but I also learnt that it hurts the most not to talk about. So yeah, I do care about you so, so deeply and I would never joke when it comes to you —and my students.”

She turned to face him, searching his face for any hint of mockery, but all she found was sincerity. She was speechless.

“You drive me crazy,” she said, her voice trembling.

He smiled, but it was softer this time. “Good. Then we’re even.”

As the first light of dawn broke over the horizon, Y/N and Gojo sat side by side in the common room, the mess forgotten.

“Do you think this is a mistake?” she asked quietly, her head resting on his shoulder.

“Probably,” he replied, lacing his fingers with hers. “But I don’t care.”

She laughed softly, and he turned to look at her, his eyes bright in the dim light.

“Stay,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"It's such a shame our friendship had to end." - Prince, Purple rain

Kageyama Tobio stood at the back of the small, quiet room, his hands tucked into the pockets of his dark suit. The air was thick with the scent of incense, an overbearing reminder of the reason they were all here. A framed photograph of Ukai Keishin sat on an altar, a wistful smile frozen in time. He had aged since their days in Karasuno, but the fire in his eyes had never dimmed.

The murmurs of people paying their respects blended with the soft hum of the rain outside, drumming steadily against the roof. Tobio couldn’t help but feel detached, like the world had shifted slightly out of place since he’d heard the news. Ukai’s death wasn’t unexpected—his health had been deteriorating for months—but it was the finality that stung.

Standing alone by the back wall, Tobio watched as mourners drifted in and out, their faces blurred by the haze of his thoughts. His heart was heavy, yet hollow, and his mind swirled with fragments of memories. Ukai had been more than just a coach. He had been a mentor, a guiding force during Tobio’s youth, pushing him to be better, to reach higher. Yet, standing there now, Tobio felt the weight of a different absence.

He hadn’t seen him yet—not in years.

Hinata Shoyo was leaning against the wall, his black uniform still soaked with sweat, orange hair plastered to his forehead. His chest heaved as he caught his breath, but his eyes were already locked onto Kageyama. There was something in that gaze—determination mixed with something softer, something Tobio had been avoiding for years.

“You played well,” Hinata said, voice strained but steady. He pushed off the wall and took a step toward Tobio.

Tobio didn’t reply. His jaw tightened, and his eyes shifted away from Hinata’s. The words he wanted to say lodged in his throat, replaced by something darker, something sharp. He couldn’t let himself feel it—the ache of seeing Hinata, the sting of old memories coming back to life.

Hinata took another step forward, his hand reaching out, as if he could close the distance that had grown between them, a distance that had nothing to do with physical space.

But Kageyama stepped back, and the hurt that flashed across Hinata’s face was like a knife to the gut.

“Tobio,” Hinata’s voice was softer now, hesitant. “I know things have been—difficult. But we can’t keep doing this. Not like this.”

The sound of his name on Hinata’s lips broke something inside Kageyama. For so long, he had buried everything. All the feelings that came flooding back now—the anger, the pain, the loneliness. It all surged up like a wave he couldn’t stop.

Kageyama snapped.

“You just don’t get it, do you?” His voice was low, rough, barely controlled. “You left.”

Hinata blinked, confused, as if he hadn’t expected those words. “What? I—”

“You left, Hinata.” Kageyama’s voice rose, and with it, the storm of emotions he had kept locked away for years. His hands were shaking now, his anger bubbling up to the surface. “You left me, and you didn’t even care.”

Hinata’s eyes widened, and he took a step back, shocked by the venom in Kageyama’s voice. “I—I didn’t leave because I didn’t care, Tobio. I had to—”

“No,” Kageyama cut him off, his voice hard and bitter. “You had to do what? Chase your stupid dream in Brazil? Abandon everything we worked for? You didn’t even think about how it would affect me.”

The hallway felt unbearably small, the walls closing in around them. Kageyama could feel the weight of his own words crashing down on him, but he couldn’t stop. He didn’t want to stop. The anger was easier than admitting the truth, easier than feeling the hollow space inside him where Hinata had once been.

“Tobio, it wasn’t like that,” Hinata pleaded, stepping forward again, his hands raised in a futile attempt to calm Kageyama down. “I did it for us—for me. I had to become stronger, to stand beside you, not just follow you around.”

Kageyama’s eyes blazed, and he stepped forward, his anger spilling out unchecked. “Don’t lie to me, Hinata. You wanted out. You wanted more than what we had, and you didn’t even care about what it cost me.”

His words hung in the air like poison, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Hinata’s face fell, the hurt evident in his eyes, but there was something else there too. Understanding.

And that only made Kageyama angrier.

“I trusted you,” Kageyama said, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. “We were a team. You and me. And then you just—left. Like I didn’t matter.”

Hinata’s face twisted in pain, his eyes searching Kageyama’s as if he could find a way to fix the damage that had been done. “Tobio, you’ve always mattered to me. You’re the reason I wanted to get better. The reason I thought I could even reach the top.”

But the words didn’t soothe Kageyama. They only fueled the fire burning inside him.

“If I mattered so much, why did you leave?” Kageyama’s voice cracked, raw with emotion. “Why did you just walk away without even asking me if I needed you?”

Hinata’s eyes filled with unshed tears, his fists clenching at his sides. He looked like he wanted to say something—anything—to make it right, but he couldn’t find the words.

“I thought…” Hinata started, his voice shaky, “I thought you didn’t need me anymore. You were always so far ahead, Tobio. I thought I was just holding you back.”

Kageyama’s heart twisted painfully at those words. He had been angry for so long, so consumed by the betrayal, that he hadn’t even considered that Hinata had felt just as lost. Just as hurt.

But he wasn’t ready to forgive.

“You were holding me back,” Kageyama lied, the words bitter on his tongue. “And you’re still the same reckless idiot who can’t do anything right.”

Hinata flinched, his body stiffening as the weight of Kageyama’s words hit him. For a moment, it looked like he might break—like Kageyama had finally pushed him too far.

But then, to Kageyama’s surprise, Hinata straightened his shoulders, his expression hardening into something resolute. He took a deep breath, his voice steady but soft. “I’m not going to fight with you, Tobio. Not anymore.”

Kageyama blinked, thrown off by the sudden shift in Hinata’s tone.

Hinata stepped closer, his gaze unwavering, even as Kageyama glared at him with all the fury he could muster. “I’m sorry,” Hinata said, his voice firm. “I’m sorry I left. But I’m not sorry for trying to get better. I’m not sorry for wanting to stand beside you as an equal and I am sad that you won't have me by your side. I am sad that you think of me as a careless swine.”

His fingers curled tightly inside his pockets at the thought. It had been too long since they had spoken, too long since they had been on the same court, fighting side by side. And yet, as much as he tried to bury the memories, the boy with the blinding smile and fiery spirit always lingered just at the edges of his mind.

A rustle at the door caught his attention, and Tobio's eyes flickered over.

There, framed by the doorway, stood Hinata Shoyo.

For a moment, the world seemed to still, the rain fading into a distant murmur. Shoyo hadn’t changed, not really. His hair was a little shorter now, but that same wild energy seemed to pulse beneath his skin, as though he were barely holding still. He was dressed in black, a somber contrast to the brightness that Tobio had always associated with him. And yet, even in the grief of the moment, Shoyo’s presence lit up the room, pulling Tobio’s gaze like gravity.

Their eyes met.

The air between them felt charged, thick with a thousand unspoken words, a thousand memories they had both left behind. For a moment, neither of them moved, the silence between them stretching taut. Then, slowly, Shoyo’s lips twitched upward, a small, tentative smile, as if he weren’t quite sure what to do.

Tobio felt something catch in his chest—an ache he hadn’t realized he was still carrying.

Shoyo approached, each step slow and measured, as though testing the fragile distance between them. When he finally stopped a few feet away, Tobio could see the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, a vulnerability that Shoyo rarely let slip.

“Tobio,” Shoyo said softly, his voice barely more than a whisper, yet it reverberated through Tobio like a shockwave.

Tobio swallowed, his throat suddenly tight. “Hinata.”

For a moment, neither of them knew what to say. There was too much, too many years of silence and space between them, too much hurt that had been buried but never fully healed. And yet, standing there in the presence of Ukai’s memory, Tobio felt that familiar pull—the connection that had always drawn him to Shoyo, even when they had tried to go their separate ways.

They stood there, two men who had once been inseparable on the court, now awkward and distant in the face of loss. It had been years since their last match, years since that fateful argument that had driven a wedge between them. The betrayal still hung heavy between them, unspoken but undeniable.

Ukai had tried to bring them back together after the fallout, but they were both too stubborn, too wounded to meet halfway. Now, it was too late to fix things for Ukai’s sake. All they had left was the grief, the memories, and each other.

“I didn’t know you were going to be here,” Shoyo murmured, his eyes flickering toward the altar, his expression softening with sadness.

Tobio felt the words lodge in his throat. “I couldn’t… not show up,” he said quietly, his gaze fixed on the photograph of their former coach. “He meant too much to me.”

Shoyo nodded, his hands fidgeting slightly by his sides, a nervous habit Tobio recognized all too well. “Yeah. He meant a lot to all of us.”

Silence stretched between them again, awkward and heavy, as the weight of everything unsaid pressed down on them. The memories of their shared past—the matches, the victories, the losses—seemed to swirl around them like ghosts, too painful to confront directly.

But it wasn’t just the past that lingered. It was the way Tobio had felt when Shoyo had left, the sharp sting of abandonment that had cut deeper than he’d expected. They had grown apart after Karasuno, taking different paths in the world of professional volleyball. But it was more than that. It was the betrayal of trust, the way they had both been too proud to apologize, too hurt to make things right.

Tobio’s eyes dropped to the floor. He hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected to see Shoyo again, not like this, not here. The years had given him time to heal, but it had also allowed the pain to fester, to harden into something sharper.

“Hinata,” Tobio began, but the words caught in his throat. What was he supposed to say? That he had missed him? That he had never stopped thinking about him, even when they were on different sides of the world? That he had been angry, furious even, but the anger had only been a mask for something deeper?

Shoyo turned to face him fully, his eyes searching Tobio’s face with a mix of hesitation and something else—something Tobio wasn’t ready to name.

“Yeah?” Shoyo’s voice was soft, tentative.

“I—” Tobio exhaled sharply, his fists clenching inside his pockets. “I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know what to say.”

Shoyo’s lips quirked into a small, sad smile. “You never were good with words.”

Tobio huffed, a bitter laugh escaping him before he could stop it. “I guess some things never change.”

Shoyo took a step closer, and Tobio’s heart clenched. He could feel the heat of Shoyo’s presence now, close enough to touch but still just out of reach.

“Maybe we don’t need words,” Shoyo said softly, his gaze unwavering. “Maybe we just… need to stop pretending like it doesn’t hurt.”

Tobio’s breath caught in his throat, and for the first time, he allowed himself to meet Shoyo’s eyes fully. The vulnerability there was raw, unguarded. It was the same look Shoyo had given him years ago, the night before everything had fallen apart.

Kageyama sat in the locker room, his elbows resting on his knees, staring down at his hands. His mind was still buzzing from the argument with Hinata days ago, the words they had exchanged replaying in an endless loop. He had avoided thinking about it, burying himself in practice, drills, anything to keep his mind from straying back to that raw confrontation.

He could still hear the sharp edge in his own voice, the way Hinata had flinched. How he’d looked—hurt, confused, but still standing tall. Kageyama had wanted to break him with his words, to push him away as far as possible. Now, all that remained was the bitter taste of regret.

Suddenly, his phone buzzed on the bench next to him, a notification flashing across the screen. A team announcement from the Japan Volleyball Association. Nothing unusual, probably roster updates or scheduling. He almost didn’t check it, but habit forced him to grab his phone, unlocking it with a quick swipe.

The first thing he saw made his heart drop.

Official Announcement: Shoyo Hinata Declines Offer to Join Japan’s National Team.

Kageyama’s breath caught in his throat, his fingers tightening around the phone as he read the headline again, as if it would change.

Hinata had declined?

There was a sharp pain in his chest, a mixture of disbelief and frustration surging through him. How could he decline? Hinata had always dreamed of representing Japan. It was something they both had shared since their early days at Karasuno—a dream they had chased together. And now, Hinata was just walking away from it?

His eyes moved quickly over the article, scanning for any explanation, any reason that made sense.

And then, the next line hit him like a punch to the gut:

Hinata Shoyo to represent Brazil in the upcoming international season.

Kageyama froze, his mind blank for a moment as the words sank in. Brazil. Hinata had left Japan—not just for training, but to play for an entirely different country. He wasn’t just distancing himself from Kageyama; he was cutting ties with everything they had worked for. Every promise they had made.

The phone trembled in his grip, a surge of anger and confusion coursing through him. He could barely process it. Why? Why would Hinata do this?

Kageyama stood abruptly, the chair screeching against the floor as he pushed it back. His pulse thundered in his ears, and his body felt like it was moving on instinct, a restless energy taking over.

He threw his bag over his shoulder and stormed out of the locker room, pushing through the corridors of the training facility, barely registering the people around him. His mind was racing, a storm of thoughts and emotions swirling inside him, none of them making any sense.

Brazil. It felt like the ultimate betrayal, even worse than when Hinata had left for Brazil to train in the first place. Back then, it had hurt, but Kageyama could at least understand it—Hinata was chasing his dream, trying to become stronger. But this? Playing for a foreign country, abandoning everything they had built in Japan?

This wasn’t just about volleyball anymore. This was personal.

As Kageyama pushed through the exit doors and into the cool evening air, he found himself standing in the parking lot, staring blankly at the sky, the weight of it all pressing down on him. He didn’t understand.

Hinata had always been impulsive, always chasing the next big challenge, but Kageyama had never imagined he would go this far. He hadn’t even said anything about it. No warning. No explanation.

And then it hit him, a realization so obvious it felt like a punch to the gut: "I’m not sorry for wanting to stand beside you as an equal and I am sad that you won't have me by your side."

Kageyama’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, a wave of guilt washing over him. He had pushed Hinata away. He had refused to listen, to understand why Hinata needed to go to Brazil in the first place. And now, Hinata had made his choice—one that didn’t include Kageyama. One that didn’t include Japan.

A part of him wanted to call Hinata, to demand answers, to force him to explain why he was throwing this dream away. But another part—the part that felt the weight of every harsh word he had thrown at Hinata in that argument—knew it wouldn’t make a difference.

He had already pushed Hinata too far. This wasn’t just about the national team. This was about the years of distance, the unresolved tension, the anger and hurt that neither of them had ever addressed.

Kageyama leaned against the wall, his breathing heavy as the realization settled in. Hinata wasn’t coming back. Not to him. Not to Japan. He had made his choice, and there was nothing Kageyama could do to change it.

For the first time, Kageyama felt the full weight of what he had lost. It wasn’t just their sport partnership. It wasn’t just the dream of representing Japan together.

He had lost Hinata—the person who had once stood by his side through everything, who had believed in him when no one else did. And now, it seemed, he had lost him for good.

Kageyama closed his eyes, the ache in his chest growing heavier with each breath. He wasn’t sure if it was anger anymore. Maybe it was something deeper—something he had refused to face all this time. The fact that he had cared about Hinata more than he had ever been willing to admit. The fact that, for so long, he had been afraid of losing him.

And now, he had.

The thought lingered in the air, sharp and cold, leaving Kageyama with only the empty silence of the parking lot as his answer.

Hinata was gone.

And Kageyama wasn’t sure if he’d ever find a way to get him back.

Tobio’s chest tightened. It would be so easy to give in, to close the distance between them and let go of the years of hurt and anger. But there was something holding him back—something that made him hesitate.

“I don’t know if we can go back,” Tobio murmured, his voice barely audible.

Shoyo’s eyes softened, his gaze never wavering. “I don’t think we’re supposed to go back, Tobio. I think we’re supposed to move forward.”

Tobio swallowed hard, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. He could feel the pull between them, the undeniable connection that had never really faded, even after all these years. But the scars were still there, the wounds that had never fully healed.

For a long moment, they stood there, caught between the past and the future, between hurt and hope. The rain outside continued to fall, a steady rhythm that seemed to echo the heartbeat of the room.

Then, slowly, tentatively, Tobio reached out.

Shoyo’s hand met his halfway.

The touch was light, almost imperceptible, but it was enough. It was a start.

And in that small gesture, Tobio realized something he hadn’t been ready to admit before.

Maybe they didn’t need to fix everything right now. Maybe they didn’t need to have all the answers. But standing there, together, in the midst of their shared grief, Tobio knew one thing for certain.

He wasn’t ready to let Shoyo go. Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

Karma and Nagisa had been together for 11 years, and even after all that time, they still found comfort in simply resting together. As they lay in bed, the streetlights and moonlight streaming through the window creating a serene atmosphere, Karma tucked his head into the crook of Nagisa's arm and pulled him closer as he watched his soft and steady breathing.

Nagisa felt his breath against his chest and opened a swirling blue eye to look at Karma. He smiled and Karma found himself looking back at him. Even in the darkness, Nagisa's beautiful face shone for him like the stars. Neither of them felt the need to fill the silence that surrounded them; instead, they simply let it linger.

Nagisa began to speak, his raspy voice breaking the silence. Karma listened as he spoke of random topics, his steady voice encouraging him to share his thoughts and stories. As he made small comments in between anecdotes, it was almost as if he was confirming that they were content and allowing each other to just be together.

Karma really felt comfortable with him. But he had never expected this. For several reasons. First of all, he had been a bit of an idiot at school, which he was now aware of. Secondly, Nagisa was still handsome and kind - the list of people who would like to be with him is long. But here they were.

Karma slowly began to open up, and for the first time in years he felt like sharing these repressed thoughts without fear of judgement. The couple talked until their eyelids became heavy and it was time to drift off into a peaceful sleep.

«Nagisa.»

Blood trickled down his pale arms. Sugino isn't sure if his friend notices him. Carefully he dabbed off the blood and grabbed Nagisa's hand. No reaction. Gently he stroked the hand. A little twitch. Weak throat clearing.

«Sugino. Are you okay? Are you safe? Are we safe?»

Sugino softly kissed Nagisa's hand and stayed a while in this position. Should he really nip this little peaceful moment in the bud? A moment they shared so rarely and yet so often. Tears rolled down his cheeks and Nagisa roughly wiped them away.

«Don't protect me, Sugino, I don't deserve to be protected.»

Sugino looked up in disgust. His lips trembled, unable to utter a word. Nagisa rested his forehead against Suginos.  It took him two moments to close the short distance between her lips. Sugino broke the kiss first. He had to end this moment even though he felt so comfortable in Nagisa's love.

«We aren't safe, my love, and we never truly were.»

Nagisa nodded understandingly. Then, in a flash, Nagisa's knife met Sugino's skin. Stone cold.

«Is it so hard to love me at my worst?»

★————————————————★

As I said, really short. This one's for @assclasss (thanks for your support)

There was absolutely no need to storm your mother's office. Kimiko had warned her, she had also said that you had to discuss something serious. Your mother was totally excited when you stepped through the office door. She got up frantically and took you in her arms. She gently rubbed your back and smiled gratefully at Kimiko over your shoulder. At that point, your mother didn't know anything and you didn't want to tell her in the office either. 

"Honey, what's wrong?"

Your mother's foot appeared to be stuck to the accelerator as she drove the three of you home.  Kimiko held onto the dashboard as usual while you rocked back and forth on the back seat.  Every now and then your mother looked in the rearview mirror to gaze at you worriedly.

Thanks to your mother's fast-paced driving style, you arrived at your home within minutes (surprisingly alive). The way to the front door dragged on because your mother tried to straighten every flower and plant in the front yard. When the three of you arrived at the door (after ages), your breaths froze. She observed the special gift stiffly. 

"That's not why you took me home-"

Your mother stopped mid-sentence as she interpreted the expression on your face. She closed her eyes briefly to compensate for the upcoming tears. Not in the front yard.

Your mother stared at you in shock, then at Kimiko.  She bowed her head and blinked on the floor. Taking a deep breath, she jumped just outside the front door and unlocked it. 

"Come in over the veranda"  she mumbled and nodded to both of you before she disappeared into the house. Slowly you walked around the house. Kimiko swallowed hard. It was like your stalker noticed that you wanted to talk to your mother.

Your mother had already set the little table on the veranda. It was the wedding tableware that your grandma had handpainted. Tea calms the soul, Y/N, my darling. Then the old woman had adjusted her glasses and threw a mischievous smile around them. This is exactly what your mother was trying to copy now, with the aim of calming you down.

"Then let's get started."

"Tell me why there is a decapitated cat on our doorstep." Your mother smiled gently as she poured your tea into your mugs. As if this would be a usual topic, you'd discuss it on regular basis. Though, it wasn't. Not for you, at least. Kimiko hold back a chuckle because this whole situation was too bizarre.

"Look, as your mother I care about you over anyone and anything else. You are my one and only child. You seemed a bit off. The last few months. Let me help you or at least don't let me run around in darkness and ignorance anymore, my darling."

At this point, you weren't sure if there was worry in her eyes or eyes in her worry. Yet you felt the worry, with every cell of your body, and it was nearly torturing.

"I received gifts. Beautiful, loving ones at first. You know, gifts you would give your significant cant other. I noticed that there was someone. Wherever I was, I wasn't alone. The person spied on me. They were asking my friends about me. What kind of books I'd like and—" You stopped, your voice was shaking so much, that you couldn't finish properly.

"And we are not even halfway through it all, Mrs. L/N," Kimiko whispered and decided to talk from now on, after exchanging nods with you.

"I got confused when you told me Y/N doesn't have a tutoring job. Why would she lie to me? I waited at the school bus stop for her. However, she didn't come. So I waited for the bus to drive without me to look after my only friend. We walked home that afternoon... We always do since then." Kimiko made a pause to take a sip of the tea and tried to smile warmly at your mother but she terribly failed at it.

"I felt those glances too. And Y/N kept the letters and presents and -coming directly to the next point- screenshot all chat conversations. Just if you don't believe us."

Your mother shuddered in shock. How the hell could Kimiko say she wouldn't believe you. Shivering, she grabbed your hands and tried to hold the four as tightly as possible. As a mother you can feel when your child is suffering, you could say, but that's not true. Some ailments are so quiet that they cannot be heard unless they are talked about. Your mother wasn't angry with you because of your silence (maybe a bit disappointed), but just glad that she now knew what was on your mind. She sighed in a relief moment. Before she remembered the dead cat and the way you had been adoring cats for a very long time. This certain somebody was about to meet one of your mother's fists soon.

The silence enveloped you three and a gentle breeze freshened the air.  Slowly you closed your eyes and exhaled with relief.

Maybe it's the wind that uses the leaves of the cherry tree as its instruments. Maybe it's the warm tea between your hands. Maybe it's the fact that your mother knows and believes, that made your spirit free and light for the first time in months.

———

004 <<<<< do you see me >>>>>006

———

When you woke up, you saw Kimiko sleeping unergonomically on her chair. Iwaizumi had leaned on the edge of the bed and seemed to be sleeping.

"How long?“ His voice was determined, but still very gentle. Confused, you stared at him.

You swallowed and all at once you went numb. "Time is relative, Iwaizumi-san.“

He snorted. Of course, it was clear you didn’t want to talk about it, but he looked at you with that sealed, worrying look that you had to say something.

“For far too long, if you want to know, this is going to take a while.“

Iwaizumi looked at you worriedly before he slowly sat down next to you on the bed.

“A year or just a few months?“

You had begun to shake again. Iwaizumi moved closer to you and gently stroked your shoulders. Every time he stroked over your shoulder, your cheeks started to burn more and more. Whether from discomfort or the exact opposite, you didn’t know exactly yourself.

“How many people know about this?“

You shivered and pointed at your sleeping friend. Iwaizumi nodded softly.

"How much more besides tracking happens?"

His serenity was reassuring to you. Like balm for your much too broken soul. He didn’t condemn you. He just gently stroked over your shoulder and tried to listen to you. You shook your head. This question should remain unanswered. He wasn’t supposed to know about the presents and the ravens or the knife that was stuck in the pillow the other morning next to your neck. Since then, you haven’t closed a single eye in your home and increased your coffee consumption by many times.

You would have asked your parents if they would change the lock. There would have been break-ins. Despite the new lock, the unrequested visits did not stop. Sometimes the stairs creaked and then you felt like you were in the worst horror film in history. Scratching on the door. Doorknobs rattling. Heavy breathing. The full program. Iwaizumi eyed you doubtingly as if trying to crawl into your brain.

"How many know about this?" 

More than you would like. Actually, you wanted to keep it to yourself as long as possible so that there would be no unnecessary worries. 

"Unnecessary worries?" Iwaizumi laughed out loud.  "I don't think they are unnecessary."

"I'm even sure that this guy had a knife in his hand. He wanted to hurt you, L / N. Maybe even—" 

You raised your hand and made it clear to him that you knew exactly what Iwaizumi was getting at.  You saw the knife too.  You even realized it.  It was your mother's favorite kitchen knife. 

"It goes through a melon like through butter."

"What did you say, you mumbled so much?" 

You staggered and got up to go to the bathroom.  While you were freshening up, Kimiko woke up to see her brother sitting on her bed, slightly scratched. 

"What else happened besides chasing? You know you need to talk about it. Otherwise, she can't be helped." 

Kimiko rolled her eyes. Surely she meant to be polite, but you were too stubborn to get help and she gave in to your stubbornness.

"Maybe someone put dead animals in her room. He definitely has a key. For the new lock." 

"That's why they changed the lock. I was wondering."

That was all Iwaizumi said, nothing about the dead animals.  Nothing about the fact that someone had access to your house.  Kimiko had wished for a different reaction, but how do you react? You probably reacted best of all who knew.  Although it was a tremendous burden for you.

"Who does that?" 

You both had been thinking about this question for a long time, over and over again.  As you walked down the school corridors, you kept an eye out for suspects; you had been able to limit the suspect's circle to the school relatively early on. Thank you for your not particularly well-developed social life.

The bathroom floor was pleasantly cold.  You had to lie down on the floor very slowly to calm down.  If you had been at your home, you would have screamed the house together.  Like you always did when Kimiko had left the house and you had spent another afternoon looking for the boy. Your whole room looked like a detective agency, just very, very cheap. You'd gone through all the options. Kimiko's ex-boyfriend, your ex-boyfriend, and the boy you once hit because he got too touchy towards you.  You couldn't take it anymore.  You would just love to storm your mother's office now and be hugged by her.  Like a toddler. Oh, what would you give to just be a safeguarded toddler again?  You didn't even notice how you started crying.  Only when someone knocked softly on the door did you feel your eyes burn.

After breakfast Kimiko suggested you go to town. Together, of course. As soon as you got on the bus, your cell phone began to vibrate. While trying to open the message, Kimiko knocked the cell phone out of your hand and vigorously shook her head. 

"Either me or neither of us."

"What?"

"We don't check our phones. Just having a good time."

You both sat down and waited for the bus to drive again. The engine roared softly and the bus driver slowly drove on. People got on and off. You looked out the window and surveyed the waiting people. A loud crack made you jump, startled.  It was just a passerby who sat down behind you.

Your heart was beating incredibly fast and you felt dizzy. Suddenly a knife wobbled in front of your eyes.

"Your head is just like a melon for this knife."

—

003<<<Do you see me>>>005