𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄’𝐒 𝐍𝐎 𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐄

PROLOGUE 

Like plunging beneath the surface of water and then, abruptly, breaking through to the air above—your body jolted as if awakening in a new world altogether. You drew in a long breath, your eyes fluttering open to reveal the ceiling, both familiar yet unfamiliar in its greeting. Swiftly, you surveyed your surroundings, noting with growing recognition the confines of your old room within the De Roma estate. The estate! 

You were not in the palace of Caelum, but in the estate of House De Roma. A surge of realization flooded through you as you dashed towards the nearest mirror, confronting your reflection with wide, startled eyes. 

No... could it be... that you have returned to your body, ten years prior?!

In the mirror, the reflection staring back at you was not that of the notorious wife of the tyrant Emperor Satoru, but of a 20-year-old maiden, the eldest daughter of Duke de Roma, with fuller cheeks and a more youthful appearance. You could not shake the feeling of disbelief, wondering if this was all just a dream, so you reached out to touch your arms and felt the flesh beneath your fingers, trying to convince yourself that this was an unexpected reality.

Oh, you were back. You found yourself returned to your former self, a decade younger, but now armed with the knowledge of your past life's actions and their consequences. Alongside this newfound understanding, the gift of clairvoyance had also been bestowed upon you.

And for what? Why had the heavens above returned you to your body? Was it for revenge, a second chance, or perhaps punishment?

Suddenly, a loud, deafening sound pierced your ears, and a blinding white light enveloped your vision. Your body became as still as a statue, and it felt as though your soul was transported to a fourth dimension where divine intervention seemed a lot more plausible to exist.

As your soul hovered in the liminal space between life and death, you found yourself standing before a figure cloaked in billowing robes, her presence commanding and her gaze piercing. This figure was Fortuna, the ancient Caelan goddess of fortune and fate, her visage austere and unforgiving.

“Are you aware of the sins that stain your soul?” 

“Have you felt the weight of your transgressions, the consequences of your actions that have wrought suffering upon your people and brought ruin to your empire?”

Her voice echoed through the realm with the divine judgment that weighed upon your conscience, while her gaze penetrated to the core of your being and demanded honesty and accountability in the face of your past misdeeds.

“Will you atone for your sins?” 

“Will you seize this opportunity for redemption, or will you squander it in self-pity and remorse?”

As you stood in the presence of the ancient goddess, grappling with the heaviness of your sins and the daunting task ahead, a brilliant light had all of a sudden illuminated the space around you. From the heart of this radiant glow emerged the figure of Archangel Raphael, his presence heralded by a chorus of angelical voices and the stirring of celestial winds.

Clad in robes that seemed to shimmer with the intensity of celestial light, Archangel Raphael's presence commanded attention, his wings unfurled behind him in a display of resolute authority. If Goddess Fortuna was intimidating, the archangel was fearsome all the more. His gaze, intense and penetrating, swept over you with a gravity that left no room for evasion or deceit.

“Empress of Caelum,” he spoke, his tone firm and unyielding, and his voice carrying a billion years of heavenly existence, “You stand accused of grievous sins, crimes that have shaken the very foundations of your empire and brought suffering upon your people.”

There was no trace of softness in Archangel Raphael's demeanor, no room for mercy in the face of wrongdoing. His presence was a testament to the uncompromising nature of divine justice, his strictness a reflection of the solemn duty entrusted to him as an Archangel of the Almighty. This, no doubt, was the face of a true and formidable executor of justice.

And you, the subject, had angered the divine beings that guarded the Caelan Empire, so much so that God himself sent the goddess of the land and one of his archangels to mitigate your rightful punishment.

“By the decree of the Almighty, you are granted a second chance to amend your sins and redeem your soul. You shall return to the mortal realm, to live your life anew and correct the sins that have stained your soul.”

“Should you fail to rectify your past transgressions, should you stray from the path of righteousness and succumb once more to the temptations of darkness, know that the consequences shall be severe and eternal.”

“For those who squander the gift of divine mercy shall be cast into the deepest depths of hell, where they shall endure a punishment of unending torment and suffering.”

In the presence of Archangel Raphael and Goddess Fortuna’s equally stern gazes, you were keenly aware of the magnitude of your transgressions and the severity of the judgment that awaited you. But even as you trembled beneath the weight of their scrutiny, you knew that their presence also offered you the opportunity for redemption, with your only task to prove yourself worthy of divine mercy.

Indeed, it was by your very hands that hundreds and thousands of Christian souls shed their blood. Innocent lives, both young and old, were cruelly taken at your command. The citizens of Caelum who fell sick from the spread of the plague. The esteemed Caelan advisors of your husband’s primogenitors, skinned alive and speared in pikes by the Tiber River. The wrongly accused maid who suffered the indignity of serving your husband, paraded unclothed through the streets and subjected to the brutality of the pear of anguish. The gallant and dignified knight, tortured mentally and physically in the atrocious dungeon. Now, you find yourself thrust back into the horrors of your former life ten years hence. A life of a noble lady who ought not to be blinded by her destructive love for the empire’s crown prince. 

Yet, could you truly navigate this life without ascending to the position as his empress?

As you tried to commune with the divine beings afore you, a haze in your vision transported you away from the heavenly space, realizing that you were already drawn back into the reality of your chamber, inhabiting the youthful frame of a twenty-year-old daughter of a duke. You found yourself too astonished to move, too shaken to speak, and too afraid to take any action in this new lease of life blessed upon you. At that very moment, your state of reverie was disrupted at the arrival of your maid, who entered your chamber in a humble servant garb.

Milena. The maid whose life was cut short by your hand in your past existence due to petty thievery. “My lady,” she spoke with a hint of respect and urgency, unaware of the ill-fate you had given her in your past life, “A visitor has arrived at the gates and requests an audience with you. Shall I show them in?” 

Too soon? Need it truly be so soon to engage with the people from your past life immediately after awakening to your old, yet younger body? Gazing upon your maid through the mirror, you asked, “Who is that intruder you speak of?” 

She bowed her head, her stance shifting into one of apologetic deference. The way she firmly stood by your door was a message to you that the intruder was not someone you could easily reject the presence of.

“The visitor is His Highness, Crown Prince Satoru.” 

Never in your life did you feel this much excitement about going out of the country. Countless times have you traveled across the globe with your family and friends, but the thought of being alone with your husband was a new experience that brought soft tickles to your delicate heart.

Honeymoon, they called it. A romantic vacation spent together by newlyweds to celebrate the beginning of their union. You had always dreamed of spending your first few days as a wife by visiting a beautiful country with your husband, and Iceland was certainly the perfect destination for your sweet getaway.

“Why Iceland?” you wondered, an arm looped around Satoru as the two of you walked inside the plane’s First Class suite.

You could see his arctic lashes fluttering slowly behind his dark sunglasses. He was visibly drowsy after having woken up at 4 AM just to catch your flight. Despite the mop of messy white hair, he was still looking very attractive in your eyes. “Felt like it,” he mumbled a quick response while finding his designated seat listlessly. “We should’ve flied private.”

Those things didn’t matter much to you, but as a wife of an influential businessman, you felt that it was important to note how Satoru preferred flying private than getting on commercial flights even when he was in First Class. “Oh, I could’ve asked my dad for the PJ—”

“We have our own private jet,” he cut off to clarify, “My father’s just using it for the weekend.”

Being with Satoru was black and white. He was plainly unpredictable and you assumed that even the most accurate fortune teller wouldn’t be able to read such a man with an oscillating mood. Most of the time, he was short-tempered, but there were times where his hostility would lessen to indifference. The fact that he even went out of his way to plan a trip with you was a great sign that he was also trying to make this marriage work. That even though he wasn’t in love to do all of this with you, he was willing to test the waters. For your sake? Probably not. For his, maybe. Or for your families’ contentment, most definitely.

“Okay. Well, I’m wearing the sweater that you got me,” you cheerfully presented the Chanel sweater that he purchased for you the other day as you settled on your spacious seat.

On the other hand, not once did Satoru even bother to check you out. All he did was to withdraw his phone out of his pocket, typing intently as if he was more interested at whoever he was texting than looking at his wife. It’s morning and he’s grumpy, you made an excuse for him in your head before you sank back into your seat with a soundless sigh. His mood can still change.

The air conditioner started to get warmer only when the flight attendants ushered more passengers into their sections. As you looked outside of the window, you saw Satoru’s stony face from the reflection and realized that the source of coldness inside the plane wasn’t exactly from the morning weather, but from your own spouse.

Regardless, you tried not to let it ruin your mood. One of the traits that you had taken after your mom was your optimistic, happy-go-lucky attitude, thinking that there would always be a rainbow after the storm because you believed that even the littlest things deserve to be appreciated. So even if Satoru was a little difficult to deal with, he was here and that was enough for you.

Throughout the flight, the amount of conversations you’ve had with your husband was close to minimal because he was either sleeping or watching movies to kill time. You, on your own side, decided to flip through the pages of a travel magazine that coincidentally showed the best tourist spots in Iceland. Famous for its hot springs, geysers, and active volcanoes—your heart jumped at the thought of swimming in the Blue Lagoon and sightseeing the aurora borealis with your husband.

Based on the photos alone, you were already mesmerized by what the place had to offer. It was called the ‘Land of Fire and Ice’ which was ironically what you and your husband seemed to be. As two contrasting beings unified in marriage, you were beginning to fall into your hopeless romantic dreams the moment you looked forward to this trip. It may look like you were a teenager dreaming about honeymooning with the love of your life, but it was truly supposed to be one of the most exciting parts of marriage. Notwithstanding the fact that it was only forced between you and Satoru, his best friend was right when he said that the early stages of marriage were the best.

It truly was, or should be, but remembering the words that your husband uttered that night once again made you feel that reoccurring squeeze in your chest. “You and I will never work,” you recalled his exact words. Your duty as a wife was to obey your husband and yet, your plan was to defy him by proving to him that the two of you could work.

After a twelve-hour flight and another two-hour trip to the most luxurious hotel in the Blue Lagoon, you were beyond speechless at how Iceland had far exceeded the expectations you’ve had based on the brochure. The photos were incomparable to the actual view that it offered and it had easily surpassed your top five list of must-visits. You could definitely write a whole travel article about your experience, but you would save the thought for another day because all of your sweet time was to be dedicated to your husband.

You could say that jet lag hit him straight in the face, worse than it ever affected you because he had fallen too languid to rave about a place that he claimed to have visited before. It didn’t really surprise you when the first thing he did upon arriving at your hotel room was to plunge face flat on top of your king-sized bed.

“Can’t wait to swim on the lagoon with you later.” You raked your fingers through his white hair as you joined him in bed, watching his lids flickering from the slightest movements. His shoulders were quite broad and his back muscles were one of his sexiest features, but you couldn’t exactly show your appreciation because he wasn’t even conscious to hear them. “Satoru?”

His response was a groan, swatting your arm away from him while muttering, “Let me rest.”

And so you did. You had been patient that you did.

For the next few hours, you were welcomed by complete silence within the chic architectural design of your presidential suite. You could go on and on about how luxurious the room was, but going at the balcony and gaping at the immaculate landscape view of the geothermal seawater was what made the costly room worth every penny. Mist diffused from the lagoon and crawled onto the surface to bring some warmth in a place that resembled winter wonderland. There was no doubt why the place was considered one of the wonders of the world.

Unfortunately, the other wonder of your world was still in bed, torpid as ever and clearly unwilling to get up. He chose to stay idle even after all the hours that he spent sleeping. You would have stayed with him, but your eagerness to walk around brought you to the decision that maybe you could just enjoy it alone.

Satoru remained listless even after seeing you in your robe, unaware that what you had underneath it was the sexy swimsuit which was his most recent purchase. You waited for him to get up far too long until you had grown impatient, and before you knew it, you were already heading out of the room by yourself. “I’m going for a dip,” you announced, pouting inwardly as you tightened the robe around your body.

There was not even a reply garnered from him and nothing could steal his heavy fixation on his phone. You were fine with him not being as outwardly enthusiastic for the trip, but it was unacceptable for him to just neglect you to do things on your own. You were supposed to visit all these places together and actually spend time to help ease the tension that you already had as a couple. The trip was meant to put you two closer to improve your bond and learn more about each other as husband and wife. How could you do all this when Satoru time and time again had remarkably decided to place minimal effort for you? Just when you were hoping to see a sunshine rising up on your marriage, why did it have to be casted with a stretch of grey clouds again?

This was not how you wanted to spend your honeymoon.

The water was warm when you climbed down on the famous Blue Lagoon, submerging yourself little by little and feeling the hot water hugging every inch of your skin. The fetor of sulfur had your nose flaring as you adjusted from the mephitic vapors, but you got used to the smell after a minute or two of swimming further into the stretch of saltwater. You were absolutely enchanted at how the water mimicked the color of milk with a sky blue undertone that turned the whole lagoon into a giant bowl of vanilla ice. Enriched by algae, silica, and minerals, the seawater was surrounded by a russet lava field that marvelously gave the lagoon an appearance that was literally out of this world.

As customary, you ought to take a bath before dipping yourself into the hot spring because the water could dry up your hair without proper conditioning. It was close to dusk, but the area was still full of visiting tourists who all enthused about the exquisite lagoon that Iceland was renowned for.

The sight was indeed forever embedded into your memories and you wished that Gojou was here to see it all with you, because when you swam further towards the center of the lagoon, you were not expecting that a man would latch onto your waist, his breath reeking of alcohol. “Hey, darlin’,” he disgustingly whispered on your ear, “Need some company?”

You tried to push him away with your increasing heartbeat. “Don’t touch me, please!” And as difficult as it already was, the dark-haired man grinned while pulling you by your hips. “Stop! Get. Off. Me—!”

“Why? Don’t you wanna have fun?” Gross. He was revolting to look at and you were about to slap his face until someone interjected.

“She said get off her, you creep!” It was a woman with a bun of red hair and a silver nose piercing. Thin but dark eyebrows were raised questioningly as she glared at the man. “Leave!”

She forcefully splashed some water directly on the man’s face, then seized the opportunity to steal you from him and save you from further harassment. If only Satoru was here, this never would’ve happened. No man would be brave enough to touch you with the presence of your husband, but the same husband had chosen to stay behind instead of spending time with you. The thought of it sent a heavy pang on your chest, so real that you had to clutch the woman’s arm as you took deep breaths to ease the tightness that surrounded your heart. The thumping rhythm was accelerating at an unusually faster pace and you were becoming vertiginous from it.

“Oh my God. Are you okay?” the girl worriedly asked, rubbing your back for some comfort.

Breathe, Y/N. Breathe. You didn’t know what was happening and it took you a few minutes to recover until you were able to speak again, “I’m... I’m fine. Thanks for helping me out.”

Did you just have an anxiety attack? But the pain that you felt in your chest was strangely different.

“Okay. I’m Alexis, by the way,” she introduced, offering a hand that you immediately shook. “You can call me Alex.”

“Y/N,” your voice was breathy, still you tried to gather yourself back up as you followed her trail while being half submerged. Alex seemed like a tough girl based on her piercings and tattoos, something like a 90’s punk girl you believed resembled her the most. “You look really cool.”

Contrary to her exterior, her smile was very warm and amiable. She was able to make you feel comfortable at swimming together. “Thanks. You look... feminine, I’d say.” She grinned at you in between. “Not a bad thing, though! You look modest and I like that. Very classy.”

You weren’t trying to fish compliments but it was truly nice to hear some every now and then. Because Satoru wasn’t around, you might as well make friends and have fun on your own. “Thank you.” With your reply, you also took a 360-turn around the place to see a nearby bridge and an in-water mask station. “Oh, do you wanna try that?”

Alex, despite being a complete stranger, was showing her friendliness in the best way. You admired people who could be bubbly even around those they barely knew because you have always grown to be soft-spoken and reserved. At eight years old, you remembered Satoru even calling you a little lamb for your demure traits and you saw this as a good thing. Some people were just born to be more outspoken and confident like him or Alex, while some were just like you.

For the next hour that passed, you spent your time talking to her while putting on the white volcanic clay that they handed you over at the station. You learned that Alex was from the US and that she came to Iceland with her brother and his girlfriend so she was the so-called ‘third-wheel’. You didn’t want to admit it to her, but you ended up saying that you were actually with your husband for your honeymoon and her reaction was what any sane person would say, “No way?” she gasped with green doe eyes. “He should be here with you so these perverts would leave you alone.”

“He’s pretty jet-lagged,” you reasoned, swiveling from the bar stool underwater as the stars finally appeared from the dark skies. “I think I’ll try to go see the Northern Lights with him tomorrow night. It’s so romantic.”

Alex mirrored your smile. “Very. I guess I’ll see you there, too.”

Gojou was stepping out of the bathroom just in time when you walked back into your suite. He was in his boxers, messing with his ivory hair as he traded glances with you. Each time those diamond eyes landed on you, your vision would simply blur out the rest of the world because he was your focal point. He was the cynosure of your full attention as if your only role as his partner was to support him with all and everything that he wanted. He must be aware of just how submissive of a wife you were willing to be and, for the most part, he hated you for it.

“Hey, I took a swim,” you keenly informed, sitting at the edge of your bed in your white robe. You didn’t know if it was the perfect time to tell him about the incident with the man at the lagoon but hesitation lingered at the back of your throat as you suspected that Satoru wouldn’t really care.

He didn’t even bother to greet you and instead brought up another topic out of nowhere as he walked towards the polished bedside table. “I saw that app thing on your phone that tracks your period,” he shared, towering over you before placing a half-empty glass of whiskey atop the oak table. “It says you’re most fertile for the next two weeks.”

Oh... You weren’t even aware, but more importantly, was he planning to...?

“Let’s just get it over with,” his proposal was followed with a weary sigh, “they want a baby and they’re gonna keep nagging about it.”

It was insane how the thought of it had your heart trapped at a frenzied state. The tips of your fingers were hot as you secured your robe into your chest, looking up at him with docile eyes to seek even a little bit of sincerity in his face. “Are you saying that we should... have sex?”

Stupid fucking question. You wanted to chastise yourself for sounding unbelievably dumb. What else do married couples do on their honeymoon? You couldn’t exactly blame yourself for thinking that he wouldn’t want to be intimate because he had been nothing but cold so far, but the fact that he was trying, the fact that he wanted to do it, the fact that he wanted a baby—you’ve suddenly lost all the sulkiness you had towards him this morning. The bitterness was gone like a puff of smoke that disappeared into thin air.

In spite of that, you weren’t quite prepared and you probably looked like a damp kitty which might not exactly be appealing enough for a man who had high standards. After all, he did say that you weren’t interesting to look at.

“I’m saying we should make a baby,” he clarified, gazing down at you in nonchalance that later turned to impatience. The way he spoke those words sounded like an obligation. “You wanna do it or not?”

You were quick to nod before he could take it back, but uncertainty laced your voice for another good reason. “I do. I wanna do it with you. Making a baby is part of our union, but I...” By avoiding his eyes, he could have sensed what you mean. “I’m just not...”

“Are you a virgin?” It was hard to discern how he felt about it but there was an amalgam of amusement, intrigue, and surprise that danced in his cerulean eyes. “So, you’re the type of girl who waits ‘til marriage and all that?”

Yes, you simply had no experience.

Heat permeated your cheeks as you hinted the mockery in his tone. You wished that he didn’t shame for you being chaste and instead, appreciated the fact that you saved your purity for someone that you were actually married to. “It doesn’t matter. We’re married now.”

He tilted his head, following the upward curve on the corner of his lips. “Have you ever sucked dick before? Ever been fingered?”

God. You still weren’t used to him being openly vulgar and you didn’t have a handbook that guided you with knowing how to act in such an awkward situation. “No, you have all my firsts.”

In bed, at least. You have always been too sheltered because your dad was very conservative—always telling you to dress like an appropriate woman, always telling your previous flings to take you home by eight in the evening. Having protective parents led you to grew up with an innocent mind. You’ve done tongue kissing at most but always chickened out whenever anyone got too particularly touchy because anything concerning sex made you nervous.

Gojou, in great contrast, seemed to have had many experiences to boast about. He was a man with raging hormones and was attractive enough to have women throwing themselves at him during his time as a bachelor. It was simply innate for a man like Satoru Gojou to be a ladies’ man with his good looks and charming personality. Not to mention his adroitness and amazing body.

“Fuck, I’m not even hard enough to do this,” he groused, slowly peeling your robe regardless of your reluctance. “Let me see.”

You were panicking inside, restraining your breath and swallowing hard as he rid you off your robe to reveal a body that was barely covered by a light blue bikini. “I-I don’t... I don’t know where to start. Please guide me… with everything.”

Even from a distance, you noticed how Satoru’s pupils have dilated. The azure orbs were overwhelmed by his dark irises as his eyes trailed down on your bust to your hips. He probably didn’t want you to see him losing his composure because he later cleared his throat and grabbed your hand. “Start by touching me,” he ordered, the muscles on his forearm were flexing as he placed your hand on his crotch. You sure didn’t miss how he murmured that ‘virgins were always boring in bed’.

You couldn’t believe that you were doing this in the first place. You never expected that you would find yourself palming his growing bulge with your eyes fixated on his, waiting for his approving remarks to guide you of what you were doing. He wasn’t fully hard, but you managed to trace the outline of his shaft from behind his boxers while you did your utmost best to pleasure him with your hand. “Like this?” you softly asked, feeling him growing harder and harder the more you touched him.

“Yeah,” he hummed, grabbing the gold-rimmed glass from the table and chugging the rest of the hard liquor from it. “Get on your knees.”

“H-Huh?” Your movements came to an abrupt stop as you fluttered your lashes up at him. With the lack of answer, he pulled you up only to have you kneeling in bed like an obedient bunny. All you had to do was to watch how he positioned his crotch directly on your face. Right, you realized where this was going.

And he didn’t even sugarcoat it. “Suck me off,” he commanded, lowering the bands of his boxers to release the aching manhood that had now hardened into full erection. You haven’t seen enough of that in your life to even compare him to anyone, but good lord was he huge. He was absolutely proportionate to his size, with a girth that matched his length perfectly, and a throbbing pink tip that he soon touched with his thumb. It was a good thing that you didn’t gape at his cock or else he would have ridiculed you nonstop about it. What you did, rather, was to wrap your palm around his shaft and pump your fist on him while you waited for further instructions. “Open your mouth.”

You noticed that his hostility was hidden because he was overflowing with sexual intoxication. Thinking of how you were the cause of his arousal made you squeeze your legs together, vigorously pumping his shaft and placing your tongue on his head. You might be a virgin, but you’ve seen pornographic materials for educational purposes before and you were aware of how they would swirl their tongue around a man’s tip, kissing the head sloppily before allowing the whole shaft into their mouths. Before you were stuffed full, you could taste saltiness on his skin, but it was nothing as unpleasant as you initially expected. His smell wasn’t musky either and you got the message that Satoru cared about his hygiene very well.

“You sure you haven’t done this before?” he quipped, reaching to untie the knot on your bra as you tried to suck more of him in your mouth. “Tighten your mouth. Don’t use teeth.”

“Mhm.” You avoided looking up at him because it was embarrassing to have him gazing down at you while you were bobbing your head on his cock. You were far too focused on following a rhythm that could please him the most until you’ve forgotten why your hands were on your lap. Where are your hands supposed to be?

While you were busy doing a clumsy attempt at a blowjob, he managed to untie your bra and freed your breasts from the tightness of the garment. It was during that moment when you released him from your mouth with a string of saliva connecting his cock to your lips. He could sense how conscious you were at being naked, but he also seemed like he didn’t want to keep stalling things further.

The next thing you knew, he was pushing your back on the mattress and hovering on top of you as he hurriedly hoisted your hips to tug your underwear down. “I can just rip this thing off,” he gritted, pulling the swimsuit out of your ankles and spreading your legs wide. “Give me your hand.”

You have never been this intimate with anyone before and he was the first man to ever see you all bare and unclothed. That fact alone was what you would blame for the sudden loss of oxygen in your lungs.

Nervous. You were goddamn nervous. You couldn’t think straight as you gave him your hand and instinctively closed your legs. Gojou saw through your sheepishness, but didn’t hesitate at manhandling your legs into a V so he could stare at your entrance. “Satoru—!” Shit. This was so embarrassing. “Can we... Can we at least turn off the lampshade?”

“No need to be shy. You’re all waxed for me, huh?” Once again, you were ignored when he placed your hand into your folds and orchestrated circular motions on your clit with his guide. The ministrations earned your dulcet moans, toes curling as your fingers went to spread your lips for him to see the exact hole that he was going to penetrate in less than a minute. “Finger yourself,” he directed, “I’m gonna fuck you in a bit.”

With hot cheeks burning your flesh and flames igniting your veins, you stammered at not knowing how to proceed, “How do I—”

“Just put a finger in,” he said in rising irritation.

You dampened your lips with your tongue as you allowed your shaky fingers to do a few more circular strokes on your entrance before you finally had the guts to sink your middle finger inside. “S-Satoru.” You didn’t know why his name escaped your lips, but he carefully watched how discomfort painted your face from the finger that was buried in your cunt. The feeling it had on your finger was warm, wet, and rubbery but you were in pain the more you tried to slide your finger in and out. “I... You should’ve... taken a night swim with me.”

He scoffed at your attempt to distract him by making a conversation. As he pressed his knees against the mattress, you saw how he ejected spit on his cock before jerking himself off at the sight of you. Why did he spit? You had no clue, but you could no longer continue fingering yourself. You just didn’t know how to do it right. “Did I tell you to stop?” he questioned, “You’re a damn spoiled princess expecting me to do everything else for you.”

“Satoru—!” Two of his fingers slowly entered your core, stretching your tight walls while you were clamping the sheets with pursed lips. “Nnn—you’re too deep!”

The way he rolled his eyes pricked at your heart. He was too focused on scissoring his fingers while your mewls got louder, holding onto his arm as he started increasing the speed of his digits in your cunt. His slender fingers were curled inside of your cavern as if he was checking just how tight you were. “So tight,” he mumbled, withdrawing his now slick-coated fingers and wiping them on the sheets. “You’re ready. I’m going in.”

When you dreamed of your first time, you imagined that your spouse would look at your face with love while gently burying his shaft into you. In your head, you pictured out doing it with your one true love, surrounded by scented candles with rose petals scattered in bed, having him whispering sweet nothings into your ear. You thought of being wrapped around his arms as he trailed his tongue along your neck, later meeting your lips with a wanton kiss. A kiss that was affectionate, gentle, yet fervid enough for the heated lovemaking. The whole scene played out beautifully in your head because you had the most romantic vision for your intimate night with your husband.

But reality slapped you hard and woke you up from your daydream. All of those didn’t happen on your first time.

Everything about this was purely for formality.

You didn’t expect that your tears would fall when he began planting the tip of his thick cock in your wet core. Not because it hurt, but because you just wanted to see affection in his eyes. You hoped for him to want this intimacy the same way you did. His arm was propped on the mattress while his other hand positioned his manhood between your plump folds, smearing his precum on your labia by grinding his swollen head on your pussy before entering back in. “Nng! I-It hurts!”

“It’ll fade.” He watched himself disappearing deeper into your cunt, allowing you time time to adjust as he buried more of his length at a slow motion, letting you soak in the foreign feeling of being stretched open. Your husband ripped your hymen by penetrating your walls with his cock. There were traces of blood that stained his length to signal the loss of your virginity and the gain of his ego boost for being the first man to ever wreck you open. “Stop crying now. I’m already trying not to make it hurt as much.”

“I—I’m,” you sobbed in silence, chest heaving because of the tears that pooled your eyes. You didn’t even realize that you had your nails buried on his back as he made you take his cock fully. He was just so big. He was so deep that you could feel the thin hairs on the base of his cock and the firmness of his bollocks colliding on your slit and on your bum respectively. As painful as it was, it felt right. There were no second thoughts, no guilt, no worries—just the raw pleasure of exchanging love and devotion through physical intimacy with a man that you shared sacred vows with. You realized that you might have finally adjusted to his size when he started to move again and you were no longer feeling pain, but an unfamiliar burst of ecstasy each time he was reaching a certain part inside of you. “R-Right there. Yes.”

How could something feel so physically good yet so painful in the heart?

Satoru didn’t plan to make this romantic nor did he think of absorbing every moment of it like you did. His mere intention out of this was to get you pregnant so none of his and your fathers would say anything further once a baby was conceived. By then, he realized that he would no longer have to prove himself because he had given you a child and that was enough. You both knew that you needed to produce an heir to keep your familial ties stronger.

For him, there was no need to be sappy about sex. To you, however, every second with Satoru was sentimental. Every thrust he did into you—deep enough until the entirety of his pelvis was slamming against your moistened pussy, you were nothing but a whimpering mess. You may have dissolved into pleasure, submitted to the shockwaves of your midnight rhapsody, but sadness glazed your eyes when you realized that Gojou was detached.

Ironic to your connected bodies, his mind was flying elsewhere and his parted lips were whispering incoherent words that you couldn’t exactly discern because you were having sensory overload from having sex for the first time. “Fuck,” was the only cuss word that you’ve clearly heard him grunt before he lowered his face on the crook of your neck to ram his cock at a faster pace. At that point, the chest-to-chest only made you arch your back more until you could feel his heart vibrating against your bosom. “I’m gonna stuff you full with my cum, yeah?”

Why couldn’t he look at your eyes? Why couldn’t he moan out your name, tell you that you were beautiful, praise you for doing a good job? Why couldn’t he intertwine his fingers on yours, kissing you in between thrusts, and breathing your existence in this supposedly divine moment?

Why couldn’t he appreciate you?

The tears that cascaded from your eyes were no longer from the pain of losing your virginity, but of the agony of realizing how Satoru Gojou couldn’t even make love to you.

“Satoru,” you begged through ragged breaths, desperately holding onto his shoulders to pull him down with lachrymose eyes that produced more tears. It wasn’t the sex that hurt, it was the lack of connection that you badly yearned for. “K-Kiss me, please.”

You didn’t care whether you sounded pathetic to him. You wanted to feel his lips and have them locked around yours just to satisfy your lonely heart despite his presence above you. Whether or not it was guilt, Satoru’s eyes glinted of momentary pity until he did envelope his lips around yours. Encasing your mouth with a rough, tight kiss that had you gasping for air within his supple lips. You wanted more, but you were limited to just that short-lived kiss before he pushed your face to the side and hooked your legs under his toned arms.

The heat from the previous skin-to-skin was replaced by cold air as your husband sat up and held your hips close to his crotch. His lean yet muscular chest glistened with sweat, but you could barely see with tears blurring your vision. All the more, each slam garnered your titillating scream, breasts wildly bouncing from his rough movements. Your hand gripped the sheets as your back arched from the combination of pain and pleasure. “S-Satoru—Aah!”

“Fuck. Fuck,” he hoarsely cussed, then releasing warm explosions inside your vagina and coating your walls with thick ropes of cum before he pulled out to see his jizz seeping out of your hole because he shot enough semen to fill your core. With a guttural sigh, he added, “That should do it.”

So this is how sex feels like.

You were too swallowed by your stupor to respond, staring blankly at the ceiling while catching the breath that you’ve lost. He, on the other, left you in bed with hasty footsteps that led to the bathroom.

“Satoru?” you weakly and mindlessly called, still dazed but forced yourself up nonetheless. You even had to brush the tangled hair out of your face. “Where are you go—”

“Cleaning up,” he said, but only meant of doing it for himself. “Go to sleep. Don’t wait on me.”

Gen was right when she told you that the first time would leave your body sore.

However, you could say that you might be a little more sore than she ever was when she first loss her virginity. Your sister was a tad bit rebellious than you, often sneaking out of the mansion late at night to go see her boyfriends, most times not following your mom and dad’s strict dress codes when it came to formal events. She had a belly piercing and a tattoo on her lower back—pretty much the tougher daughter compared to you.

Before the trip to Iceland, she told you that you just had to prepare for the special night because it would be an experience that would remain your most vivid memories as a married woman.

As the sunlight passed through the window that morning, you peered at the sight of your half-naked husband standing at the balcony with a phone on his ear and a hand on the railing.

“You saw the picture? It’s pretty, right? I’ll take you here someday.”

You squinted your eyes and gently rubbed the lids before you sheathed your body with the sheets, moving to the side of the bed until the soles of your feet landed on the fuzzy carpet. Even when his back was facing you, he must have heard you shifting from bed because he was quickly transitioning into a rigid stance.

“Sera, I’ll call you later.”

Your legs were as good as jellies by the time you got up and walked towards him. Surprisingly, the feeling down there wasn’t painfully sore but there was still some discomfort between your thighs when you took small steps to hug your husband from behind. “Morning,” you greeted, planting a kiss on his back.

“Hey.” While peeling your hands off, he turned around to look down at you. You wished that he stayed in bed to cuddle because you looked forward to morning-afters but you were contented enough that he wasn’t being unnecessarily mean. “What are your plans today?”

You noticed how he said ‘your’ instead of ‘our’ and corrected him for it, “You mean our plans? Can we go to the Retreat Spa today?” Your excitement was going through the roof as you continued. “They provide Lava Scrubs and I heard they offer really great massage so we can just relax.”

“Fine.” He ran his fingers through his chalky hair before he walked past you and made his way to the closet. “Bring your phone with you. You haven’t taken pictures for everyone to see.”

The day was a bit better than when you first arrived in Iceland because Gojou was now accompanying you to the places that you wanted to go. His deal was to keep you company as long as you would take photos to post on your social media, which by personal decision you were going to do either way. After having a sumptuous lunch at the buffet, you spent the rest of your afternoon relaxing with your husband by doing lava scrubs and getting full-body massages. He wasn’t fond of having deep conversations but you figured that he would casually talk to you about anything related to his line of work whether it was about the stock market or their plans to expand their business for Asian commerce, it was nice to learn what topic sparked your husband’s interest the most.

He didn’t ask much about you, but you were fine with it because your life wasn’t as interesting as his in the first place. Some people may think that you lived a bland purposeless life with not many colorful stories to tell, but little did they know, you had a few exciting experiences, too. They weren’t as extreme as what your husband may have had, but they were still memories that you loved reminiscing about. Unfortunately, Satoru wasn’t all keen to listen about what you had to share. He knew just enough from your childhood and didn’t bother hearing how different things had been for you when your reached your teenage years.

When twilight came, your last proposal for today’s itinerary was to go see the aurora borealis with Satoru. He insisted that it was a waste of time because the lights didn’t show up consistently, but you argued that he probably just wasn’t lucky when he last visited. Coincidentally, just when you and your husband came to eat dinner at a high-end restaurant, you managed to have found Alex entering the same establishment.

Like the genial person she was, she approached you with high energy much to the confusion of the white-haired man beside you. You had to introduce the two with a brief description but Alex already took it on her own will to interview your husband.

“So, you guys are like rich rich?” Her green eyes expanded at the information about you and Gojou being the heir and heiress to your families’ respective companies. “Your wife is so humble that I didn’t know she’s a multi-millionaire.”

You chuckled, leaning your head on Satoru’s shoulder while looking at Alex from across the table. He was very casual around the girl, answering her in his normally frivolous nature that you could rarely see when you two were alone. At least, he seemed to be smiling more around other people and you loved seeing it.

“You need to check on your wife more, though. Don’t let her go around alone,” she advised with kind intentions just as you were drinking from your glass of wine. “Some creep tried to get close to her last time. He wouldn’t stop touching her until I came.”

If only you could spit your drink out. You weren’t exactly planning to tell Satoru about it, but now that it was laid out in front of you, you were nervous to hear his reaction. What would he do? There was a visible crease between his eyebrows.

“You got harassed?” he asked, watching your emotions intently. You responded with a small nod but didn’t hear him say much in return. What he did was to look back at Alexis with a hardened face as he spoke, “Tell me how he looks like.”

The red-haired girl shrugged. “Dark hair, tall nose, adequately handsome face if only he wasn’t such a pervert. Very Eurocentric features, by the way.”

Was Gojou starting to care? He could be acting for all you knew.

Though you made an effort to touch his hand under the table, squeezing it below yours before interlacing your fingers together. That was how you noticed that the gold band was missing from his finger. “Satoru,” you spoke softly while Alexis was busy talking to a waitress, “Where’s your wedding ring?”

“Left it.” The apathy in his tone punched you squarely on the gut. Oh, God. You can’t do this right now. You couldn’t possibly ruin this night with a searing heartache. “Does it matter to you that much if I wear that stupid ring?”

“Of course!” It almost sounded like a furious reply when it flew out of your mouth. You didn’t want to make a scene nor did you want to escalate it into another full-blown argument but bottling your feelings would only make things worse. Still, you chose that option because it was for the best. “Forget it, it’s fine.”

You could hear his scoff. “You say it like—”

“Hey, Alexis,” you called for her attention and chose to ignore Gojou. “I think my husband isn’t feeling well so he might just stay behind, but we can still go see the Northern Lights later if you like.”

She turned to you after talking to the waitress. “Oh, really? Sure,” she glanced at Satoru and then back at you, “but I mean, it’d be romantic for you two if you saw it together, you know?”

Romantic. You were painfully laughing in your head. If you were honest to yourself, you were the only one trying since this trip begun. Despite the sex that you willingly had with him last night, Satoru was still all but romantic.

“No, I think we’re good. He can stay,” you answered, never daring to see the rage simmering inside Gojou.

It shouldn’t surprise you when Satoru did stay behind, spitefully so, and let you head off to the nearby area by yourself—an area that offered the perfect sightseeing for the stretch of gradient neon green lights. All your resentment had momentarily left your body as soon as you and Alexis finally arrived the spot after a laborious trudge and your mouth had fallen agape at the wondrous sight.

The Northern Lights truthfully exceeded your list of the most beautiful sights you’ve ever seen in person. The curtains of colored lights that decorated the caliginous skies made your eyes grow wide in awe. It was no question why such a natural phenomenon brought millions of tourists every year because there was nothing more astounding than to witness the vivid patterns that the naked eye wouldn’t normally see in other parts of the world. The dancing bright lights was a stream of green glow that reminded you of what glow-in-the-dark stickers looked like in a dark room. Except, this was not artificial but a true Earth’s spectacle.

You forgot about the fact that you were actually freezing your ass off because the temperature dropped to a significant amount that night and you forgot to bring your sweater.

“Wow! This is crazy.” Alex gaped at the fascinating visual of the aurora borealis while taking a 360 turn to thoroughly bask herself at the beauty of it.

You fished your phone out from your pocket and quickly tried to capture a few photos of the skies until a hand suddenly snatched the gadget away. Based from the familiar scent alone, you saw Gojou looking at you with an indiscernible expression. He wasn’t as angry nor was he happy. It was a median between the two, but strangely, what made him come all the way here?

“Satoru,” you uttered his name in surprise. “What are you—”

He cut you off by lazily tossing your sweater, allowing you to easily catch the garment on your chest. “You left that. It’s cold.”

So, he has some sort of care, too?

In appreciation, you immediately put on your sweater just in time when he raised the phone over your head to take a quick selfie of him kissing your cheek with the view of the Northern Lights above you. You were paralyzed before you could react and he was fast to clarify his actions, “For the photos. Post that.”

All for show, just as you believed.

Placing your phone back in your pockets, you gave your last attempt at being sweet by wrapping your arms around his torso. “Thanks for coming,” you told him with a smile. Even if I was a little petty back there, you wanted to add but had chosen not to. You were still upset about the ring but being in a push-pull situation with Satoru wasn’t new.

Instead of pushing you away, he rejected you with his sharp words. “I didn’t come here for you,” was his reason, bright blue eyes searching for the patch of green lights.

If you say so.

You loved being here, nonetheless. With you being a hopeless romantic, having your husband to sightsee one of the most beautiful wonders in the world should have elicited bliss that sent you to seventh heaven. Everything was rocky when it came to you and him, especially with the arranged setup in mind, you knew that this was only one of the rare instances where you could truly feel a taste of euphoria around him.

But gazing up at him in rapture, there was one thing that has been plaguing your mind all day and you didn’t know how you had the courage to finally bring it up.

“Satoru,” the way his name rolled of your lips made him whirl his head towards you in less than a second, “who’s Sera?”

You wondered why the mere mention of the girl’s name turned his face into stone. “None of your business.”

He may think so, but you weren’t stupid. Innocent, undoubtedly but not dumb enough not to catch the littlest details about him. When you heard him utter her name this morning, the loud thumping of your heart might have been due to your territorial instinct as a wife.

Because in all honesty, you assumed—concluded, at most—that there was a reason why he treated you horribly. This might be the answer to your question.

“Are you...” you gulped, face to face with the man were legally bound to, “are you cheating on me?”

Gojou avoided your eyes but he wasn’t feeling guilty in the slightest. The contortion on his visage was more so because he didn’t want you to pry into his personal life believing that you didn’t have all the right to do so. “It’s not cheating when you never had my heart in the first place.”

“But—”

“We’ve been together before you ruined it,” he spat, eyebrows furrowing and lips turning into a downward slope. “She’s the woman that should’ve been in your spot right now, not you. I never asked for you.”

You told yourself that you would prepare for the worst when he showed his true colors on the night of your wedding. His actions, his remarks, and his treatment towards you was overpowering with malice that you wanted to take a step back and think of an option to save your marriage even when it was clearly irredeemable.

You wanted to salvage even the slightest possibility that could fix your sacred bond because it was your vow to him that for better or worse, in sickness and in health, you would be there by his side. You’ve never been this selfless, but because you valued marriage more than anything in this world, you set your personal feelings aside.

“I wanna meet her,” you revealed, eyes glistening with tears under the moonlight. The gravitational pull on your heart could have killed you on the spot, but you tried to hold it together for your sake and his. “I told you I wanna understand why this marriage has been hard for you so, please... let me meet her.”

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For the past thirty minutes, Gojou had been staring blankly at the small hourglass on top of his grand office desk. He swiveled on his seat while his mind flew, pondering on what would have happened if he had chosen not to proceed with the wedding. Things would have been better if he didn’t have the stupid ring around his finger. What if he just ran away that day? It shouldn’t even be a question. Clearly, he wouldn’t be half as piqued at coming home if he didn’t have an irritating wife waiting for him.

Whenever he was in the office, he would forget that he was actually a married man back home. Drowned by the surge of weekly reports in operational functions, work became his temporary distraction to the new life that he had outside of their company’s skyscraper building. As much as he despised the idea of being wedded to you, he was glad to see that you weren’t immediately acting on your role as a pretentious wife. He thought that you would prepare him breakfast or pay him a visit in the office or swarm his phone with texts and calls, but your complete absence this morning was a breath of fresh air.

He knew you were probably sleeping somewhere around the penthouse, but it seemed that you really listened when he asked you to stay away when no one was around. Good to know, Gojou thought silently. He would have had more reasons to be aggravated had you started nagging at him like a real housewife.

Nevertheless, he was not expecting that his father would show up in his office straight after the meeting with the Board of Directors later past noon. There could only be very few reasons on why his Chairman of a father would even care to personally enter his office; it was either Satoru messed up an important project or he did something else that highly infuriated the old man. Regardless of what he had done, this wasn’t anything new.

Seeing his father slam the door on his secretary’s face didn’t even shock him. It was the austere look on the man’s entire visage that made the young heir rise up from his seat to stand tall and confident as the son of a Chairman and CEO should be.

“Dad.” Satoru tried to meet him halfway, taking small steps on the carpeted floor until he was greeted with a sudden hard blow that sent his face whipping to the side. The smack resulted into a busted lower lip, wiped briefly by his thumb before he looked back at his father in spite.

His father, whose electric eyes sent daggers straight to his soul, did not hesitate to curse at his own son. “You son of a bitch! Do you want to explain why your wife went back to their mansion last night?”

Satoru wasn’t even aware until now. When he asked you to sleep on the couch last night, he didn’t think that you would be running back to your family’s mansion like a crybaby. He woke up today and left for work thinking that you were just somewhere around the penthouse. “I didn’t know that she returned—”

“Kenji called me last night asking why Y/N came home on the night of her damn wedding!” his father revealed, narrowing his stare towards his son behind his thin-framed glasses. The man had to refrain himself from swinging a hand on his son again, but vicious was the fire in his eyes. “Just because you’re married doesn’t mean you’ve already won her heart!”

Satoru clenched his fists, but stayed silent from where he stood. He was completely powerless in front of his father, knowing that every wrong move would cost him a lot in return. “I’ll pick her up and apologize.”

Suck it in, Satoru. It’s all you can ever do.

“You better fix your shit,” the old man snarled while he fumbled with his cufflinks. “You don’t realize how valuable their family’s shares will be for this company, you ungrateful bastard! I did everything I can just to secure this marriage for you. If we lose them, consider yourself dead to me.”

His father’s words had always stung, but this one certainly took the cake. And the worst part was, Satoru couldn’t even talk back as much as he wanted to. Submission was his only option when it all boiled down to just him and his father.

Seething inwardly, he did as told. “I’ll... do what we’ve agreed on.”

A scoff then left the old man’s lips. “Sure you will. Even if you’re my only heir, I can easily let Yuuta take over instead of you. He’s not incompetent like you are.”

Not this again. Satoru was the only son, therefore, the sole heir to their conglomerate, but his asshole of a father had always made him fight for his position against his stepbrother. He was manipulated to do things out of his will just to please the man’s cruel intentions. He was a tool used to benefit the company’s insatiable greed. As an ambitious man himself, Satoru’s last resort to guarantee his role as the future CEO was not by any other means except to marry you.

So even if he was disgusted at the thought of being tied down to a girl like you, he had to stomach being a husband to a wife he didn’t love.

“Remember this, Satoru. There is no family when it comes to business.”

It was a staring contest between the father and son, the latter steaming with rage inside of him. Satoru believed that all of this wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t get in the way. If you were with someone else, marrying you would never even be his option. This was your fault. Unlike him, you got married without receiving consequences in return and Gojou was dead set in giving you hell for it.

“Take a week off from work,” the strict instruction came out of his father’s mouth, “You should spend time with her and win her heart. I’ve booked a flight for your honeymoon. Why not step it up by giving her a child?”

A child. Satoru wanted to bitterly laugh. This was not even part of the deal.

Just as his father made a quick pivot to leave, a woman stood by the door carrying piles of folders on her frail arms. This woman was the only one who managed to soften the grim expression on Satoru’s face that would have lasted for the entire day.

“Sir,” she spoke to the old man with respect, her sleek brown hair falling on her shoulders gracefully, “Mr. Nakamura’s waiting in your office.”

The Chairman raised a dismissive hand and walked out of Satoru’s office with little care, leaving his son and the receptionist staring at each other intently as though the world just stopped spinning from its axis whenever they were a few meters away from each other.

It was her who first broke the gaze, but it was him who called for her name. “Sera.”

Satoru felt like his heart would leap out of his chest at the mere sight of the woman that caused his bliss. He wanted to hug her, kiss her, tell her just how much he loved her, but there was little action to be done in a building floor full of prying ears to expose a forbidden love.

“Sera!” One of the executives impatiently demanded for her presence from a distance. “Where’s my coffee?!”

Satoru hated this. He hated how the woman that he loved was in here being treated like a servant while you were out there living comfortably without any shame in your bone.

You didn’t deserve the life that you were living. Sera did.

“Coming, Miss!” Before she could bolt out of Satoru’s office, she mouthed the words ‘talk to you soon’ and left her boyfriend alone with a hollow heart and a tortured soul.

You weren’t a pushover, but neither were you confrontational.

You figured that the best way to deal with Satoru’s animosity was indeed to stay away from him. He was right. There was no way you could remain under the same roof with a man who loathed your existence and treated you like dirt. Because you were gravely hurt from the words that he uttered that night, you chose to go back to the only place where comfort was willingly given to you.

It was too late to realize that you probably shouldn’t have left the penthouse without a say, but since Satoru slammed the door on your face thinking that you were going to sleep on the couch, your instinct led you to go back to your family’s mansion at midnight with much surprise from your maids’ faces.

Regretfully, you weren’t thinking much by coming back to your old home because your father was extensively worried the next day when he greeted you with a fusillade of questions. “Why are you here?” was one of the first things he asked. “Did something happen? Is Satoru not treating you right?”

“Dad, it’s... We’re fine,” your immediate response was to cover for your husband, “I kinda just freaked out about the whole arranged wedding thing so I went back here out of panic. He didn’t even want me to leave, but I insisted. Just for tonight.”

There was relief in your father’s face when he easily bought your lies, sitting at the edge of your bed before patting your shoulder upon losing his interrogative stare. You had to try hard enough to conceal your face with a reassuring smile while he gave you a piece of advice. “I know it’s hard to adjust from this whole arrangement at first, but you’re gonna have to get used to being a wife.”

It wouldn’t be much of a problem if only your husband accepted you the way you initially thought. “I know,” you said, leaning your back on the bed’s headboard. “Why did you really get me to marry him, Dad?”

“Didn’t you always come home talking about him with your nannies back then?” he recalled, amused at the memory. “I’m not your mom so you didn’t talk about boys with me, but I heard enough to know how much you like him.”

The memory alone tugged at your heart with aching gravity. What was once a happy crush had tragically become a spiteful marriage—it wasn’t really anything to happily reminisce about. “That was before, Dad. I don’t like him that way anymore.”

How could you freely like Satoru if he was candidly brutal about how much he detested you?

While your father teasingly shrugged, he also took a moment to brush your arm with a comforting a hand. “I’ve known Satoru since he was a kid. It’s better to see you married to a man I trust, not someone who will just use you for what you have. That’s what your mom wanted for you when she was still here with us, too.”

You didn’t know how to break it to your father that he trusted the wrong person. That Satoru despised every inch of you for allowing the marriage to happen. You didn’t want to erase the smile on your father’s face with pure disappointment at the fact that the man he treated like a son just mercilessly trampled on his daughter’s heart. If anything, your dad was probably just holding onto a promise that he made with your mom even if he couldn’t outwardly admit it to you.

As infants, Satoru was only three months older from being born and you were told that your mothers would take you two to places together, pairing you since the day you were welcomed into this world. It would have been cute to think about how your mothers played matchmakers back then, but looking at it now, it never really worked.

The only reason why the marriage sounded perfect to the ears of the executives was because he was an heir and you were an heiress to your respective business empires. It was typical for one affluent family to marry their child off to another wealthy family because such elitism was common to people who were born with inherited wealth.

“Dad, if I liked someone else, would you still push me to marry Satoru?” you asked as the thought bubbled inside your head.

Your father was quick to respond. “If you can prove how much the other man likes you, then I wouldn’t insist on the marriage with Shinzo’s son.”

Truly, you never wished so hard to have found someone else before you married your now husband. It would have been best for the both of you to just continue life without each other—no fake love, no heartbreaks. Even if you had the tiniest feelings still hidden for Satoru, forcing this marriage was something you would have spared him and yourself for the best.

You didn’t know how you would be going back to the penthouse with your reluctance to be around Gojou again, but when the man appeared in your mansion to greet your father the first thing, it was needless to say that you had become a deer caught in the headlights. He came into the mansion carrying the same courteous stance that he had on the wedding reception, hiding the antagonism that he usually uncovered when the two of you were alone.

Your husband was two-faced, but you didn’t have the energy to be angry because you could understand why he would react that way. Although, you wished that he could be nicer at the very least because it wasn’t like the marriage was your decision alone.

“Satoru,” your father welcomed your husband as he entered the grand foyer. “How’s everything?”

“All good, sir.”

“Please, just call me Dad from now on.”

There was no reason for your heart to do somersaults as if the man didn’t torment you with his words last night. But there was something about his sudden presence that brought you a rush of inexplicable contentment inside. You didn’t think that he would come to visit you at all, so seeing him in your home painted a huge question mark on your face.

“I’m just here to pick her up,” stated Satoru, standing near the staircase to watch you descend the steps in silence. He was dressed in a long sleeve polo tucked in his grey slacks, looking like he had just gotten out of work as the Vice President of the Gojou Group. He approached you straight away and even made the bold move of leaning in to peck your lips. “Hey. I’m sorry about last night.”

He was acting and he wanted you to play along. With your dad watching on the side, you knew you had to be careful with your actions. “Hi,” you timidly greeted, intertwining your fingers when he held your hand. “It’s okay. I was being stubborn.”

“Are you two gonna spend the day out?” your father, clearly pleased with the interaction, sounded like he was actually encouraging you two to spend time together.

You had no idea what to say so it was Satoru who answered. “I’m taking her shopping.” He glanced at you with a small smile before he added, “We’ll be flying to Iceland in two days.”

An impressed look bathed your dad’s eyes. You, on the other hand, were dumbfounded at the information. “For your honeymoon? Wonderful place to pick.”

“It is. Can’t wait to take her there,” your husband claimed, squeezing your hand before he wrapped an arm around your waist. The sudden affection was causing whirlwinds of emotions inside of you and you just didn’t know how to deal with it. Was he actually trying? Did he realize how mean he was to you?

There was no way to know. For now, you dreaded the moment where you two would be out of anyone’s earshot because Satoru could be putting on a front. The mere thought of it devastated you.

You were right.

Once you were at the backseat of the Range Rover, your husband never once looked at you again. You noticed that his personal driver, Ijichi, could feel the tension between the married couple as he played soft, jazz music to cut the uncomfortable silence that filled the vehicle.

You and Satoru sat far away from each other, almost on the edge of your seats on either side of the SUV. All you could do was to look at the window and appreciate the busy city because your husband would not talk to you and you couldn’t help but think of whether the Iceland trip was true or if he was just desperate to play the caring husband role in front of your dad.

Just as you were about to ask, you tilted your head to the side to see him already looking at you with a deadpan face. However, on the broad spectrum between happiness and anger, his countenance was leaning more towards the latter.

“Was it fun trying to provoke me or something?” he accused through gritted teeth, eyebrows creasing in vexation.

Confusion had instantly spread to your face because you weren’t sure where he was going with this. “I’m sorry?”

As the car pulled up from the traffic light, you could swear that his bright azure eyes would turn a shade darker whenever he looked at you—a very clear sign of just how much he wanted to wreck you into broken pieces.

“Cut your bullshit,” he snapped, frown forming his lips. “Didn’t you run away last night to get some sympathy? You wanted to get me in trouble as revenge. I didn’t take you for an attention seeker.”

You took umbrage from his remarks. It was difficult to understand where Satoru’s deep-seated anger was coming from because he was even going as far as accusing you of things you didn’t even do. “You’re the one who told me to stay away.”

“You always get what you want, do you?” he continued without even acknowledging your response. “Is this how you win someone’s love? You can’t even find anyone that’ll love you without asking your father to arrange your marriage. You’re pathetic—”

“You’re so hurtful!” you cut him off as his words inflicted burning ache in your chest. The pain was cutting through your flesh and piercing through your spirit to ensure your agony. You knew that you haven’t found a significant other who truly loved you for who you were, but Satoru’s way of saying it to your face was more torturous than simply rubbing salt to the wound. “M-My dad doesn’t even know you hate me and I don’t plan on telling him.”

Your voice cracked as you spoke with bile forming on your throat and tears pooling your eyes. Despite the weakness that you had showed, Satoru had no scintilla of empathy for you. He showed no consideration for your feelings and how utterly cruel he was being.

In his defense, you were the one to be blamed for everything. “You expect me to thank you?”

“No,” you replied, holding your tears back in. “I only expect you to be nicer. I get that you hate being with me, but...”

His face hardened before he scoffed. “You don’t understand what it’s like for me.”

“Then, help me understand. Help me understand without us fighting every second.” Your tone was resolute with your willingness to acknowledge the difficulties that he had been facing after being married to you. If you had your own sacrifices, he must have had more for him to act this way. Marriages didn’t always work for everyone, but it didn’t mean that you could simply not care for him. In fact, you did care for him to a significant extent because the vows that you had told him came straight from your heart. You meant it when you said that you would cherish him, be there for him, and be patient with him. All he had to do was to let you do your job.

Unfortunately, you didn’t even receive an answer.

The rest of the afternoon was spent with you and your husband going to the mall and shopping just as he told your dad. Although the tension was still high, he dragged you to different stores like it was hard labor by telling you to pick the outfit you wanted for the so-called honeymoon trip. There was no ounce of excitement in him, but he was insisting for you to just comply and get it over with, sounding like he was being forced to do all of this with you rather than it being on his own accord.

Considering your set up, this was indeed just obligatory for him. You shouldn’t forget that this marriage was arranged and never would have happened without the mutual agreement of your families. Neither of you could escape the wedding ordeal as much as you liked. It was a dead-end.

Was it unreasonable to keep whining about it? Maybe, but it was only Satoru who ever strongly detested it.

“We don’t have to do this,” you insisted, keeping up with his fast pace as he walked along the chain of boutiques that housed different luxury brands from the likes of Coco Chanel to Ermenegildo Zegna.

“Just be quick and choose whatever you want,” he impatiently commanded as you entered a luxury boutique known for its remarkable swimwear pieces. While the surprise on your face was clear, you happened to have seen one of your father’s business partners inside the boutique as you got in. You immediately saw the stretch of panic that washed over Satoru’s face before he grabbed your hand and interlaced it with his.

“Oh! If it isn’t the newlyweds,” Mrs. Suzuki merrily acknowledged, approaching you closer with an assistant following her behind. “Satoru’s taking you shopping?”

Your husband forced a grin and caressed your hand with his thumb. “Yes, Auntie. Just making sure she has everything she needs before we fly off for our honeymoon.”

The woman’s eyes gleamed with delight before she turned to you and lightly cupped your cheeks. “Well that gorgeous face should look happy, then,” she pointed out, to which you responded quickly with a smile. “Go and pick the sexiest bikini for your husband.”

You hoped that the small chuckle you let out sounded genuine. “I will, Mrs. Suzuki.”

Because of her presence, the tension between you and Satoru had greatly lessened and you might as well thank her for it. Had she not appeared, your husband never would have bothered having an arm draped and secured around your waist nor having his lips pressed on your temple all for show.

You hated it, only because you shouldn’t be having butterflies when he was acting affectionate. The caring gestures that he showed may not be as real as you believed, but you wished that everything could just stay this way—where he treated you like a real wife and you were comfortable around him like he was a real husband.

“I don’t wanna wear that,” you shyly mumbled when Satoru pointed towards a very revealing snake-skin bikini.

“Wear it for me?” You shouldn’t feel heat permeating through your cheeks when he would give you those pleading eyes. You shouldn’t get too carried away to forget what the man was like under all his façade.

Through yours and Satoru’s teasing, the salesperson was almost cooing at the sight of your sweetness as a couple. She even guided you into one of the dressing rooms while claiming that your husband was extremely handsome and that you were lucky. Handsome? You would agree. Lucky? You weren’t sure. It was hard to tell as you couldn’t weigh just how much of a wife you could act around him.

You simply couldn’t wait for the day until acting was no longer an option.

There were a few things that you noticed about Satoru during that quick shopping spree. First was that he was a holder of the most prestigious credit card in the world after he paid for your items with his black card despite your insistence to pay with your own. Second, he had more bodyguards following him around than you did, but it wasn’t surprising as he was once named one of the top ten richest bachelors under 30 by Forbes Japan. You could only imagine how much he was risking his life by simply going out.

Lastly, while you were busy being assisted by the staff at one of the boutiques you went to, you saw him coming out of Tiffany & Co. with a small packaging on his hand that he later made Ijichi carry around. Out of all the stores you visited, that was the only place where he made a personal purchase and you wondered what he could have gotten. Was it for himself?

Perhaps for you? As if he would.

Somehow, returning to the penthouse didn’t feel as uninviting than the last. The both of you did your own night routine in silence—which you realized was better than arguing—and he thankfully never brought up anything about earlier’s events.

There seemed to be a lot going on inside his head and you sympathized for how pressured he already was at work. Dealing with you was another, so your mind was slowly processing the fact that you should be more understanding and patient towards him. You should see things in his point-of-view and put yourself in shoes, knowing that being married out of your will and having responsibilities sitting squarely on your shoulders would cause a man like him to be frequently hotheaded.

Because you had known Satoru before, you were aware that he wasn’t this inimical towards other people. You could see it now and you felt bad. Certainly, if things weren’t so forced, he would never treat you with ill-intent.

Patience is a virtue, you sighed in your head as you picked a pajama set from the closet, soon entering the spacious bathroom after Satoru took a quick shower before bed.

To end this long day, you indulged yourself with a warm bath and had beads of water cascading from the ceiling shower down to your entire naked body. Your strained muscles had relaxed as soon as the water came in contact with your skin, releasing the exhaustion that you’ve had for the past two days along with the steam that rose from the heated water.

It was crazy to think that two days ago, you were still a single woman, and now you were married to a man that you once have grown fond of. If you were back to your teenage self, you would consider yourself in cloud nine.

“Sleep in bed with me tonight.”

You heard the sound of the door swinging open as Satoru casually walked in amidst your soaping session. The shriek that escaped your lips as you scrambled behind the transparent glass made him roll his eyes, facing the mirror with a razor on his hand. “H-Hey, I’m still showering!” And very clearly naked as you complained.

Perhaps Satoru’s lack of interest towards you was an advantage in these instances because he genuinely didn’t give a damn at even sending a quick glance to your body. “Then shower,” he muffled a response as he started scraping his jaw with an electric razor. “You’re not even interesting to look at.”

Swallowed by your own insecurities, you showered in haste and sheathed your body with a robe before you left the bathroom to get dressed. You should get used to Satoru’s insulting words, but it surely left a sting behind.

You had chosen to keep your lips sealed by the time you two climbed in bed and he was unaware to the fast beating of your heart that came along with it. The pacing of your heartbeat was upping at an unusual speed because it just hit you that this was the first time you were sharing a bed together.

He didn’t particularly seem to take it as a big deal like you did. As husband and wife, sleeping in one bed was one of the most domestic parts of marriage, but if Satoru’s back was faced against you, you couldn’t really be excited about this night. He was creating an invisible barrier that limited what you were to him. By experience alone, having him as a husband was the most difficult challenge that you might soon give up on.

However, sad as it might be, you weren’t really one to give up on something as valuable as marriage. “Good night, Satoru.”

You heard him yawn as he settled under the duvet, but you’ve fallen asleep receiving not even the bare minimum in return.

FLASHBACK — Gojou’s Office

Satoru wasn’t ashamed of the fact that he would stay past office hours until everyone had left the floor just so he could be alone with her. He wasn’t ashamed of how desperate he was at having her on top of his desk as he shoved his hardened member inside her core, hips snapping against hers to fulfill himself of the ecstasy that he needed after a stressful day.

He wasn’t ashamed of her. Never was she ashamed of her, of Sera, his secret girlfriend whose existence had carved a special place in the depths of his heart.

Regardless of her social class, he never truly loved anyone the way he loved her. A woman working as the top floor’s receptionist may not be an ideal wife for the elitists that nested in this company, but he didn’t care for Sera’s lack of riches. What he cared about was the woman that made him fall in love with her smile, her wit, her admirable traits, and just about everything that she was.

“S-Satoru!” she sweetly moaned for his name with her legs spread open to see the man thrusting his shaft into her. Such a sight was enough for him to go crazy over, wanting nothing but to do this all night until they have sated themselves with the reciprocity of love and lust combined.

No other woman could top Sera in his eyes. Her mesmerizing beauty, her slender figure, her angelic face—he was a man willing to give up everything for her. Or so he believed.

“Fuck,” he cussed under his breath, simultaneous to how he gently squeezed one of her mounds. Each thrust had him going deeper and deeper into her hole, penetrating her walls until she was crying of overwhelming pleasure. “I love you, Sera.”

“I—I love you,” she whimpered through their exchange of sloppy kisses. Some of his files had fallen on the tessellated carpet, but neither of the lovers cared about anything else except to reach for their growing orgasm.

Satoru held her hips closer to his crotch and watched how his rubber-coated shaft would go in and out of her entrance, silently cussing at how warm she felt around him. All he could think of was how much he wanted Sera to stay by his side even if the world was against them. That she could remain as his even when things couldn’t turn out the way they wanted.

Sera started mewling at how rough her boyfriend was becoming as he increased his speed, jostling her body above his desk until his movements became uneven and spurts of his seed had showered through the rubber that he was wearing. His face was buried on the crook of her neck as the couple panted of heavy breaths after their lovemaking.

Satoru couldn’t think of having something like this with anyone else but her.

And yet, he was left with no choice.

“I’m getting married next week,” his voice was an octave deeper on her ear and the clenching of his heart was shared between them, except hers was twice more painful after hearing the sudden information. “I’m sorry.”

When he pulled away, he anticipated that there would be tears in her eyes that he would soon wipe. She blinked them away as she gazed at his face with glistening brown eyes that mirrored the pain inside of her. “Do you like her?”

There was no hesitance at shaking his head. “No, I just have no choice.”

He didn’t have to explain himself. Or at least, Sera didn’t want him to. All she did was to pull him for a comforting hug and have her arms around his shoulders tight enough that they could feel the vibration of each other’s heartbeats. “You should do it. It’s what they want.”

“Sera—”

“Don’t worry about me.” She pulled away only to cup his cheeks. “Do what’s best until you’re all settled.”

Between keeping her and letting her go, Satoru decided that it was best not to change anything between them. “I’ll figure something out,” he promised, “I’ll make sure that we’ll still be together in the end. No matter what happens, I’m not giving you up that easily.”

This was love, he believed. Something that you didn’t have with someone else which was why you had to ruin it for him. You were the root of his unwanted marriage.

On one hand, the contented smile on Sera’s face was what gave him felicity because nothing in this world was more important to him than her. He dreamed of their future, of him coming home to her as his wife, of her being the rightful mother of his future children. Why should two lovers be separated because of their social classes?

Satoru was her prince and she was the fairytale that distracted him from reality.

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Marriage is a sacred bond.

With over seven billion people around the world, you were granted to have only one person to be your chosen life-long partner. As with every failed relationships, people would tell you that you just haven’t found the better half of your soul, the significant other who shared the same heart, or as some liked to put it, your twin flame. Carefully choosing a partner was the advice that you would hear from your elders again and again like a broken record. For years, they have nagged about how miserable it was that you were walking around as a twenty five year-old woman without a lover. But what made up for the lackluster romance in your life was hope. Hope that someday, at the right time and place, you were to be married to the perfect husband who would love and cherish you as a wife for the rest of your life.

That was the beauty of true love. It was unpredictable, yet gratifying once you had your fair share of it. You seek it, your search for it until you meet the person that was destined for you. And when that happens, everything else in the world would just take a halt. In that moment, when you and him have finally found each other, you believed that it would be one of the most blissful parts of your journey to adulthood.

All happy couples have their own romantic fate written in the stars, but in a situation where a husband was appointed to you, was that considered breaking the universe’s law of finding your special one?

Was that considered cheating your way into what fate could have had in store for you?

Arguably, you thought that maybe this was a push from fate, too. Perhaps you were just truly meant to be married to the man that you had grown fond of since you were young. Because his and your fathers were practically brothers by virtue, their unyielding friendship had now led you to this day, wearing an immaculate ivory gown in an expensive garden venue, to marry the perpetually handsome Satoru Gojou.

You had not seen him since the day it was announced by your father that you were going to marry his best friend’s only son. The whole marriage preparation was rushed, with everything else coordinated by the people hired by Satoru’s father to ensure that the wedding would be as perfect as it should be albeit done in haste. You weren’t exactly opposing the idea, but you were worried that Satoru might not be in complete agreement to be forever tied to a woman he didn’t love.

On the contrary, his grandmother told you otherwise.

“Darling, he is excited to see you.” For hours and hours, she cajoled you with reassuring words while she stroked your hair, eyes gleaming with delight as you saw them from the mirror’s reflection. It seemed as though she had noticed how nervous you were for this big day. “That young man couldn’t sleep. He must be overwhelmed.”

Inaudibly to her, a sigh of relief rolled off your lips. At least, you were glad to know how he felt about today’s ceremony. You had only ever heard from your father that Satoru had consented to the wedding, but you were spared of the other details for the past few months by being convinced that everyone was busy and that the only thing you needed to worry about was picking the perfect wedding dress.

“I probably should’ve spoken to him before the wedding just to make sure that he’s fine with everything, Nana,” you mused, staring at your airbrushed face and silently admiring how glamorous the hair and make-up artist made you look today. “I just couldn’t find the right time to talk to him because I was told he’s been on business trips for the past few weeks. I tried reaching out, but his secretary keeps telling me that he’s unavailable.”

“Why, there is no need to worry about such a thing. I guarantee that my Satoru is ready as ever. He’s blessed to have a woman like you.” The crease on his grandma’s forehead lessened the more she smiled, but a cough soon erased the gentleness on her face as she rubbed her chest for some relief. With your older sister standing next to her, she caressed the old woman’s back and guided her into tucking a porcelain floral headpiece just above your braided updo. “Ah, look how stunning. I’ll bet my buttons you two will give me the most beautiful grandchildren.”

Heat suffused your cheeks at the thought of having your own family with Satoru. As part of a married couple’s life, the product of your love would be represented by the children that you would soon bear for him. This was a fairytale that you once believed only existed in fiction, but with some inexplicable force of luck, you were now granted a prince charming to live with in real life.

Still and all, your stomach was in knots when you stood at the far side of the aisle with all eyes on you later that day. Your delicate fingers fidgeted as you held on to your bouquet, anxiety filling your heart at a dangerous rate. The garden was filled with people that you knew; from your relatives, friends, to your other acquaintances. On the other side was Satoru’s own guests and perhaps some really important people in his life, even shareholders and investors, who were all waiting to see him finally tie the knot.

“You know, sweetheart. I was nervous when I married your mom, too,” your dad offered a joke to lighten your anxious state after noticing how you tightened your grip around his arm. You shouldn’t be nervous when the garden that held your sacred exchange of love was the most enchanting floral paradise that you had seen in your life. Amaranthine flora covered the trellises, pastel shades colored the seats, ornate candelabras decorated the credence table, all combined with the redolence of vanilla and jasmine that greeted your nose with a creamy, velvety smell.

Timeless elegance and utmost sophistication was how you would describe your wedding day as though you were a modern-day Cinderella without a midnight time frame into being a princess. Chic, refined, coordinated in pearls and pastel palettes—you were left wonderstruck at how pristine everything was.

As you made slow strides towards the altar, you saw your older sister, Gen, smiling on the corner, unknowingly reminding you of her words this morning. “It may be arranged and all, but I hope you’ll have the happiest marriage. You deserve it.”

And then you saw him.

Standing at the far end of the aisle was Satoru, whose ivory hair was neatly styled in a natural pomade. He donned a classic three-piece tuxedo with a tie of the same color and satin lapels in champagne silk to emphasize the elegance in his look. The man radiated regality like a monarch of ancient times. His appearance was princely enough to make your heartbeat run faster than it already had and you wondered if you elicited the same feeling from him after seeing you in your custom wedding gown.

His hands were buried deep in his pockets as his eyes locked with yours in front of a smiling audience. It was typical for a groom to feel overwhelmed upon seeing his bride. Memories of his relationship with her would flash before his eyes and, most times, the thought of finally spending his forever with her would make the groom cry.

Satoru didn’t have all of that with you.

You couldn’t tell what thoughts were bubbling inside his head as you joined him at the altar. Even though his face reflected a genial smile, his eyes couldn’t veil its emptiness. His hands felt cold when you held it. His visage remained impassive even as you two faced the priest who would be blessing your sacred marriage. It was clear as day that being in here with you was the last thing he ever wanted.

For a bride who was getting married to a man of such saintly features, you certainly didn’t expect that you would have a broken heart on the day of your wedding. In an exchange of vows and I do’s, you were awakened to the thought of how this wedding was a torture to Satoru’s soul. He was masking his blues with an insincere smile, standing centimeters apart while his heart was miles away.

Even at that, you remained poised as you listened to the officiant’s words, taking every word deep into the vastness of your heart just like any woman who valued marriage as an important part of her life. You couldn’t possibly put the marriage to a stop, not now and not ever. Not when all eyes were fixed on the both of you, having spent the time and energy just to be in attendance to this special day.

“Satoru, do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and protect Y/N, forsaking all others, and holding only unto her forevermore?”

When he took a moment to answer with a blank gaze, you could feel tiny pricks being sent straight to your heart. Just a mere glance at his stolid mien was enough for you to believe that he was going to call off the wedding and run away. What else did you expect? He clearly didn’t want this as much as Nana nor his and your fathers made it seem. It shouldn’t surprise you if he took a step back and announced that he couldn’t go on in making an oath to offer the rest of his life with you. That he would rather get out of this hell hole and be somewhere else than to proclaim a love that was being forced out of him.

But he didn’t. The soles of his leather shoes remained intact on the ground.

“I do,” he professed, despite the inner turmoil that plagued his head.

Being surprised by his conclusion to proceed with the marriage, you made the bold to decision to also continue and return your own “I do” for when the pastor asked you of the same matrimonial question.

“Bride and Groom, you have heard the words of love and marriage, have exchanged your vows and made your promises, and celebrated your union with the giving and receiving of rings. It is at this time that I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the officiant declared, “you may now kiss the bride.”

As you turned on your heels to face each other, your groom slowly lifted the veil off your face where you had a clear view of his diamond blue eyes that trailed down on your lips before he leaned in to seal this marriage with a kiss.

It was brief—with his warm lips barely brushing against yours, but affectionate enough when he held your cheek along with it. The millisecond of having your lips enveloped on each other made you frozen in your spot as you absorbed the very idea that this marriage was indeed bona fide. The rings, the vows, the kiss. They were all proof of how real this marriage was. And when he pulled away, he was gazing at you with eyes that spoke a million words left unsaid.

There was no turning back now.

From this day forward, you were officially his and he was yours.

You would give credit where it was due. As much as you presumed that your groom didn’t like this marriage, Satoru was surprisingly a gentleman throughout the reception. He did little things that made you feel like you were an actual couple prior to the wedding—be it with the way he placed a hand on your back during your first dance or how he would scoot closer so you could whisper on his ear as you sat in front of curious eyes—quite the simple gestures, but enough to make your heart flutter.

Even though you had known him for years, you never really had a remarkable amount of interaction together. You two remained as neutral acquaintances throughout your teenage years, merely greeting each other whenever necessary, but unexpected that you would end up having to marry each other as grown adults. To some extent, it might be a little expected. You were on the same age bracket, same circle of families with generational wealth, and your father knew about your longtime crush on him back when you were younger, but never did you think that the day would come where your dad would coordinate with Satoru’s father to make sure that this marriage would happen.

Satoru was a very close family friend. Other than both of your fathers being the best of friends, your mothers were also from the same circle. Photographs of them hanging out since college were enough proof of how small the world was and how everything seemed to have connected yours and his parents to each other. Ironically enough, they both shared the same fate, too. Due to a terminal illness, your mother no longer existed in this world while Satoru’s parents were divorced for reasons you chose not to stick your nose into. His mother was alive, but no longer by his side after having remarried another man and he now had a stepmother who had been taking care of him since he turned eighteen.

It was also mainly the Gojous that wanted this arranged marriage because Nana favored you by a significant advantage. She had long been fond of you way back when your father would take you to their mansion as a kid, claiming that you were the granddaughter that she never had. The thing was, Satoru’s grandmother was battling through the downsides of old age which might have left her grandson with no choice but to comply to her last dying wish of welcoming you into their family.

You were aware of how Satoru loved her with every fiber of his body because she was the only blood-related maternal figure that he had left. You could only imagine how he would chastise himself for not fulfilling her wishes before it was too late.

You were pretty much on the same page, too.

You grew up with extremely strict parents which ultimately became the reason why you had very few experiences when it came to men. At your current age, it was a true shame to see your friends settling down while you were still claiming to be an independent career woman as an excuse to your lack of romantic relationships. None of the guys you had dated ever earned your father’s approval until you no longer had anyone chasing you because they must have realized that you weren’t worth all that trouble.

You were the youngest between you and your sister who was happily married by her own choice. Unlike her, you didn’t really have anyone that pursued you the way her husband did for fifteen years. Such dedication paid off with earning your dad’s support and respect.

Your father thought that you were better off married to someone that he knew, and that became the very reason of yours and Satoru’s marriage.

At least, in your point of view, you hoped that it could work. You already had a prior attraction to him during your teenage years so it would be easy to fall back into that abyss of overflowing romantic emotions for the sake of your marriage. You were willing to be the best wife that he could ever ask for, only if he was ready to accept you.

“Congrats, you two.” A woman with long brown hair approached you and your husband during the reception. You recognized her as Shoko Ieiri, one of Satoru’s closest friends since high school. You were quick to greet her kindly in return. “I can’t believe you’re married, Gojou.”

The man stood high, peering around the ballroom to see the multitude of guests that filled the place. “I can’t believe it, either,” his response was rather monotonous, not giving anything away.

You tried to speak your mind and looped an arm around his, smiling gently as you looked at his angelic face, “I’m actually surprised that he showed up.”

Rather than acknowledging you, he seemed all blasé about your words by simply turning to his best man, the dashing Suguru Getou, who was walking behind Shoko.

“You’re getting wasted at my wedding?” Satoru joked, exchanging fist bumps with his best friend. “I’m the one who should be drinking.”

Suguru’s eyes turned into moon crescents as he shot you a friendly smile. “Hey, Y/N,” he greeted before facing your husband. “You can’t drink, you rascal. You have a long night ahead with your wife. They say honeymoon stage is the best.”

He was teasing the both of you by wiggling his eyebrows that garnered yours and Shoko’s chuckles. On one hand, Satoru was holding his breath with a face that concealed his distaste for the thought. His countenance was what forced you to withdraw your arm that was loosely hooked around his, gauging on his reaction and noticing the way his Adam’s apple rose up and down. It looked like he was almost disgusted.

Before you could say anything else, he snatched the glass of whiskey from his best friend’s hand and took a swig in heavy gulps. “I just wanna get this shit over with.”

You started the day with a half-contented heart. You were made a fool for thinking that Satoru was looking forward to being married to you because you were gullible enough to listen to yours and his family’s words. Of course, they would tell you that he was excited even if he was far from it. Why would they ruin a special day by telling you that the reason they kept Satoru away from you for the past two months was because they knew that he would tell you just how much he despised this wedding?

There was no doubt that he was only being civil in front of your families. He would hold your hand, walk side by side with you, and even smile at you—but through it all, there was a thin line between being genuine and simply acting. It was obvious in Satoru’s cerulean eyes that he was doing the latter. Because every time he noticed that no one was looking, he would brush your hand away and walk three steps forward without looking back. He would glance at you with a sharp gaze, never truly looking at you to notice the pain that painted your face in dejection.

He must have dreaded this day too much. Even as the reception ended and both of your families sent you off to a black sedan as newlyweds, Satoru was building an impenetrable wall that bordered his intentions and yours in a way to wake you up from your daydream.

Life was not a fairytale, and he was the reality that pulled you back to your feet.

“You probably couldn’t wait for this day to happen, huh?” His question reeked with disgust as the two of you sat on the backseat of the sedan. He had his arms crossed and back reclined against the backrest, staring at the view of the city like they were of better interest than his own wife.

You tried to swallow the weakness in your voice. “Satoru, I-I wouldn’t have agreed to this if I knew that you didn’t want it.”

For the first time that night, he turned to look at your face with eyes that bore heavily into yours. “What makes you think I ever wanted it?”

He didn’t hold back from saying those venomous words regardless if they sent knives to your aching heart. He looked even more bothered at the fact that his personal driver could hear just how revolted he was with you, exposing how this marriage was nothing but forced out of his will and that you were responsible for all of this. When you dreamed about weddings as a child, you didn’t picture out that you would be fighting with your husband on the first night.

But for what it was worth, he didn’t really consider you as a wife. Only by contract did this bond make you a legal partner, not through his personal feelings nor his own wishes.

“I’m sorry.” You didn’t know why you said those words in silent acquiescence. You didn’t know if you were saying it to him or to yourself for being oblivious to the reality that awaited you.

He didn’t care. He stepped out of the car without looking behind to see if you had caught up with his hasty strides. He didn’t speak another word as you got inside the express elevator to his upscale apartment building, later entering the penthouse that you now called your home. Such a home almost emitted a gasp from you the minute you entered the topmost apartment. Everything was luxurious—from the high ceilings, the lush furniture, to the infinity rooftop pool. The glass panels offered a gorgeous view of the Tokyo skyline and you stood mesmerized by the cityscape that reflected a constellation of different lights.

“Are you gonna keep standing there or what?”

You got out of trance at the sound of Satoru’s voice who stood outside of a bedroom, unbuttoning his shirt with a moue on display. “I’m just... Is this where you live?” you inquired, following him inside the room where a king-sized bed was laid in front of you.

“Yeah.” While you stood meekly on one corner, Satoru had already gotten rid of his shirt to be completely bare-chested and you didn’t expect that he was that toned under his clothes. The man may be your husband now, but you felt awkward around him at a situation where he would walk around half-naked as if you had seen all of him before. “Your stuff’s in the closet if you wanna change.”

You gave him a small nod. “Okay.”

What do married couples do on the first night? God. You were panicking on the inside as you made your way towards Satoru’s walk-in closet that housed a significant amount of expensive corporate suits and ties. The right side of the spacious wardrobe was where all of your clothes and shoes were neatly organized and were seemingly done by the housemaids back at your father’s house.

It just started to fully sink into you that you were actually married and this setup was what you considered normal now. In two years, five years, or ten years from now, sharing the same living arrangement with Satoru would no longer be considerably new to you. You would be accustomed to his daily routines in your domestic household, perhaps with kids running around the house in a year or two.

For now, the biggest challenge was your own husband. The same man who grabbed you by the wrist and pinned you against the wall, staring down at you in blatant scrutiny. The look of intent that he sent you was close enough to be a glower, one that brought you sudden fright and increased the speed of your heartbeat.

“S-Satoru,” you mumbled, pulling your wrist away. “What are you—”

He lightly cupped your jaw and you could feel the heavy rise and fall of his chest that signaled his growing ire. His gaze was sharp and unforgiving, ready to ruin your entirety even with just his rancorous words. “Let’s set things straight here,” he spoke in a domineering voice, “You and I will never work.”

It was pointless to restrain your emotions with no one else around for you to play pretend. In spite of that, you held onto the ring around your finger to try and clear your intentions, “I know you’re not happy with this... but I wanna try.”

“Try?” he scoffed, leaning in closer until you could feel his warm but minty breath against your cheek. “You’re the one who initiated this marriage, right? Since you had that stupid crush on me for fuck knows how long and no one else wanted you?”

You immediately shook your head in denial. How did he even the get that impression? “Th-That’s not true,” you stated firmly, “I’d never force anything! I was just complying to our dads’ requests just like you did.”

His eyebrows furrowed at your claim. “Bullshit. Why did he say he’ll pull out all of his investments if I didn’t agree to marry you?”

Your eyes widened at the newfound information because never did it cross your mind that your dad would even do such a thing. Moreover, it wasn’t in his character to give an ultimatum of that scale for the sake of marrying off his youngest daughter. Was he bluffing? With those facts alone, you refused to believe your husband’s words. “My dad wouldn’t do that. He would never say that.”

“Whatever, then.” Satoru’s frown lessened, but the hand that cupped your jaw remained still. “If you really wanna try, then stay the fuck away from me when no one’s around. Get it?”

You couldn’t understand this. No, you were failing to grasp why you were being subjected to such hostility when you had no ill intentions when you agreed to this marriage. Had you known that Satoru would treat you unfairly for it, you never would have agreed. You would have continued your life as a lonely woman in her mid-twenty’s without a husband who was ready to give you hell.

The antagonism in his stance induced a faint tear on your eye as you searched for the minuscule kindness in his. “Why do you hate me so much?” you asked, chest heaving from the oncoming surge of tears. “You weren’t like this before.”

While he released his hold on you, he spat out words that stung your heart with fatal poison. “You married me,” it was his simple answer, “that’s why.”

He was already walking away before you could respond. He was already stepping on your heart, thrashing it, pulverizing every artery before you could even think of living in bliss at the false pretense that he could learn to love you just as how willing you were to love him.

“You can sleep on the couch,” he offered, apathetic to the pain that swallowed you inside, “I’m not sharing a bed with you.”

a sense of superiority floods your head as your lips curl into a menacing smirk. finally, some good news, and good enough for you to blackmail your best friend for a couple of months, at least. she’s not the type to confess without prior stressful, crying sessions, which takes quite some time. you’re so busy in your thoughts, you don’t notice falling down when iwaizumi turns around, passing you the question paper. moreover, you also fail to notice when iwaizumi picks it up and places it on your desk, until he turns back again with a surprised grimace. 

“huh?”

you stare back in confusion. “what?” 

“that eraser,” iwaizumi gulps, eyes fluctuating between you and the eraser in your hand, with visible panic evident on his face. “it had my name.” 

“no, it doesn’t.” that’s a lie. “you’re mistaken.” he’s not. 

no one wants to lie at nine in the morning, right before a practice test, especially to someone who you’ve never talked to in your whole life; unless people are crazy enough to lie pathologically as a passion. you, however, happen to do the same, in hopes he would believe you. 

but iwaizumi is sure he saw his name on your eraser. not only his name, but a heart as well. ‘ih ♡’ that’s what it said, and he’s certainly assured that it’s for him. 

“i’m not. i’m sure i saw my name,” at this point, none of you care about the practice test. he’s trying to prove his point while your mind is lost amongst the field of excuses, looking for the right one. 

“no, you didn’t. you’re mistaken!” gaslighting is definitely not the right excuse but, that’s the best you came up with, in seconds. the look on his face tells you that he isn’t buying your words. you slowly feel the situation grip out of your hand, every second burdening on your shoulders as you hope for iwaizumi to give up and move on like nothing ever happened. 

“then, show me the eraser,” iwaizumi demands, eyes fixed on you for a response. he trusts his instincts, he should, he isn’t lying. you don’t know him at all, but you know that if he wants something, he gets it, no matter that. “if i’m mistaken, then show it to me. i’ll check myself.”

and so he does, snatching the eraser from your fist as he looks at you with a knowing gaze. there’s amusement in his eyes, a glint of pink resting on his cheeks, but that’s from the winter cold.

“no way, yn, you like iwaizumi?” that’s tatsuya, and this shouldn’t be happening. you whip your head around, looking at him as he seizes the eraser from iwaizumi’s grip, taking a better look at it. “who would’ve expected?” 

no one, exactly. you don’t even know iwaizumi. he’s just a classmate, someone who’s popular in the whole school but not in your eyes. you respect him for his grades and talent, but you’ve never paid him any attention. instead, your mind has always revolved around tatsuya, forever looking at him in a room full of angels, to put it in better words. 

“listen, it’s not mine.” yeah, it’s better to not lie; not in front of tatsuya. why is he here in the first place? tatsuya sleeps through his days at school, no matter how important the classes are, and somehow still manages to score good marks. he’s a miracle, a work of art, epitome of intelligence and beauty, a true angel. your heart overflows with love for him. 

“who does it belong to?” iwaizumi counters, and you don’t want to answer. honestly, you could do way better if tatsuya left but like a curious cat, his eyes hover over you for a response. 

“it’s—” a pause. you can’t possibly disclose your friend’s feelings, that’d be unfair to her. and you, well, you have no option but to lie and save yourself a good friendship. “mine.”  

you don’t look at iwaizumi’s face. you simply don’t have the courage to do that. so, you get to the practice question paper lying on your desk, reading through algebraic equations while your brain is enmeshed between maths, your friend, and the person you’re pretending to have a crush on; all in the presence of your actual crush. 

.

.

.

you’re pretty sure you bombed the test royally. 

there’s no way you’d score in double digits, for your brain was ( and still is ) busy distressing over the two biggest problems of your life. first, the boy you never talked to in the two years you spent as a highschool student, believes you have a crush on him; and second, your actual crush also believes you have a crush on iwaizumi. 

great, things couldn’t have been any better. moreso, out of all the people, it’s iwaizumi. you don’t hate him; god, you don’t think you can ever. he’s too nice, almost as a saint. probably the nicest person you’ve met till. he treats every girl he rejects, as an ‘apology’. which may be a good thing since he doesn’t seem to like you, so it’s a free treat for you, but that’s besides the point. 

he’s so nice, you feel bad for lying to him. confessions may not surprise him anymore but the look in his eyes explained that he took every word you said to his heart. see, that’s the problem with excessively good people. you can’t lie to them, and if you do then the guilt corrupts your head, constantly making you feel bad about yourself. 

he’s warm, friendly, enthusiastic, outgoing, easy to please. he’s quick to show appreciation, yet accepts without judgement or criticism, the human weakness of others. that’s iwaizumi to everyone in the school, including teachers and staff. 

“hey,” you greet awkwardly, eyeing the students in the hallway to make sure no one is gossiping. mayhaps, you’re overthinking but iwaizumi is pretty popular and you’d rather not get involved with him. “let’s talk.” 

now, iwaizumi doesn’t know why he needs to follow you to the terrace. you can talk right here, in class, or near the volleyball gym for the lack of better space. anywhere, but terrace. though, iwaizumi doesn’t refute. he follows you closely, as if you’ve casted a spell on him. iwaizumi doesn’t harbour romantic feelings for you, he’s sure, and had it been someone else, he would’ve already turned them down. no ‘let’s talk,’ and no ‘following them to terrace,’— but you, for some reason, make it harder for him to be his typical self and follow his classic rules. 

you shut the door, looking around to check for unwanted presence on the terrace. this is easy, it has to be easy, you have a plan. it’s simple; you’ll tell him that this whole situation is nothing but a massive misunderstanding. you don’t have feelings for him, the ‘ih’ with heart on the eraser is actually izumi hashima— and you don’t know who izumi hashima is but you’re going to lie again, and say she’s your best friend’s older sister who you had taken a liking to as an elementary school student. it sounds perfect in your head, dodging all pits of failure. 

“so, about the eraser—”

“i don’t like you,” iwaizumi blurts out, interrupting you in between while you stare at him wide eyed because this was not in the plan. “i mean, i do like you but not in that way. you seem like a good person, we can get to know each other and. . .”

rest all is a blur. you don’t focus on his words, for you’re too busy admiring him, platonically. not only has he got a handsome face and smart, wrinkly brain, but he’s painfully kind. if kindness was a crime, he’d get a death penalty. no wonder, the students in your school treat him like a god, and would make him their new religion at any given moment, if offered the opportunity to. “ah, so this is why it’s so easy to fall for you,”

you can’t believe you just mumbled that out loud; and even if you did, you’d like you believe you didn’t, until you saw his flabbergasted grimace. “it’s not how it sounds!” right, you think he’d believe you after your silly little confession. you sigh, giving up before you make it harder for you to sort this out. “just— forget any of this happened, okay?” 

“are you sure?” iwaizumi counters. 

“yes, very sure.” infact, you haven’t been sure-er about anything else till date. “and, don’t tell anyone either.”  

that’s a peculiar request. well, for someone who gave closures to rejection using meals, iwaizumi doesn’t know what is right in this situation. his plan was to treat you this evening as an apology, but you rather possess a different request. you want him to pretend like this never happened, and iwaizumi wonders if it’s so much easier to discard your feelings. “why do i feel like you’re going to cry when you get home?”

“i won’t, and even i do, that's my problem. just, don’t bring this up ever again,” you didn’t mean to lash out, but frustration gets the best of you, and you don’t want to spend another minute apologising or rather, striking a conversation with him. “if you have nothing more to say, i’ll leave first.” 

you simply walk out, without giving him any opportunity to speak. today has been crazy. iwaizumi still hasn’t processed the entirety of the prior events. how did you even fall for him? he knows he has quite an attractive face and a very intricately built physique. however, looks are secondary to interactions, and you’ve never really talked to him until today. 

perhaps, it was when he lent you his umbrella, or when he lent you his notes, or when he thanked you for helping him in art class. it has to be one of those because none of you have ever talked besides those three times. 

he doesn’t get it, is it easy for people to fall for someone just because of looks? or to put it in your words, is it really easy to fall for him? most importantly, do you not mind disregarding your feelings and asking him to forget it? it’s strange, and while he would eventually end up forgetting it, he doesn’t understand why you’re so . . . unbothered. 

iwaizumi has met all sorts of people. the ones who follow him around to get attention, ones who confess and guilt trip when rejected, ones who deliberately throw themselves at him, ones who understand and move on, but you don’t fit any of those categories. you don’t fit his definition of admirers and even though it may seem like he’s overthinking, he’s not. iwaizumi doesn’t know why he cares so much. in fact, you’ve made it easier for him to handle this ordeal. he doesn’t need to spend his money on you to shut your mouth and not talk about anything related to their confession to anyone. ( you see, that’s the reason why no one ever hears a news about iwaizumi being confessed to again, unless someone is brave enough to give a public confession )

he kicks the stray stone lying around on his way back home, hands in his pockets while the thought of you keeps bothering him constantly. he has way too many questions and absolutely no time to waste, however, upon much consideration, a conclusion lands on the palm of his hands — it feels like you’re rejecting iwaizumi, despite being the one to confess first, and god, you don’t know how much that irks him. 

.

.

.

“yn, you’ll be late if you spend another minute fixing your hair!” your mother shouts from the kitchen and honestly, that’s the plan: getting late and skipping school. you don’t have a reason, well you do, but it lacks the logical aspects. 

the reason— iwaizumi. did he turn you down? yes. did you tell him to forget it? yes. do you trust him? no. despite being one of the nicest guys to ever walk on earth, iwaizumi doesn’t look trustable. you’re afraid he would’ve spread the news to everyone, his friends, your friends, you’re scared so much that you haven’t opened group chats ever since you woke up. besides, there’s tatsuya. he practically lives for drama. tatsuya is a soul of honesty, but unfortunately, he has a sneaky, thievish, sinister look— making it harder for you to trust him entirely.

despite your subtle attempts, your mother ends up kicking you out of the house before you delay even more. for a brief second, you consider skipping school and spending the whole day watching movies or something. you’re down, almost, until you hear a familiar voice chanting your name from a distance. 

“you’ve been avoiding me since yesterday,” kyoka pants, hands on your shoulder to prevent you from running away again. 

“uh, i have?” you shoot her a crooked smile, trying to think of a convincing excuse. you’ve been so busy amongst your thoughts that you forgot about her. “by the way, your eraser—”

“oh, you saw it, didn’t you?” she mumbles, averting her gaze to a cat passing by as you both enter the school premises. “i like him so much but i’m scared to confess.”

“it’s okay, you have my support,” you should be scared, you want to say. while, that’s not how a supportive friend must react, considering iwaizumi’s history with confessions, everyone should be scared of confessing to him. talking about iwaizumi, you don’t spot him anywhere, which is actually a good thing. maybe he called in sick, or even better, changed schools, even though it makes no sense. 

the first class goes just fine and you thank the higher deities for it. unfortunately, or fortunately enough, tatsuya didn’t come to school as well. maybe, both him and iwaizumi met up and shat on you but it’s fine, as long as others don’t know about it. maybe, it’s not as fine as it seems since your eyes are burning to see tatsuya. 

god must really be on your side because you haven’t seen iwaizumi all day, and neither have you come across even a speck of gossip about yesterday’s events. his seat remained empty in front of you as you unknowingly spent the whole day thinking about him. perhaps, you’re worried; is he the one crying at home? that’s unlikely. you decide to skip your last class and move to the terrace, enjoying the cold breeze from last night’s showers. 

standing here, by the edge of the terrace, makes you feel like a main character; as if you have a perfect life, and a perfect lover, and a perfect future to grasp, it’s premeditated, yet interesting. even though none of it is true, a person can dream. it seems way to perfect until you’re pulled back by a hand around your arm, almost stumbling. before you’re framed against the wall beside you. 

“what do you think you’re doing?!” fantastic. suddenly, you don’t want to be the main character anymore because there’s iwaizumi, and you’re standing close to him, very close, so close that you can feel his breath fan over your face. “are you crazy? do you really plan to end your life over something so trivial?!” 

you panic because of the close proximity, stomping on his foot as he yells, stepping away from you. “what are you talking about because i don’t plan on dying anytime soon, iwaizumi hajime!”

a pause, everything goes silent. you hear the breeze, you have one of the prettiest boys of your school crouching in front of you because you stepped on his foot deliberately. this seems like the perfect setup for a marriage and a murder, and you’re heavily considering the latter. 

“wait you aren’t—” 

“no, i’m not dying and why are you even here? i thought you called in sick or something.”  

“we had a game. i thought tatsuya told you,” he clarifies, standing up while shooting you a sour look. as for tatsuya, he happens to be the manager for the men’s volleyball team. it’s funny because oikawa picked him over fifteen other girls who applied, all because of two reasons: first, he’s on good terms with tatsuya and second, it’s better to have a guy try to get on your nerves rather than a girl fangirling over the crew. besides, it’s a win for tatsuya too, who does nothing but sleep at school. “i always come to the terrace after a game.”

he adds, and you wonder if it’s a good thing to have in common with him. again, you don’t trust him because you’ve never seen him on the terrace; and you happen to be the official resident of your highschool terrace, so notorious that you’ve also received detention for invading prohibited boundaries. 

“i also come here, sometimes,” you mean multiple times, everyday. why you’re here talking with iwaizumi is beyond your comprehension, but for some reason, you’re not against it. it doesn’t feel forced or frustrating. in fact, his presence is rather calm, and you think it’s because he’s tired from his match. “so, did you win?” 

“by 3-2, yes. i’m starting to hate metre spikes, though, for some reason.” that sounds awfully familiar. you’re not accustomed with volleyball terminologies, however tatsuya happens to vent to you about the same every now and then. it’s funny for iwaizumi to hate dinks, despite being a spiker himself. besides, you’ve heard a few people talk about how iwaizumi apparently loves metre spikes.

“that’s—” he proceeds to speak, interjected by footsteps approaching the rooftop. 

“iwaizumi—” oh, no. you knew things were going too well to be true. “ooh, okay, i’m sorry for interrupting you two love birds but cap’ needs you downstairs, ‘iwa. be quick.” tatsuya has awful timing. he could’ve been the person to think you’re planning to jump and save you but no, he had to arrive much later, right when you and iwaizumi are standing next to each other, looking like decent friends or rather, like ‘love birds’ in tatsuya’s eyes. 

he winks at your ‘boyfriend’ and you die a little on the inside. tatsuya is more excited about you and iwaizumi than the two of you. honestly, excited isn’t even the right word for you both. you just want to stay away from him and iwaizumi, well, whatever the hell he has going on with him. 

“you should go,” that’s the best you can come up with, to end the conversation. you don’t need him around, that was the original plan. to ignore him, and have him ignore you. you know iwaizumi isn’t responsible for this misunderstanding between you and tatsuya. however, you can’t help but criticise him in the back of your mind. 

“yn,” he calls out, though slightly quieter than usual with a hint of hesitation in his voice. “about your confession, i think rejecting you was unfair. so, let’s get to know each other first, and then i’ll give a final response.” 

what. just what in the world— okay, you’re calm, you’re trying to be calm. you hear his footsteps fade away as he bids you goodbye with a soft ‘see you around’ and no, you strongly disagree. you don’t want to see him anywhere near you, not when tatsuya is convinced that you’re dating iwaizumi and you’re trying to come up with ways to break the truth to him. 

you see, you have abilities to do miracles, like creating more problems for yourself while trying to solve one. it’s funny how you arrived to school delightfully, knowing the two boys who can possibly fuck up your life are absent, only to go back home with a fake ‘boyfriend’ thanks to yourself. 

YOU'RE CONSIDERING changing schools, really. 

ignoring iwaizumi doesn’t help. he’s too hashtag deep into getting to know you better that he accompanies you almost everywhere. your mornings for the past three days have been commencing with iwaizumi and ending with him as well. moreso, you have people looking at you while you commute through school as if you’re on a red carpet. you wake up and greet your a couple hundred new followers on instagram who have you added in a group called ‘iwaizumi shrine.’ it makes sense. the school's most popular boy, who has never shown interest in anyone, suddenly started talking to you and acting like you’re his top priority. it makes completely, hundred percent sense. you’d be curious too if your favourite celebrity suddenly started hanging out with some random person. 

it’s like a revolution and you don’t want to be a part of it. 

“tired?” kyoka asks, sitting next to you by the track field. “looks like you’ve gotten busier.” 

yeah, you have, and the pain is visible on your face. you want to get back to the days when people paid you no mind and continued with their life. waking up to a bunch of notifications and post-it notes on your locker, asking for iwaizumi’s number or one of his exclusive pictures is draining you out; and surprisingly, you don’t have iwaizumi’s number in the first place. “kyoka, help me,” you whine, leaning onto her shoulders as she shoves you away. 

“i’m sure the gossip will die down in a few days,” enjoy the fame while you can, yes. you know she was going to add that too. however, this isn’t fun. as much as you’re enjoying this special treatment from iwaizumi, it feels as if you’re walking on eggshells; like your life resonates between the flight of bumblebee and hall of mountain king as your theme songs. 

besides, kyoka likes iwaizumi and you’re practically deceiving her. even though she knows you and iwaizumi as just friends, that’s simply what you wanted her to know. she doesn’t know he’s trying to get to know you better for the sake of a relationship, or that iwaizumi knows about the eraser but he thinks you have a crush on him instead of kyoka. 

it’s a mess, and it’s hard trying not to break someone’s heart. she doesn’t know the truth. she doesn’t even know you have a date with iwaizumi after school. 

“whatever, are you going to audition for that cinderella play?” oh, right. you forgot about it. you don’t have a picturesque memory either way and iwaizumi is simply making it harder for you to focus on things that are not him. you’re sure kyoka would say something along the lines of ‘you’re down bad,’ if you ever told her about your dilemma, and honestly, you are. you are down bad to escape iwaizumi, get out of his life or just get him out of yours; whichever is faster and easier. 

“are you?” you counter as a football rolls near your legs, your eyes following the player following it shortly. it’s iwaizumi, and he— wait, he plays volleyball, so why is he on the field playing in the football team? whatever, it’s none of your business anyway. you pass the ball, a soft thank you slips off his lips as he runs away. a pause, you are getting ideas and maybe, maybe iwaizumi is about to become your business if you put enough effort into it. “do you think iwaizumi will audition for prince charming?” 

you see her smirk as he nudges your shoulders. “why, are you planning to be his cinderella?” 

“what? ew, no,” okay, maybe the ew was an exaggeration. though, the thought of you being cinderella when he’s prince charming makes you want to puke. “i’m just asking because he’s the most suitable candidate. besides, you can audition for cinderella.”

oh, you feel so smart for coming up with the plan : have them casted, they kiss and fall in love. probably the smartest you’ve ever been. cupid has a competition and it’s you. 

“why would i audition for cinderella if—” she pauses, lips curling into a smile as her eyes set on something behind you. kyoka doesn’t waste another moment, proceeding to stand up and pat the dust off her uniform. “senior,” 

you feel the air around you shift. 

“hope i’m not interrupting something,” she’s quick to shake her head in denial, the smile never leaving her lips while you witness the whole scene from the sidelines. “i was hoping you’d audition for cinderella in the play. no pressure, just that your performance was great in last year’s play,” 

“ah, of course, i would. are you audi—” 

a frown sets on her face as the supposed ‘senior’s’ phone rings. you feel the air shift, yet again. “i have to answer this. see you in the club room later!” 

“see you!” you’re not sure what you saw. kyoka, your friend, the kyoka who’s known for decking people in her first year switched personalities like it was her favourite colour. “turns out, i’m auditioning,” 

yeah no, you couldn’t care less about the senior or the personality shift. at least, he made your job a tad bit easier. now, all you need to do is convince iwaizumi. 

.

.

.

“do you need something?” iwaizumi asks, grabbing his earphones from the locker. now, how do you explain that you need him to audition for prince charming’s role so that you can set him and your friend up? 

“oh, nothing? i was just curious about what you were doing,” and iwaizumi hajime is actually gullible enough to buy that. honestly, your excuse is not baseless, considering how you both are in the ‘talking stage’ of the relationship. “have you heard about the auditions for the cinderella play?” 

he nods, closing his locker. “yes, matsukawa is one of the hosts. why do you ask?” 

“uhh, i was wondering if you’d like to audition for prince charming?” you could’ve voice it better. you know, more confident, making it sound less like you’re plotting something. you’re in no state to answer any questions, if he ever asks. 

he blinks, and then blinks again. a few seconds bask in silence and you’re ready to apologise but iwaizumi beats you to it. “will you audition for cinderella?” 

as proven, you’re in no state to answer questions, especially that one. why would you even audition for cinderella? first of all, you can’t act to save your life. second of all, even if you could, you wouldn’t audition when iwaizumi is the most probable candidate for the main lead. “why do you ask?” 

“i’ll register if you audition for cinderella,” nah, ain’t no way iwaizumi hajime just did that and walked away like he didn’t just flip your head upside-down. you turn around, watching him waltz through the hallways like king louis xvi or something. at this point, you’re simply resisting the urge to yell at him. 

you almost give up. almost. 

you’ll get a number of opportunities to set him and kyoka up together, maybe the luck isn’t on your side. moreover, iwaizumi is the only suitable candidate for prince charming in your eyes. there’s no way the theatre club is accepting someone else if a man like him is breathing among the peasants. so, in the end, they will cast him no matter what. yes, you’re right, they will. 

but what if they don’t? you hate your mind for holding onto that question and making it your living crisis but truthfully, you have this situation under your control. all you have to do is audition and surprise, iwaizumi’s already casted. besides, you do feel bad for backing off when you can literally save everyone some time and help them for your greater good. 

all you have to do is audition, it’s easy, like a cakewalk, taking a lollipop from a kid. maybe not the last one since, kids these days are animalistic ( you’ve heard a few barking on streets ) it’s still easy, very easy. 

you can do it. 

.

.

.

yes, you can do it. 

you have another plan. all you have to do is go to the stage and give the most mind-rotting, heart-stopping, life-ruining audition ever. you have to unleash the unskilled actor inside you, make it look like you can do anything but act. you have to drag the cinderella role around and make it seem like even the one playing as the tree in the backdrop is a better actor than you. 

yes, it’ll leave you embarrassed. you’ll actually have to switch schools, probably; but it’s fine, as long as iwaizumi gets the prince charming role. 

“alright, next.” one of the club heads announce and surprisingly, the senior from earlier today is present as well. you watch the participant walk up the stage and god, everyone auditioning for cinderella looks drop dead gorgeous. “kim tatsuya, you’re auditioning for cinderella?” 

“yes.” he replies. 

“why?”

“do you think there’s anyone else who fits the role more than me?” you almost scoffed out loud. the confidence? the charm? the smirk on his face? he fits the role of evil step mother more than cinderella. while waiting for your turn, you search for kyoka, remembering you haven’t seen her in the club room at all. a part of you wonders if she dipped— even though she isn’t like this— you couldn’t help but worry about your whole plan going down the drain. 

you excuse yourself out of the club room, halting by the neighbouring classroom when you see a familiar figure sitting by the teacher’s desk. “kyoka?” turns out it’s actually her, and you release the breath you didn’t know you’ve been holding in for a while now. “what’s wrong?” 

despite doing everything for your own good, you couldn’t help but worry about her. kyoka is perhaps the most self-righteous person you’ve ever met, in a good way. she’s confident in herself, she knows what she’s capable of and what not. she’s not afraid to try, even if she thinks it’s beyond her limits. so, seeing her all alone like this, it felt just like failing a test of a subject you’ve mastered. 

she looks into your eyes, a hint of hesitation settling on her face. “yn, i’m scared. everyone here is so good.” you want to laugh, not the right timing, but you want to. 

“no, stop. you’re better. you received the best female lead award last year, you can do it.” you assure, and it’s really funny coming from someone who’s probably the best candidate for cinderella’s role, saying that she’s scared. you wouldn’t say other participants auditioning are unskilled, neither do you know if there’s anyone out there who’s better than her. however, little do you know that your performance is definitely going to make her confidence fall back at her feet for kyoka to pick it up. 

“yn, they’re calling you inside.” one of the club members informs you. a sigh spins into the air as you look at your friend, nodding as she shoots you an assuring smile. you can do it. you’re going to give your worst.

“yn— oh, you’re kyoka’s friend!” the club president exclaims as soon as you step in front of perform and ironically, it’s the senior; something hayato, as his jacket says. “i’m looking forward to your performance.”

yeah, no don’t. you don’t want anyone to look forward to anything you’re going to do for the next five minutes or so. this is about your reputation, your dignity, your highschool life, and everything else. and, how you had dreamt of a highschool life like in those movies, peaceful like quilts falling on glistening water; but, after all, movies are just movies. real life is much different, because right now you’re going to embarrass yourself in front of everyone for your best friend and the guy she likes. 

“i’ll start,” you shook an awkward smile, a deep breath, it’s now or never. “here . . . kitty kitty kitty kitty . . . c’mon kitty . . .” a pause, your voice dies of shame and regrets. “Lucifer! come here—” that was so loud, you practically see a few people flinch. 

“wait, wait,” one of the judges interjects, shuffling through their script. “which scene are you enacting?” 

you cock your face to your left, awkwardly. “the opening scene?” 

hayato sighs. he’s probably regretting looking forward to your performance. “no no, do that one. the one with the prince, where cinderella runs away.” 

you get in stance, clearing your throat for another life-threatening performance. “oh . . . but i must go—” 

“stop,” the judges interrupt again and this time, you’re fueling with anger. maybe if they didn’t want you to perform, they shouldn’t have added your name in the first place. “yn, there’s the passion?” 

“i’m giving my everything, tatsuya.” what a liar. 

“you aren’t giving shit.” tatsuya deadpans, rolling his eyes as you stand with your hands on your hips as if you’ve just served an oscar worthy performance. “you sound dead inside, as if you didn’t want to go to the ball in the first place.” no he’s right, you didn’t want to. you’re the only cinderella in the whole world who wants to avoid the ball and the prince, at all cost. you are, in fact, dead inside. 

“alright, let’s try again—”

“no, thank you.” you refuse, or more like, take your time and try your shot at getting out of this place right now. “that’s all i had. i hope i get selected.” funny, very funny. only fools would select someone as talented as you for a play that’s supposed to be streamed live on the school's youtube account.

you rush your way outside the club room, ignoring the giggles and murmurs that followed. it’s fine, you anticipated this and brought this upon yourself. you don’t know why you feel bad, though. maybe because everyone is making fun of you, or perhaps, it’s kyoka and how she’s finally going to get the role; happy tears, for sure. or maybe, it’s because of iwaizumi. maybe you expected him to be there, no matter how ugly and unclassy your performance was. after all, you did it for him. he asked you to audition, and for someone who wants him out of their life, you sure are more upset than you should be. 

“i was looking for you,” you look up in the direction of the voice, eyes residing upon iwaizumi as he hands you a bottle of water before standing next to you, by the classroom window. “i thought you wanted to watch kyoka’s performance.” 

you chuckle. you don’t need to be there to know she’d do great. you just know it. she has always been the ideal student and it’s for a reason. “i know she’ll do amazing, as always.” 

“are you jealous?” it’s a question that catches you off guard. you don’t know where it came from, or what made him think you’re jealous of kyoka. she has a lot of qualities, and honestly, you have wished for wanting to be like her; but jealousy is not the right word. “sorry, that didn’t sound right. but, you did your best, too. it was good.” 

you laugh, and it’s probably the only genuine one so far today. ‘doing your best,’ it’s funny. you know you could’ve done better, you are better, but you did it for your friend, for him. you don’t know if iwaizumi means his word. you’re not sure if he actually found your performance good or if he’s consoling you just for the sake of it. it’s probably the latter, however, you’re thankful for it, even if it’s just fake comfort. 

“thanks?” yeah, it’s just fake. after all, everything so far is fake. the confession, the rejection, it sounds scripted. maybe, this is the most you and iwaizumi have talked till date. you do want to stay away from him, you still do, but today can be an exception. “are we still down for today?” 

you didn’t mean to ask that. you don’t know why you asked that, but when you notice the corner of his lips curl up, you realise that it was the right move. “the date? of course.” 

thinking about it now, you haven’t seen iwaizumi smile. well, you have, but not with you. not like you are a reason for him to smile, but you’d be lying if you say you don’t find his smile pretty. it’s adorable, especially the way his nose scrunches up and the way his eyes close completely when he grins. it’s cute, you think, and then find yourself too stunned to think further when you realise you just called him cute inside your head. 

“uh, i’ll go.” yeah, it’s better to leave. you’re losing your mind after talking to him. god knows what made you think staying around iwaizumi was a good idea. 

“yn,” he calls your name, having you turn around to look at him. “see you later.” and lord, your heart might’ve just done something unspeakable.

.

.

.

it’s arrhythmia. 

you’re sure it’s arrhythmia because ain’t know why you’re experiencing increased heartbeats all of a sudden. you’re glad you had only half the classes or you would’ve fainted. to be honest, your current stance isn’t any better. you’re here outside school, waiting for iwaizumi to come so that you can go to the cafe together for your silly little ‘date.’ you can’t believe you had to lie to kyoka about it. 

on another note, he’s late. you’ve been waiting for fifteen minutes. you didn’t know school’s heartthrob has no punctuality. you wonder if the teachers would get upset if they know that their favourite boy makes his date wait for over fifteen minutes. you’re about to give him a call when your phone rings inside your pocket and coincidently, it’s a call from him. 

“hi yn, i’m sorry for being la—”

“hello to you too mr. iwaizumi hajime.” you cut him off, slight mockery evident in your tone as you feel him hesitate on the other side. “if i may remind you, we have a date.”  

you hear him sigh through the phone. “i know, i’m sorry. i didn’t know the coach would hold us back for extra practice. if you want, i can try asking to leave early.” 

“no, please. i’m joking. you don’t have to skip practice for me,” you smile, pacing around the school exit. well, normally you would’ve been feral but logically, it would be a waste for him to skip practice for a date that isn’t even real. “i’ll go home. we can go out some other day,” 

“no wait, yn. at least let me walk you home,” that’s completely, totally, certainly, unasked for. you don’t know whether you should be happy or sad, or going crazy and dancing in the middle of the road. “we had to cancel our date so let me make it up to you. do you mind waiting for another fifteen minutes?” 

“no.” it’s a quick response, one that leaves you surprised at yourself. you do mind waiting. it’s getting dark, you don’t know why you said you didn’t, and that too fifteen minutes. even so, you can’t bring yourself to say the truth. 

“great. i’ll be there soon,” you feel him smile through his words, reciprocating a smile back without your knowledge. “wait for me.” 

and so you do. you could’ve waited in the library or some nearby cafe or the volleyball gym itself. however, you stayed where you were : by the exit. of course, you’ve had a fair share of students and passers-by shoot you with varied looks of concern, but you successfully fooled them by pretending to be on a call, or so you think. it’s crazy how you’re here wasting time on a boy you want out of your life. you hate how you’ve only known iwaizumi for a little over four days and discovered parts of you that you never knew existed before. 

you wouldn’t say you like him, but he’s not a bad guy either. iwaizumi was never the wrong option in your eyes, honestly. he’s simply not the right one for you. there are differences that you can’t ignore, and certain things about him that you loathe. for example, how time seems to pass slowly when he’s not around. 

“yn!” finally. an involuntary smile makes its way to your lips as you hear a familiar voice approaching you from a distance. “did i make you wait for too long?” 

you chuckle, looking at iwaizumi, who’s panting for air. his hair is in a mess, the chains on his bag aren't fully done, and from looking at the bottle in his hands, you realise he didn’t even drink water after practice. “i don’t know, you tell me.” 

“i’m sorry,” your smile grows bigger at his soft apology. 

you pat his shoulders, navigating through the streets illuminated by dim street lamps. “it’s okay, i was joking.”

“by the way, i got selected for prince charming’s role.” suddenly, your smile vanishes into thin air. you don’t know why that happened. in fact, you should be happy. kyoka and iwaizumi acting together in the play, it’s what you’ve wished for the whole day. this is what you sacrificed your reputation for and yet for some reason, you find yourself forcing a smile at him. “and kyoka as cinderella.” 

 “isn’t that amazing? she’s good at what she does,” it’s not a lie and sungoon knows that. if there’s something you’ve learnt about her over the years, it’s her sheer determination. you snicker, thinking about the morning when kyoka said she was ‘scared’ to audition. looking back at it now, maybe that was just a prank to mock you, even though she would never do that. it truly is amazing, watching the prince charming and cinderella come together. “you both look really good together.” 

on other days, you would have regretted saying that. however, today you don’t have any plans on taking it back. what’s true is true, and there’s no point denying it. “i wouldn’t be surprised if you both receive the best actor and actress this year,” another forced smile, another wave of suspicion passes over iwaizumi. “you know, for the couple event at the school festival, you should participate with her. she’s really good at games, just like you. besides, she thinks you’re cool so—” 

“what about you?” the question leaves you speechless, fiddling with your fingers as you bite your inner cheeks while thinking of a response. “what do you think about me?” 

god, it’s back, the arrhythmia. 

at this point, you don’t even care about the question. you’re worried that if iwaizumi kept staring at you like this, you’d pass out. “me, uh, why does it matter?” 

“it does. it matters to me.” you can’t defend yourself anymore. iwaizumi knows his way around with words. he doesn’t talk much, but he says a lot in the way his eyes look at you. though, unable to interpret his gaze, you find yourself experiencing a funny feeling in your chest as your face heats up alarmingly. “why do you keep recommending kyoka to me? you don’t like me anymore?” 

once again, you’re taken aback. you can’t tell the truth, and you don’t want to lie. so, you simply recite the facts. “i mean, i do but, isn’t kyoka better? she has good grades, she’s pretty, she’s good in extracurricular activities, she's everything that i’m not. why do you even bother going out with someone like me?” maybe, that’s a lot of facts in one. it hurts for you to say those words, but at the end of the day, it’s true. being with iwaizumi wouldn’t change the fact that kyoka deserves him more than anyone else in the whole world. 

“she’s not you,” he gulps and for the first time, you sense fear in his voice. you don’t know why, you just do. “she gets good grades, she’s good in extracurricular activities but she’s not you. and i like you, not her. so, don’t even use the ‘someone like me’ phrase for yourself ever again.” 

before you realise, you’re already in front of your house. actually, you’ve been standing here for around ten minutes, just too lost in each other to even notice. you’re not sure if you process his words completely or correctly. all you know is that you’ve made a mistake, and now his words are stuck inside your head. he mutters a faint goodbye before proceeding to walk away, leaving you with all the uneasy feelings intoxicating your heart. 

“by the way,” he says, making you flinch a little as you fiddle with the hem of your shirt while awaiting his words. “you are beautiful.” and then all you can recall is falling for the boy who never belonged to you in the first place.

AFTER MUCH consideration, you’ve reached the conclusion that you haven’t fallen for iwaizumi. your heart is skipping beats because of arrhythmia and you’re persuading your mom to get you an appointment. 

you simply can’t fall for iwaizumi. he’s way out of your league ( see, you’re not shy to admit that ) besides, you don’t know each other. you don’t know about him but to you, iwaizumi is just an ideal classmate, or a close acquaintance, at most. moreover, here comes the best friend’s code : you can’t crush on your best friend’s crush, let alone date. you sleep with your guilt plagued mind everyday, knowing you and iwaizumi are in ‘love’ behind your best friend's back. 

“yn,” you feel a push towards your shoulders, driving you out of your thoughts to find tatsuya looking at you with concern written all over his face. “what are you thinking?” 

you shake your head. “nothing,” another lie. well, you’ve been lying a lot recently. you don’t remember creating high walls of lies around you in just a few days, with only iwaizumi knowing the way in, but again he’s looking at another lie you’ve made him believe. 

“take a break if you need to. the play will start in a few minutes,” right, the play. you’re excited to see iwaizumi and kyoka steal the show. you’re dying to see them receive best actors award for the night. you’re dying to have the annual school magazine print their picture on the front page. you’re excited for them, or so you tell yourself. 

it’s embarrassing to know that somewhere inside, you feel a little bitter about the whole crew picking iwaizumi without any recrutionary procedure. you don’t think he’s a bad actor, god, you can never. you haven’t seen him act but there’s nothing that boy can’t do. there’s a rumour spinning about how his mother was one of the best actors in Tokyo's best theatre crew. though, you don’t know how much of it is true. 

but, that’s beyond the point. you don’t need to find his family history to know that he’s talented in all aspects. it’s crazy how similar iwaizumi and kyoka are. you’re about to discard all those thoughts and continue with the procedure until you hear the commotion in the hallway. 

“we have— oh my god, yn, thank god you’re here.” matsukawa takes a breath of relief, walking towards you with a hopeful stare. “iwaizumi has sprained his leg, we need a replacement.”  

now, that isn’t the issue you want to deal with around ten minutes before the play. “what am i supposed to do about it?” 

“do you know someone who can fit the role?” he questions further.

you’d be lying if you say you’re actually thinking of someone as a replacement, for your brain is too busy worrying about iwaizumi as his injury. call it the godsent timing, because just then, your eyes fall upon the boy standing across the room. “how about hayato?” 

“what? who, me? no,” he declines with an awkward laugh. “i have terrible stage fear. i’m sure no one wants to see a prince charming with overflowing anxiety.” yeah no, he’s right. besides, kyoka will be upset to know that not only is she working with a substitute prince charming, but also, he has chronic anxiety. 

“but they want a handsome prince charming.” matsukawa isn’t half wrong either. they never held auditions for prince charming, proceeding to pick iwaizumi as if the rest of the population is a joke. hence, the audience doesn’t care about skills, but rather, the looks. “just practise your scenes. we’ll pre-record your lines and schedule the play as the closing show.” 

matsukawa turns to look at you. “yn, can you please—” 

“i’m sorry, do you know where iwaizumi is?” the question falls off your lips almost immediately, without giving him any chance to speak. you hear something along the lines of ‘school backyard’ as a response and sprint as if it’s the race for your life. 

it’s basic human decency, you presume. had it been someone else, someone you haven’t even seen, you would still run, almost tripping and bumping into people. you would still grab a bunch of bandages and relief sprays from the medkit in the staff room if this were about someone else. it’s not just iwaizumi, you tell yourself. he’s not special, especially to you. 

“geez, did you forget to walk to something?” you snicker as soon as you spot him sitting by the stairs, browsing through what looked like twitter at the slight glance you managed to steal. 

iwaizumi chuckles. “you look tired.” 

“yeah, i ran here from the other side of the school and almost tripped thrice on my way here.” you feel him snicker at the irritation in your voice while you take a look at his ankles and start dressing— by the way, you notice that he has pretty toenails; and after recalling how pretty his fingers look, it makes you wonder if he gets his mani-pedi done every week or so. “gosh, do teachers know that their favourite student can’t even walk to save his life?” 

“are you worri—”

“of course, i am!” and then a pause; iwaizumi flaunts a taunting smirk in your direction and you realise how punchable his face looks. “i mean, anyone would be worried. what if it's a fracture instead? they treat you like a national treasure, everyone will go crazy.”

you’re not wrong. 

everyone in the school, or even outside the institutional premises if possible, treasures iwaizumi more than their lives. you still remember the day minhee took the blame on her after iwaizumi accidently broke the principal’s bonsai, only for him to thank her by saying that she’s like his younger sister. long story short, there are numerous tales about people vouching for him and what not— it’s exhausting. the point is how big of a breaking news it would be when his ‘fans’ will know that iwaizumi hurt himself and won’t be attending school for the next couple of days, probably. you wonder if people will still watch the play once they know that their beloved iwaizumi isn’t the male lead anymore. 

“how long do you think it’ll take to heal?” it’s an attempt to strike a conversation and you’re glad iwaizumi took the initiative. you were starting to feel embarrassed with his ankles in your hand. 

“hm, three days? or four? maybe a weak? depends on how well you’re taking care of yourself.” 

“four days,” another pause, he tends to think before tapping on your shoulder, making you look up at him. “do you want to go on a date with me?” 

it’s like you’ve experienced culture shock. “what?”

“what? we have one due from the last time,” he smirks again, and you realise that he has been smirking a lot late. it’s beyond extents and makes you want to wipe that smirk off his face. “so, do you want to, you know, four days later?” 

it’s back, the arrhythmia. you seriously need to get yourself checked before cardiac arrest knocks on your door. oh, and you’d love to punch his good for nothing handsome face but you don’t, maybe because he’s injured. after all, how is a man supposed to live with a broken leg and nose? 

“looks like you’ve hit your head too.” you stand up, handing him the remaining bandages before storming off the venue. little did you know that your cheek started heating up the moment you looked into his eyes.

“hey, you didn’t give me an answer!” and you don’t want to either. you walk away, assuming someone would come and assist him to the main building because if you stay next to him for another second, you’ll go crazy. you absolutely hate coming to terms with your feelings but maybe, maybe you do have slight infatuation with iwaizumi; and maybe, you need to get onto it with kyoka before it’s too late. 

.

.

.

“and the last scene? i was screaming internally—” 

“can we talk?”  you interrupt kyoka, partly because your ears will bleed if you heard another word about how ecstatic acting with hayato was and partly because you actually want to talk. 

she stops, slight nervousness settling on her face. “yeah, sure.” 

“about your crush,” it’s just three words and you’re already willing to leave the conversation taking place on your own accord. “okay, all i’m saying is that i like him too. i’m sorry, please don’t be mad.” 

 and then you hear her laugh, out of everything. a part of you wants to scream because you just disclosed an important info, something you don’t even want to acknowledge yourself, and she’s laughing. moreover, it’s about the love of her life. your friendship is at stake and she’s laughing. perhaps you have a broken humour for not getting the joke. 

“why would i be mad?” you blink, wondering if you heard her right. not like you were expecting her to go off and beat you in the middle of the street at 9 pm, but there’s always a chance. “i don’t think i have a chance with him either way. so, i’ll just root for you.” 

this is why you think iwaizumi and kyoka are perfect for each other. they both are nice, literal saints, embodiments of kindness, not a vile cell inside of them. as for you, you had your sibling’s snack last evening and stepped on your mom’s foot while running away across the household. you don’t think iwaizumi has even stepped on an ant. instead, he seems the type to help them navigate or something. 

“i feel bad now that you’re giving up,” you confess, and it’s true. probably the truest truth you’ve said so far. you feel frustration pent up inside you, threatening to overflow any second. “Why did i have to fall for iwaizumi out of all the people?!” 

“wait, iwaizumi?” kyoka asks, dumbfounded, or rather, confused. 

“yes, we’re talking about iwaizumi, right?” okay, you don’t have a good feeling about the direction this conversation is heading towards. 

“no?” she clarifies and the look on your face morphs into visible panic. “i don’t like iwaizumi.” 

“what?” you yell, turning a few passing heads towards you. however, you pay them no mind. “i thought you liked iwaizumi because of the name on your eraser. i-h, iwaizumi hajime, it makes sense!”

kyoka shakes her head in denial. “no, it’s i-h, hayato ito. i like hayato and not iwaizumi!” 

an awkward pause follows. it’s a mess inside your head. you abso-fucking-lutely can’t believe the way you misunderstood the whole situation, and got yourself into a problem with seemingly no way out. you could’ve asked her about the eraser but you didn’t, proceeding to make your own assumptions and ending up in an even bigger issue. 

kyoka gasps, pulling you out of your thoughts. “oh my god, then you have a crush on iwaizumi?” that phrase doesn’t surprise you anymore. “i thought you liked tatsuya.” 

maybe, that surprises you a bit. you remember fawning over tatsuya, thinking about him all day, reading and re-reading your conversations with him. being with tatsuya has always been the highlight of your day, yet you don’t recall thinking about him ever since iwaizumi walked into your life. you didn’t seem to mind when tatsuya hung out with other people but you feel as if you have a knife by your neck whenever you spot iwaizumi with others. 

you simply don’t know what’s happening to you. “yeah, uh, surprise?” and this isn’t the time to laugh but you do, trying to lighten the burden on your shoulders. “i’m not really sure if i like iwaizumi yet.” liar, you are. you may deny it till the end of the time but you know you’re falling for iwaizumi; slowly and gradually, but you are. 

“didn’t you just say you like iwaizumi, though?” she smirks as if she can see through the lies you tell yourself. “well, whatever. at least, we don’t have to be love rivals.” yeah, maybe there’s one good thing about this whole situation. imagine having a crush on your best friend’s crush, embarrassing. but again, being in this situation built over misunderstandings is even more embarrassing, it’s eating you out. 

at this point, you don’t even care about you, or your so-called reputation if someone discloses this whole thing to the public. you don’t care about tatsuya, nor do you give two flying fucks to your seemingly dead feelings for him. you only have one thing on your mind : iwaizumi hajime. 

it isn’t about how you feel towards him. you’re still in the maybe stage. perhaps, you don’t like iwaizumi and this is just your fatigued brain coming up with bizzare conclusions. you remember falling for iwaizumi the day he walked you home. however, the next day, you were back to normal. you didn’t remember shit about butterflies and zoos. perhaps, it’s the same this time as well. so, you don’t care about your feelings, but you can’t seem to ignore how he feels towards you. 

to iwaizumi, who doesn’t have any idea about the truth lying within, every second of this is true. every moment, every step, every word, every touch, every gaze, every smile, everything. he thinks you like him. no, actually, he’s convinced that you like him. and iwaizumi being the kindest person on earth is trying his best to like you back, to know you beyond everyone else’s perception of who you are. he greets you every morning over texts and bids you good night. he asks if you’re doing okay, if you need help with assignments, if you’re down for an evening stroll— he’s giving his everything; and you always turn his advances down, never daring to cross the wall you’ve created between you and him. 

iwaizumi takes one step towards you, and you take four away from him. 

kyoka bids her goodbyes at the intersection from where you both have opposite ways home. you had planned to spend the night at her place, only for your mother to refuse, saying she has a few things she needs to talk to you about. you halt at the intersection, staring and sighing at the night sky, contemplating how mess of a life you have as if it isn’t the consequences of your own actions. 

“yn?” you close your eyes. now is not the time. tatsuya is like the last person you want to see tonight. “what are you looking at?” he chuckles, mirroring your actions as he follows your gaze and looks up at the empty night sky as well. 

“your mom,” he frowns at your reply, especially since his mom passed away when he was just seven, sending a sour stare your way. tatsuya isn’t the biggest supporter of your mom jokes, actually, for all the valid reasons. “what are you doing here? didn’t you leave for home long ago?” 

“yes but,” he pulls out what seems like your scarf from his bag, handing it out to you. “you forgot this. iwaizumi said he would’ve given it to you himself but his leg . . . you know. don’t be sad that your boyfriend couldn’t make it, though. he said he’d be at school tomorrow.” 

boyfriend, right. it feels odd hearing it from tatsuya. would he still be able to say with ease if he knew you have a crush on him, or rather, used to? overthinking apart, you’re glad tatsuya came to return your scarf or your mother wouldn’t have let you inside tonight. it doesn’t take you realise that iwaizumi and tatsuya are actually close, and they have gotten even closer over the past few days thanks to you and your crush on iwaizumi. 

maybe, tatsuya is the only one who can help you out. “can i ask you about something?” he nods, and you narrate your whole story about how you borrowed the eraser from kyoka, iwaizumi misunderstanding the setting, the person kyoka actually has a crush on and everything else, all the things except the fact that you like tatsuya— used to.  

“can you get more stupid?” that’s the first thing tatsuya comes up with after you update him on your dilemma. 

“how am i stupid when iwaizumi assumed everything in the first place?” you slap his arm playfully, earning an exaggerated response. “what should i do?” 

tatsuya scoffs. “tell him the truth.” god, no, asking him was the wrong-est move you’ve ever made. “don’t look at me like that! i hope you know you’re basically playing with that poor boy’s feelings.” that’s right. that’s the phrase; playing with his feelings. you didn’t want to accept it initially, you’re not the type to play with anyone’s feelings and what’s happening right now is a big misunderstanding. 

however, hearing it from tatsuya makes it sound even worse. not to mention, you feel awful. you try to imagine iwaizumi’s reaction after you tell him the truth. you couldn’t bring yourself to do that. what would you do if you were in his shoes? how would you react? maybe you’d end up actually hating him, scream and shout, act like a dramatic bitch, and whatnot; but iwaizumi doesn’t seem the type to do that. he doesn’t come off as someone who’d shout at you. maybe, he’ll say it’s okay, and thank you for coming clean, and move on as if nothing happened. 

the problem is, even if he’s heartbroken, he wouldn’t let you know; and you, being yourself, would believe it and stamp him as just another passerby in your life. 

“how do i bring it up to him?” you mumble, looking at tatsuya. you’re thinking of another excuse in the back of your head. something along the lines of ‘hey, i don’t think you have to force yourself to like me yada yada—’ it sounds hella generous. you don’t want to turn this in your favour. even if iwaizumi claims he’s not forcing himself to like you, you will convince him otherwise. that’s your thought process, your silly way out of this situation. 

“just be straightforward.” tatsuya interrupts your trail of thoughts. “you know, he lives just a street behind yours so if we hurry, we can make it before ten.” you take a look at your phone screen : 9:50pm. tatsuya’s hand slips into yours as he sprints towards iwaizumi’s house. you don’t know what time has to do with any of these. sure, ten at night is probably not the right timing to go visit someone but still, you have had your friends stand out of your window at two in the morning for impromptu midnight escapades. 

maybe, iwaizumi is one of those ‘good boys’ who goes to bed at ten sharp, without excuses. to be honest, it sounds very iwaizumi-like. dinner at seven, studies following, and then to bed at ten, seems like something the one and only iwaizumi hajime would do. 

before you realise, you find yourself standing in front of what is supposed to be iwaizumi’s house. it’s nice, beautiful, even. the garden is well maintained and you wonder if he’s into gardening. tatsuya shoots a call to iwaizumi, who peeks down at the street through his window just a few seconds later, waving at you before disappearing behind the grey curtains. 

it’s cute, you think, and then decide that you’re crazy. no way, you just called iwaizumi hajime cute. sure, you find him a bit interesting but not like you have a passionate crush on him. you can be one of those fans, nothing more. 

a girl opens the door and you recall that she could be his sister. he talks about her every time you both complain about siblings. iwaizumi helps himself down the stairs, using wall as support while his sister aids him shortly. you wonder if this is a wrong time to meet him. his ankle doesn’t look bad, not like you can actually see it, but back at school, he wasn’t even able to move it. 

“how’s your leg?” the question falls off your lips instinctively, without giving him or tatsuya, a chance to even breath in each other’s direction. 

iwaizumi smiles, looking down at his ankles before setting his eyes back on you. “quite better.” involuntarily, you reciprocate his smile, nodding before waving at his sister as well, who excuses herself shortly. “would you like to come in?” 

“no, actually,” tatsuya cuts in, giving you a look of assurance. “we want to talk about something. she wants to, actually.” and tatsuya steps aside, leaving you and iwaizumi alone to talk everything out and clear all the misunderstandings. 

“so, the eraser,” you begin, hesitatingly, looking at tatsuya who shoots you thumbs up from a distance. “it actually belongs to kyoka. i borrowed it for a test since i didn’t bring mine. the name too, the ih on it stands for hayato ito, and not iwaizumi hajime.” you want to dig a hole and die because first, this is so embarrassing. iwaizumi looks at you unfazed as if he’s too stunned to speak; and second, your voice practically dies towards the end of your sentence, making it more terrible than it already is. 

iwaizumi doesn’t speak for next thirty seconds. he simply looks at you, blinking occasionally, making you wonder if your confession traumatised him so much that he lost his verbal abilities. you won’t blame him. this whole thing is hurtful enough to give anyone a trauma. furthermore, as you’re about to speak more, he lets out a dry chuckle, almost convincing you that he has gone crazy. “that’s it?” 

that’s it? that’s it? that’s all he has to say? you’re about to lose your mind. 

“i mean, i’m sorry for not bringing it up earlier,” you kind of want to scream in the middle of the road because you went through all this trouble, beating your mental health to death, only for him to chuckle and say that’s it? then you ponder if it’s sarcasm, or if iwaizumi wants a written apology from you, one that you will post on the school's forum and recite in front of the whole school at morning assembly. you’re marginally close from ripping your hair out, strand by strand. 

“it’s okay. you couldn’t tell me before because i took it so seriously. it’s my fault for jumping to conclusions.” you’re almost in tears once again. had it been someone else, or let alone someone else, had it been you in his shoes, you would’ve made a scene; and iwaizumi is here, in front of you, taking the blame for something that isn’t his fault in the first place. 

“no, iwa—” 

“i said it’s okay. i’m glad you brought it up. you don’t have to worry about it anymore.” he cuts you off, reassuring you again and again. all this time, you’ve been thinking about yourself, never really considering him and when you finally give him a chance to call you out, he turns the situation in your favour. “honestly, i’m relieved.” 

“iwaizumi, what are you doing outside?” an unfamiliar voice breaks in before you could respond to his words. you run your eyes around, who iwaizumi seems to have forgotten about, only to realise he has already left. turns out, the voice belonged to iwaizumi’s mother and godbless, she’s just as pretty as him, or even more. “and you should invite your friend inside. it’s cold out here.” 

“yn’s not a friend. they’re more of a,” ain’t no way. if iwaizumi’s planning to say what you’re thinking then there’s no way he hasn’t gone crazy. “classmate. they were about to leave.” his mother nods, smiling at you as she walks inside, leaving you and iwaizumi basking in silence. suddenly, all the words inside your mouth die down, leaving a taste of speechlessness as you mutter a silent goodbye to him. 

“you good? why do you look pale all of a sudden?” iwaizumi asks, stepping forward to check your temperature, only for you to step back as an empty frown settles on his face. 

“i know i lied but i always thought we were at least friends,” you say it with a chuckle, having iwaizumi retreat his hand as you turn around, proceeding on your way back home. “take care of yourself.” 

it’s funny because all this time, you’ve been stepping away from iwaizumi, never letting him approach you, taking multiple steps away from him; but just watching him step away from you feels like the life inside you has been knocked out. but it’s fine, this is what you’ve wanted. 

and just like that, you and iwaizumi get all the way back to step one, being what you initially were : classmates.

YOUR DAYS without iwaizumi have been like a monochrome film. you haven’t talked to him after that night, neither did he try to strike a conversation. the homeroom teacher changed the seating arrangement, with you and iwaizumi ending up on opposite corners of the classroom. it was a perfect excuse to not being able to talk; but now, four days later, you’re sitting on the last seat, watching iwaizumi as he jots down notes from the board. you notice the way he spins the pen between his fingers as he re-reads what he wrote, or the way frantically flips to the very last page and do some calculations. you don’t know when you started noticing so much about him. you find him in the hallways, standing with his friends and still isolated, you realise something must be wrong. maybe his dog is sick, maybe he didn’t score well, maybe this, maybe that— and your head would be full of iwaizumi all over again.  

“you’re zoning out again,” kyoka mutters, poking your arms with her pen. one good thing about the new seating arrangement is that kyoka is your deskmate, and you honestly need her next to you for the next few months, at least. “is it iwaizumi again?” 

and you need her because she always seems to know what you’re thinking. you don’t even need to say a word, or wear an expression. all she needs is just one look at you and that’ll lead her to your mind. you don’t respond to her question; you choose not to, and the two of you get back to writing once the teacher looks in your direction with a heavy gaze. 

“you never told me what happened that day,” you pause again, contemplating your choices. you don’t know why you never told her. you don’t hide anything from her unless it’s your credit card number, but jokes apart, you don’t know what was stopping you from telling her the truth all this time. 

“i told him everything.” you mumble, it’s more like a whisper, maybe even quieter. “the whole misunderstanding, and— yeah. everything. we haven’t talked since then.” 

you feel her nod with a soft hum. “and you miss him?” 

“no.” a pause. kyoka’s eyes travel to you at your quick reply while yours stay fixed on your notebook before you start writing again. “i don’t.” 

the truth is, you don’t know the answer to that question. do you miss him? do you not? it’s a question for later. you don’t know who you miss— the iwaizumi that was your friend, or the part of him that used to be your boyfriend. honestly, you wish he’d talk to you, like he used to. like the way you wouldn’t text him one day and he’d spam you with missed calls, like the way he’d pester you at school asking why you didn’t respond to his texts. you want him to reach you out again because you can’t do it now that he knows the truth; and if he chose that he’s better off without you, you’re no one to intervene. 

till then, you’ll wait, because that’s all you can do. 

“you’re lyin—”

you cut her off. “i’m not.”  

“yn—”

“we’re in class, kyoka. get back to writing.”

“no— yn  look at me.” and you do as silence intoxicates the air between the two of you. there’s a knowing glint in her eyes, as if she has already known the truth and is asking for your confirmation, waiting to hear it from your mouth. she takes a deep breath, looking at you with stern eyes. “do you like iwaizumi?” 

you don’t know the answer to that question either. falling for someone is complicated. you don’t know when exactly you start falling, or when you have fallen all the way in and too deep to return, or when you start falling beyond the rock bottom. you don’t know whether you’re falling for iwaizumi or not. you like being with him, really, and you’ve learnt to tolerate his all perfect attitude that used to irritate you initially. you find yourself thinking about the things the two of you would’ve done if you ever went on that date, or the time when you almost asked him to teach you volleyball even though you have a single athletic bone in your body.

when it comes to him, you think about things you’ve never thought about. you listen to him as if he’s a synchrony of a melody and melancholy. with him, you do things you would’ve never done otherwise. you find yourself breaking your own rules for him, but are you falling for him— that’s a question you don’t know the answer to. you don’t know how to find an answer to that one.  

kyoka doesn’t wait for your response. she probably knows it anyway. it’s almost as if she’s waiting for you to catch up to your feelings. but it doesn’t make sense to you. even if you give her an answer, even if you say that you like him, it wouldn’t change how you feel about him. you can tell the world that you love iwaizumi hajime but it wouldn’t change a thing about your feelings for him, because saying as always been easier than actually coming in terms with your words, and you know you’re lost in your way towards or away from iwaizumi, and no words of saccharine confessions could ever change that. 

the bells, lesson ends, and you stay in the class until all the students walk out. it’s break and you haven’t had an appetite ever since you woke up this morning. just as expected, kyoka leaves to see hayato ito, they’ve gotten closer over the last few days and you’re expecting a dating announcement from her soon. she’s like that, kyoka likes to show off, but in a good way. when you win an award, she posts your picture with the caption ‘everyone be jealous because i’m yn’s best friend and you’re not,’— it’s adorable, and then you never see the end of it because she never stops telling everyone how she’s your best friend, your closest friend, and the friend who’d always be the most suitable candidate for your lover because no one knows you better than kyoka; and the last part is very much a joke, by the way. 

when sitting alone in the classroom doesn’t help you calm down your racing mind, you make your way towards the terrace. for some reason, standing under the vast skyline brings you to ease. although, coming to the school terrace is prohibited and you’ve already received multiple detentions for it, you don’t mind spending another day cleaning the classroom if it means you can spend a few minutes at the terrace everyday. however, today turns out to be different. you wanted to spend the whole break on the terrace, now you don’t, because you see the one person you’ve been avoiding for four days— iwaizumi hajime.  

your first thought is to leave, to pretend that you never saw him standing there; but then you realise— you never did anything wrong. well, except the whole misunderstanding part, you never did anything wrong. you owned up to your mistakes, you’ve apologised and iwaizumi even accepted it. in any case, it’s his fault because he considers you a classmate and nothing more, even after everything you’ve been through. so, you walk to your usual spot, feeling iwaizumi’s eyes following you as you exhibit your walk of pride. you kind of want to run away but it’s too late now. 

a minute passes, and then another, followed by another and you’re starting to think this was a bad decision. you should’ve left when you had the chance because silence is even more suffocating. and the fact that both of you are socially incompetent isn’t helping your case. but someone has to break the ice and soon enough, you realise that in this situation, you have to take the lead. 

“um, you don’t have practice today?” you ask, fingers crossed that he doesn’t find you weird or shameless for showing up after four days and acting as if nothing’s wrong. 

“wednesdays are off,” right, tatsuya told you once. another trail of silence follows. you don’t know what to say and judging from his face, it seems like he doesn’t know either. you won’t like, you have your questions and you believe he does too, but you don’t know where to start. “i’m sorry about that day.” 

iwaizumi blurts out, leaving you surprised. you feel your heart beat relentlessly, knowing that he’s finally addressing the topic you’ve been running away for days now. “i haven’t told my mother that i’m dating and introducing you as my partner would’ve been, i don’t know, too early? since we’re still in the trial stage. and, you’re definitely more than a friend so,” you notice the soft tint of red climb up his cheeks as your lips curl into a smile. you couldn’t help but find it cute, one doesn’t always get to see iwaizumi hajime struggling with his words. “just— you get it, right? i would’ve told this to you that day but you had already left.”  

and once again, his words leave you speechless, sending your heart in a spiral and giving you butterflies. you think it’s one of his charms. he has a way with words, a luxury you never had. “why didn’t you tell me the next day, or the day after that, or just one of these days?” 

“i figured you were mad so i kinda wanted to do something for you,” there's a slight hesitation in his voice. you don’t know where it comes from. you notice the way he scratches his nape, avoiding your eyes actively while letting those words fall off his lips. you wouldn’t say you actually know him, but you think you’re a step closer to knowing the iwaizumi hajime behind the notion of a straight-A student that the school has created. 

you think you can talk to him now without worrying about the past misunderstandings. “iwaizumi, do you even know what i like?” 

he takes a second to think. “uh, mint chocolate?”

“no way, i hate mint chocolate—” and from that point on, it’s just a cycle of whats and hows. iwaizumi says that tatsuya told him you like mint chocolate. he gasps in disbelief when he realises that tatsuya had lied. you are so busy laughing about the whole situation that you don’t notice the way iwaizumi’s eyes rest upon you. you fail to notice the way his lips curl up as your honey dripping laughter fills the air around, and he’s glad because iwaizumi believes that he’s absolutely smitten, and there’s no way you can know unless he tells you himself. 

there’s not a moment when iwaizumi isn’t looking at you. all the four days when you weren’t in contact with each other, he looked through your texts and the pictures that you had taken in his phone just because his camera is amazing. he steals glances at you in class when you aren’t looking. iwaizumi doodles your face at the back of his notebook and one can see your name written all over the last few pages, along with ways to apologise. iwaizumi can’t stop looking at you because you’re just too pretty that nothing else pleases his eyes. 

so when you finally stop laughing, assuring him that you’d tell tatsuya to not lie to him about your likes and dislikes ever again, iwaizumi realises that he doesn’t ever want to stop looking at you. he wants you to be there every day, next to him, and he wants to be able to admire your face for all the days to come.

“yn, would you like to go on a date with me?” he proposes, and everything goes silent when you look at him with your eyes wide open, heart threatening to jump out of your chest. “we can get to know each other better.” 

at that moment, you realise that you don’t know much about iwaizumi either. you know him as the smart and talented guy, or someone who plays for the school volleyball team, or as someone so good at art that he can apply for international competitions if he wanted to. even after being his ‘girlfriend’ or something along those lines, you learn that you don’t know him any better than everyone else. 

“yes.” you reply, because you discern that perhaps, you’re a step closer to the real iwaizumi, even though you may be a hundred miles apart. you realise that iwaizumi hajime is enchanting and it’s a luxury to know the iwaizumi beyond the limits that apply to everyone else but you. 

.

.

.

the rest of your day goes by in a blink. you don’t realise when time passed and now, you’re sitting in for the last lesson of the day. the iwaizumi effect, you may call it, because when iwaizumi is around, time seems to go faster and when he’s not, the world stops and everything makes you feel like you’re running out of breath. 

"you look happy," kyoka comments but you pay her words no mind. instead, your eyes are fixed on iwaizumi, and you shoot him a sweet smile when he turns out to face the student sitting behind him, getting one as a response as well. just then, you realise that iwaizumi has a really cute smile. you never really noticed it until now, and you don't want him to lose that smile ever again. 

he points his fingers towards your textbook, gesturing you to focus on your lesson, and you do the same until he turns away from you, scribbling on his notebook before shipping towards you once again, holding it upright for you to decipher the words, which continue to remain a secret between iwaizumi and the pages of his notebook since they weren't clear enough for you to read. 

you don't remember the last time you felt this way. all these unspeakable feelings that you're unable to identify, it wasn't until iwaizumi came into your life that you started thinking about anything along the lines of romance. you pull out your phone, texting him something before beckoning him to check his phone, and just then kyoka's voice interrupts your main character moment. 

"yn— geez, i've called your name like thrice already!" she slaps your shoulder playfully, making you snicker in response. 

you shoot her an annoyed expression. "what?"

"well, i wanted to ask about chemistry but when the fuck did this happen like—" and then he paused, looking around before leaning closer, speaking with a low voice. "didn't you and iwaizumi fight?"

"we talked it out," she deadpans, because that simply isn't enough as an answer for the way you've been asking for the past four days. "we're all good now, i suppose." you feel her looking at you in disbelief while the teacher dismisses the class, and you know she’s probably thinking about how you should’ve sorted it out four days ago if talking was all that you both needed to get back to how you used to be. 

but you like to think that she doesn’t understand. kyoka has been in more relationships than you and she understands its aspects better than anyone else that you’ve known. but she has never been in your shoes. she didn’t find herself getting over her crush in just a few days and started getting butterflies she didn’t like until weeks ago. she doesn’t get butterflies when she thinks about this one person and gets losts wondering if she actually likes him or if she’s only in love with the idea of him. she doesn’t go on dates with the person and she isn’t spending nights and days wondering if they’re dating or if they’re just friends. she has never been in your shoes, and you have never experienced these feelings before iwaizumi. 

"you're in love with him." she snickers, slinging her bag up her shoulders while you pack your belongings, completely overlooking iwaizumi who’s standing by the door, waiting for you. 

"i'm not in love with him," you’re quick to decline, you can’t help but smile at the thought of it. were you in love with iwaizumi? you don’t know. maybe it’s not love, because love is a heavy word. it’s not just something you can say out of the blues. you don’t think you’re in love with iwaizumi, yet. 

she rolls her eyes at your stance of denial. “you were literally flirting with him, yn.” 

“we were talking, kyoka.” and she shakes her head, surrendering to your thought process because kyoka knows she can never understand your logic. “by the way, i’m walking home with iwaizumi so you can leave.” 

all you notice is the way she nods, mumbling what you think was ‘and you say you aren’t in love with him,’ before walking out of the class. you decide not to refute her words— it was pointless. you can only decline something to a point and after that, you have to fall for acceptance. maybe that’s why you feel like you wouldn’t mind it anymore if someone asks you whether you’re in love with iwaizumi, because you do feel some type of way about him. you don’t know if it’s love— god— you don’t even know if you like him, but you know what you want him near you. you’ve spent four days without iwaizumi and you sure you wouldn’t want to go through that ever again. all you know is that you like being with iwaizumi, and you hope that rest will fall into place over time. you’ve spent weeks in a no-label relationship with him, not knowing what the two of you are, and you don’t mind spending the next few weeks lost and wondering about what you both can be. 

you’re so busy drowning in the ocean of your thoughts that you fail to notice when iwaizumi left the classroom. you’re sure you saw him around when kyoka was still in the classroom. you rush downstairs, assuming that he must be waiting by the exit. 

“yn,” you stop at the sound of your name resonating through the hallway, noticing a girl from junior year if you recall correctly, running in your direction. “i heard you and iwaizumi broke up. is it true?” 

and yet again, you find yourself wondering how to answer that question. did you break up? you don’t think so, because you weren’t dating him in the first place; but again, everyone in the school believes that you’ve been dating him and iwaizumi never tried to decline those baseless assumptions. however, her question is what you’re worried about the most. just thinking about what follows after pushes your heart towards the edge. you can’t help but picture them together, her and iwaizumi, and quite frankly, they’d make a good pair. are you ready to see them together? not that you know; but, are you ready for iwaizumi to leave you for someone else? you don’t think you can imagine that, or even want to think about it. 

“er— where did you hear that from?” you question back in an attempt to avoid answering the question. on the other hand, you couldn’t help but think how the first time, iwaizumi was last and this time, it’s you who’s making him wait. 

“a few seniors were talking about it,” she replies, getting impatient as seconds pass. “just tell me, are you still dating him or not?” 

“they are,” that’s iwaizumi, and you turn around to face him, taking a sigh of relief since iwaizumi is congenitally better at answering tricky questions than you. “i don’t know who told you that we broke up, but it’s not true. we’re still dating, and i don’t plan to break up soon.” 

you don’t remember since you’ve started feeling nervous around him. maybe it was after the night he walked you home, or the night you told him everything; or maybe you’ve always been nervous around him, just failing to notice it because you were too busy running away from him. but you know it now— you’re nervous around him. iwaizumi makes you nervous, and it’s only because he’s too good at pretending. he puts his hand around your shoulder to make her think how much he loves you, he talks about you to his friends to put on a show about your relationship. iwaizumi is too good at pretending, and you’re afraid that you’re falling for his empty words of admiration. 

when she left after offering an apology, in that moment, you look at iwaizumi and it suddenly occurs to you how beautiful his eyes are. you don’t think you’ve ever been in such close vicinity with him, and now that you’re standing next to him with his arms around your shoulders, you feel like it’s the safest place to be in. his words felt like intricately written verses of poetry and you forgot how to look away from him. you notice iwaizumi’s eyes settle on you and you don’t turn away, you can’t, because you feel as if your feet have forgotten how to walk. he asks you why you have that look on your face, as though a shadow has fallen across its sun-drenched landscape, heavy with premonition, you tell yourself that it’s just a phase. 

but then iwaizumi flicks your forehead, sliding his hands into yours, leading you towards the exit— a smile makes its way to your lips. it’s amusing; the second you tried to tell yourself that you weren’t in love was the moment you realised you were, and you’ve always been. 

.

.

.

“here, your ice cream.” iwaizumi holds out his hand towards you, waiting for you to take it from your hand. and then a second passes, followed by a couple more; then he calls your name, only to receive silence in return. you don’t respond until he grabs your hand, passing you the ice-cream cone himself before chuckling at your antics. “you zone out a lot, don’t you?” 

“why did you lie?” you ask, taking the cone from his hand, although your favourite ice cream didn’t look appetising anymore. “you could’ve told her that we’re not dating.”

“do you want me to tell that to her?" you don’t know what made him ask that question, but little do you know that somewhere inside, you don’t want this rumour to come to an end. 

you’ve lost him one and you know you want to lose him again. truthfully, the four days without iwaizumi were the hardest for you. your hand felt emptier than before you had met him— your heart felt heavier. you kept denying your feelings because you were scared, and even now, you feel as if you’re hanging by the edge of a cliff. you didn’t know how important he became to you until you watched him stray further, but now you do; at least a part of you does. in some strange mysterious way, you knew there was something special about him the day iwaizumi asked you on a date for a very first time. in his eyes, you caught a glimpse of yourself. despite being polar opposites, you noticed the minor similarities between him and you. there were times when you wished to go back to the day where he stood next to you, stunned by your confession, and you’d tell him the truth instead of lying and running away like the coward you are. 

but then, there are days when you find yourself thanking the higher deities for putting you and iwaizumi on the same path, though it was supported by lies and misunderstandings. you don’t think you would’ve ever tried to enter iwaizumi’s world if none of this would’ve happened, neither would you have let him enter yours. you want to run away, wipe the slate clean, start all over again and see where it would take you. 

because you aren’t sure what you’re doing. you don’t know anything about love. you find it scary, you think you’re too young to claim the word ‘love’ for the way you feel towards iwaizumi. you don’t know what love is, but if it means jumping in an endless pit, eyes closed, and waiting for iwaizumi to catch you, then you don’t ever want to climb back up.

"iwaizumi," his eyes travel to yours, a gaze that throws your heart in an endless spiral. "i know the eraser was a misunderstanding but, i think i actually like you."

you look at him, he looks at you, a few seconds pass and when he doesn’t reply, you feel regret conquer your mind. maybe, expecting a positive response is far-fetched. if you put yourself in his shoes, you wouldn't like him back either. liking him wouldn’t even be an option, you don’t know if you’d be able to trust him all over again. so, if you can’t imagine yourself falling for someone who has done everything that you did to iwaizumi, then how can you expect iwaizumi to do the same? 

there are moments when you think iwaizumi hajime is too good for you, and maybe, this is one of those. he’s too honest, too good to be true, he doesn’t know how to cut people out of his life; and probably that’s why, he continues to be with you because he doesn’t want to break your heart. it's an unwanted pity, albeit one that you’re grateful for, perhaps. 

“just reject me already. you don’t need to waste your time,” you say, because iwaizumi hajime being the kind soul he is, isn’t capable of saying no. so, you decide to create distances from your end, hoping he wouldn’t chase you this time ‘round. 

iwaizumi still doesn’t say a word. he simply looks at you, perhaps trying to read your expression, or maybe thinking of ways to say no; but it’s what you think he’s doing. you were never able to perceive what actually goes inside his head. maybe that’s why, when he steps closer to you, you forget how to breathe. "would you like to date me?"

and his question takes you out, really. iwaizumi? you? dating? you like the sound of that, but if you put all the events together, no one of it makes sense. "did you hit your head again?"

"you're being rude." he frowns. 

"and i think you're making fun of me."

"i'm not," iwaizumi sighs and that’s the first time you sense annoyance in his words. you’ve never seen him annoyed or irritated, not as much as he looks right now, at you. "i don’t know why you’re acting like you committed a crime. it was a misunderstanding, a mistake, and we solved it. we both were at fault and we apologised, that’s it. leave it be. i’ll say this again; i like you, yn, and i don’t care what happened in the past. would you like to go on a date with me?"

this time, you make silence reign the air around the two of you. once again, you don’t know what to say. are you supposed to nod? say yes? run away? or are you supposed to kiss him like those actors do in the movies? you’d never know.

“i’ll take that as a yes.” turns out he’s in a silly, goofy mood, because iwaizumi is acting as if he didn’t just present a heart-fluttering confession. well, everything he does flutters your heart, but hearing him say those words, it made you fall for him all over again; and you’d have to agree that iwaizumi hajime looks really hot when he’s annoyed. “where do you want to go for our date?” 

“movie on saturday?” you suggest. “or whatever you want, actually.” 

“not saturday. me and kyoka are planning to meet to wrap up the council work.” ah, kyoka. you don’t know the last time you envied her, maybe never until this moment. it’s new, really, because you’re being envious of your best friend just because your potential boyfriend is picking her over your date; and it’s equally illogical because you know kyoka likes someone else. “can i come over tomorrow?” 

“what? no. it hasn’t even been a minute since we started dating,” truthfully, you’re not exactly against the thought of iwaizumi coming over to your place. it sounds wonderful, actually, but you have a pride to maintain. “besides, i didn’t say yes, yet.” 

“that’s why, i’ll be coming over tomorrow, to ask you out again.” he says, looking at you as if you are his whole world. “and i hope you say yes.” this is why you think you hate iwaizumi more than you like him. he has his way with words, and knows what to say, and each and every sentence leaves you speechless, unable to process your own thoughts. you hate how he excels in all the fields because just when you thought you could maybe something equally heart-fluttering, iwaizumi leans in closer, planting a soft kiss on your cheeks before intertwining his hands in yours, kissing the back of your palm. “please, say yes.”

and you think you will, because you don’t know what it means to like someone, but it feels like that for you. like you and iwaizumi exist in a time before love— as though you were waiting for the word to catch up to the feeling.

THE THOUGHT of dating iwaizumi is ambiguous. 

you aren’t even close to it. iwaizumi said he would ask you out again, but you decided to assist him and kyoka in their council work, which was rescheduled on the day you and iwaizumi were supposed to have your ‘date.’ you didn’t plan to spend the day with him, honestly. despite his multiple requests to come over to his place with kyoka, you refused to agree until ten minutes before they planned to meet. you don’t know what convinced you to agree. perhaps, it’s the stagnant picture of the two of them in your head, maybe it’s the fact that you had nothing to do and going over to iwaizumi seemed better than sleeping throughout the noon. 

after arriving at his place, you realised that it was jealousy that drove you to his house; or rather, an utter sense of diffidence that plagued your mind. something about watching kyoka and iwaizumi work together pulled you away from the thought that you and iwaizumi can be something more than friends. however, despite being aware of iwaizumi’s feelings for you, you can’t help but believe in the possibility of him and kyoka. 

“how’s council work going?” you ask as the two of you stroll down to your house since iwaizumi insisted on walking you back even though you said it wasn’t necessary. these are the times when you think he pays you a lot more attention than necessary, more than you deserve, even. you notice the way your steps are in sync before he stops to take a look at a stray cat sneaking into someone’s garden, and the next step he takes doesn’t match yours anymore. 

“it’s good.” he replies, and although you can’t see his face now that he’s walking a step in front of you, you could hear the smile in his voice. “kyoka is good at what she does. i’m assuming we can wrap it up by tomorrow.” 

your grasp around his hand tightens, fingers interlaced and yet you could feel the distance in between. his words leave a sour taste in your mouth. however, in any case, you can't deny how capable your friend is. it’s only normal for people to compliment her, and in iwaizumi’s case, you presume that he can relate after meeting someone on the same spectrum as him. “right, she’s efficient.”

“i thought she would be, i don’t know, cold? she looks indifferent but is actually really fun to—” and you stop, causing him to do the same as he halts in the middle of his sentence, lowering his head to get a better look at your expression. “is something wrong?” 

“no?,” you shoot him a forced smile. “i’m just thinking how you two would make a good couple,” you say, because dating iwaizumi is ambiguous. it’s almost as if every second with him reminds you that you don’t belong here.

“you’re back at this again,” there’s annoyance laced in his voice and you wonder if your actions have finally broken his shell. after all, there’s only so much a person can put up against your sheer persistence. “i don’t care about kyoka, or how good or bad we look together. i like you—”  

“why?” your voice shoots up a few octaves, loud enough to turn a few heads in your direction as the passersby assume it to be just another lover’s quarrel. “iwaizumi, everything reminds me of how different we are. i try to not overthink but then i look at you and kyoka and realise how i came between the two of you.” 

you see everything come down falling. it feels nice, for some reason. now that he’s in front of you, standing with an expression that ranges between anger and disappointment while you’re finally able to voice your thoughts, you don’t feel like this is bad enough. after all, communication is the key, and unsaid words only give rise to unwanted strains in a relationship. even though you knew nothing could be made out of whatever you and iwaizumi have, you want to end it on a good note for the sake of both of you. 

for the next few minutes, you talked and he listened. you aren’t sure if you were making sense. you didn’t know if you were processing your own words, it all sounded like an information dump— just like when you’re assigned a task and when asked about it, your supervisor drops each and every thing about it on you like an explosive, and you’re left to find the starting point. looking at his face, you discern that iwaizumi must be feeling the same way. 

it pains you to see him like this— limbs on side as if they’re lifeless, an ocean of dejection in his eyes; as if the words are on the tip of his tongue but he doesn’t know what to say, you can see it on his face. you wish you didn’t have to see him like this, not when you are the reason behind the lack of delight on his face. you know you should’ve stopped this earlier, you wish you could, and you were a step away from having him out of your life, but he looks at you once and you gravitate towards him like a moon does to its planet.   

“yn, listen to me.” he cups your face in his hands, conquering your line of sight to the point he’s the only thing you could see. however, your vision had blurred from the tears dwelling in your eyes. “i like you. i wouldn’t even have talked to her if it wasn’t for the student council—”

“i don’t deserve you,” another interjection, another pang to his heart, your voice cracks— another line of conversation.  

“when you say that, it makes me want to show you how much you deserve me and the other things you wish,” he holds your face even closer, as if you’re going to disappear the next moment. 

it’s as if you both were cursed or just plain unlucky. you have your ideas about love, and he has his; and as much as you tried, none of you could make it work. you don’t think it’s the lack of feeling or intention that’s tearing you both apart— it’s one small seed of doubt planted in your head, and it’s doing its job. you brush his hands off your face, looking him in the eyes for one last time. “let’s stop,” 

.

.

.

“you look as if the life inside of you has been sucked out, and it’s only nine,” kyoka comments as soon as the class is dismissed. you don’t pay attention to her words, letting a sigh roll off your lips to suffice as a response. “fight with iwaizumi?” 

“no,” it’s a quick response and you don’t care if she believes you or not, even though the chances are that she most likely doesn’t. as much as you wish you could talk to her, you don’t think you can bring yourself to tell her your concerns regarding her and iwaizumi. having her by your side was a little nicer than being alone, but you decide to push her away this once, now that your worries can potentially cost you an invaluable friendship. 

her gaze rests upon you for a brief second before she shakes her head in hopelessness— disappointment, at most— mumbling a faint ‘whatever’ which is carried away by the winds as soon as the word escapes his mouth. you don’t care, if you put it quite frankly. the lingering whispers of students in the hallways that talk about you and iwaizumi, or how they haven’t seen you with him for over a week now, don’t bother you anymore. you’ve learnt to ignore then and this time, the stars seemed to have aligned in your favour. 

iwaizumi had to leave for inter-prefectural volleyball league the day you turned him down, albeit indirectly. you wanted to see him— still want to— and you almost strolled down to his place when he returned, which was two days prior from today. you’ve learnt to hold yourself back, accepting that there’s no point aiming for something out of your reach. you and iwaizumi are like stars in the distant sky. they attract, and when they get closer than they should’ve, it results in an explosion, consequently destroying everything within the close radius. even after iwaizumi returned to school, you’ve held yourself away from him, avoiding places he frequently visits. you even stopped going to the terrace in case he looks for you there. 

you take a step away from iwaizumi and you notice iwaizumi’s world is beautiful as always; with or without you, it doesn’t matter. 

“kyoka, what do you think of iwaizumi?” it’s an impromptu question, one that leaves her staring at you with perplexed eyes; but you’re too lost in your thoughts to even reconsider your words. 

kyoka furrows her eyebrows and you wonder if she got a hint of what’s going inside your head. it wouldn’t be surprising if she does, honestly. kyoka has a good perception, and perhaps that’s the only reason why you’ve been avoiding her eyes for almost a week now. “and why are you asking that?” 

“just answer the question.”  

“i think of him . . . as your boyfriend.” the hint of playfulness is evident in her words, yet her eyes tell you otherwise.   

“can you be serious for one second?” you counter with annoyance as you shut your notebook close, putting the pens back in your pencil case. after the argument with iwaizumi, hearing someone address him as your boyfriend puts you off. not that the two of you ever dated, but the thought of it was good while it lasted.

“serious about what, iwaizumi?” she chuckles and at this point, you’re convinced that she’s using your dilemma as a way of comedic relief. “yn, i don’t even think about him unless it’s regarding council stuff.” 

perhaps, the last part is supposed to comfort you, though it mingles with the chatters and soon enough, slips out of your mind as if you never heard it. timing is irrelevant for two people who are meant for each other, that is what you once believed. but you and iwaizumi met during a time when you were such a mess, and had so much to figure out. you were busy getting a hold of your life while living a lie you told to save your friend, although it got you entangled deeper in the mess; and now just days later iwaizumi is claiming to have fallen for you. it sounds euphoric, but how could you believe it when everything around you reminds you of the possibility that you and iwaizumi were, maybe, always meant to meet, yet not meant to be? 

“by the way, tell him i won’t be able to make it tomorrow since i’m busy,” kyoka’s voice pull your out of your thoughts. 

a heavy feeling settles inside of you. “make it to where—” 

“just tell him, he knows,” she runs out of the class as she always does, probably to hayato’s class because lately, her priorities have shifted towards the senior in question, now that they’ve gotten closer after the play. however, you don’t fail to notice how both iwaizumi and kyoka have been keeping things from you, like just now. you don’t pay it no mind, you really try to, but a part of your mind comes up with the chances that they could’ve been meeting without your knowledge. 

you find yourself on the way to the terrace once again, after avoiding the location like a plague for days on repeat now. turns out, you couldn’t keep yourself away from it, for that’s the only place you feel like you’ll be able to breathe in when every other corner feels suffocating. a part of the reasons for your ventures to the rooftop is to get rid of all the baseless thoughts you’ve been coming up with. putting everything aside, doubting your best friend is the last thing you want to do. you don’t want to believe them, but you don’t have to hold onto a false hope either. 

somewhere inside the back of your mind, you’re reminded to get back to class, though you don’t pay attention to that voice. you don’t want to go back inside the four walls and sit with the two people who are the reason behind all your worries, albeit you feel guilty for thinking of them this way. to put it in better words, you wouldn’t be able to focus either, for your mind is too busy thinking about everything else. and so, you let the soft winds soothe your mind as you lean against the railing, the cold metal against your cheeks as you close your eyes in an attempt to think about anything but the boy you wish to hear from the most at the moment. 

“i looked for you all ‘round the school, y’know?” iwaizumi’s voice pop up from the entrance, making you flinch at his sudden arrival. it frightens you how you didn’t hear his footsteps approaching as you always do. however, those feelings wash away with the waves of cold breeze brushing against your nape, sending shivers down your spine. 

it reminds you of the day you had confessed to him, and you had dragged him to the rooftop, same location in the exact same weather, where he had rejected you before frankly asking you to give him a chance at getting to know you better. the day, all you could think about were the points about how iwaizumi is so likeably unlikeable. you had always thought of him as a foreign creation, something made so intricately with extreme focus so as to avoid all chances of faults and mistakes. iwaizumi, to you, wasn’t someone who you despised because of your differences or rather, how perfect he is. dislike would be a strong word to summarise the emotions you initially had towards him, indifference would be a better term. 

albeit, you find it humorous how your feelings towards the said boy have changed over the span of just a few weeks. you wouldn’t say it’s because you ‘fell’ for iwaizumi, but rather because you got a chance to look at him without filters. it’s as if you got a chance to meet him backstage, away from all the roles he has to play about being an ideal student and an ideal child for every parent out there. yeah, maybe his kindness and captivating personality played a role in changing your opinions towards him but, most of it has been because you were able to notice the puddles of similarities between him and above, above the impression that iwaizumi and you belonged to different worlds. 

“if you’ve noticed, i always come to the rooftop if i don’t feel well,” you mumble above the sound of wind howling around with slight disappointment evident in your voice. perhaps, after all this time, you had at least expected him to look for you on the rooftop everyday, knowing that the only place you’d ever choose to hide yourself is under the vast expanse of sky, in front of the cityscape. 

“is that your test paper?” he asks, pointing his index finger towards your hand, and that’s the moment you realise you’ve been holding onto it for a while now. iwaizumi takes it from your hand with slight hesitation in his actions as if he’s taking all the measures to not provoke you. however, the words that leave his mouth suffice of all the incitement his actions could’ve offered. “geez, you’re getting scores in single digits.” 

a chuckle rolls off his tongue as he goes through your answers, making you groan before you snatch the paper from his hands. “it’s my first time,” 

there’s an undertone of solicited jealousy in your voice, a glint of anger seeping through because even if your scores have always been a few levels before iwaizumi’s, they never hit the single digits until now. you wonder if he would believe you if you said you always received perfect scores up until second year of middle school. call it a change in air or whatever, but switching schools in the middle of your elementary school years turned out to be an awful choice since your grades fell down by a few percent; and despite being able to recover them to the point where you could maintain a reputable position in your grade, they never reached the same height again as they used to. 

much to your and your parents’ disappointment, your grades declined further in highschool. while the reason could be the extreme curriculum that high schoolers have to follow, you like to blame iwaizumi for that. you’ve been in the same class as him for two years now and every time he receives an award, something inside of you dies. you aren’t jealous of his achievements, nor do you think he doesn’t deserves the compliments and honours he gets. you spent two years looking for the reason behind your indifference towards the campus crush, only to realise that you’ve been maintaining your distance because he reminds you of everything you could’ve been if things didn’t go the wrong way. 

iwaizumi sighs, pressing more of his weight against the railings, leaning towards the as in an attempt to look further down. “you should get a tutor before finals. i mean, i’m always down to—”   

“can you stop acting like nothing happened?” you cut him off, half-annoyed, half-impatient. originally, you wanted to stop talking about academics; but then it occurs to you how normal iwaizumi is, as if you didn’t have an argument and haven’t been talking for almost a week now. while you admire him for his ability to strike a conversation in all situations, even under heavy circumstances, something about it this time didn’t sit right with you. 

“what happened?” he asks, but it’s almost as if he has been expecting you to ask you this question. 

and at the same time, you hope he doesn’t find you weird for bringing this up after you’ve told him to call it quits on you. “i broke up with y—” 

“we weren’t even dating in the first place,” ouch, you think, and it didn’t occur to you how hurtful it sounds until you heard it from iwaizumi himself. “and if you think i’m giving up just because you think i look better with kyoka, then you’re wrong.” 

“do you ever just look at me and wonder why you fell for me?” you let your words replace the silence looming above you and iwaizumi, allowing your eyes to meet his’ as if they’re having a conversation of their own. “because i do,” 

“i’m not as good as you— not even close to being as good as you. i was an average student and now i’m getting scores in single digits, i’m neither good at art, nor at sports. i’m not as kind as you, i get into fights, get detentions, i can’t help you with council works, i can’t help you with anything because you already know how to do everything.” there’s a smile dancing on your face for some reason. perhaps, you’re hoping for him to realise his worth, finally accepting that he deserves someone better thank you. “don’t you think you deserve someone who is almost, if not as, perfect as you?” 

another trail of silence follows as you attempt to decipher the look on his face. you take a step back, running your mind all over the mess you’ve created, and you end up wondering— what’s the point of this? you’ve been selfish for so long, it shouldn’t hurt to stay that way for a tad bit longer. even before you had realised your feelings for iwaizumi, you were aware of the impossibility of the two of you; so being selfish in this case was a luxury you never had the chance to choose. it was a game of push and pull from the start. you spent days playing with his heart, making him believe that you were desperately in love with him, and when you tell him the truth, iwaizumi accepts it like just another as-a-matter-of-fact about life. that’s when you realised you didn’t deserve iwaizumi, not by a long shot. 

perhaps, you don’t deserve iwaizumi at all, not even the small parts of him you’ve been able to experience over the past few weeks. you don’t know if you’d be able to continue living your life the same way without iwaizumi, watching him pursue someone else— someone better— but it’s everything you wish for him. while iwaizumi is everything you’ll ever need, you can’t have him settle for someone less. after all, nothing in the world could compensate for the shortfall.    

“is that how you think of me?” he chuckles as if you cracked a joke. iwaizumi doesn’t spare you a glance for the next few seconds, letting his eyes linger over the invisible patterns he’s creating with his fingers, on the railing. there’s a desist but you don’t think he’s waiting for an answer to his question. it’s like a verbal punctuation, like a semicolon before he exhales heavily, turning his gaze back to you.

“yn, did you know i failed in english in middle school?” he begins just like any one another as a matter-of-fact conversation he would initiate during lessons. “i’m good at sketching but not at painting, i do even the simplest of calculations on paper, can’t spell assassination without autocorrect—” 

“no way,” you interject, letting your eyebrows crease as you look at him in disbelief. well, of course, you wouldn’t think iwaizumi hajime would have trouble spelling assassination, if anything. 

“yes way, i really can’t.” he clarifies, emphasising the ‘really’ to make sure it sounds believable. “i once burned coffee, i have terrible sleeping habits, i’m lazy, i fight with my sister all the time, was almost suspended in primary school for beating a kid and—” another impromptu pause and he takes a step towards you, leaning closer than you already were, resting his forehead against yours. “— i’m in love with you.”   

it sounds like a heavenly confession in the way his eyes look into yours as if you’re the only thing worth looking at. his hands slip into yours at the right moment, giving your heart the push it needed to pace relentlessly as if it knew no boundaries. his lips curl into a lovesick smile as he interlocks his fingers with yours. “i think we make a perfect match.” 

you slide your hand out of his’, “you sure do know how to shut me up,” 

“and i know of many ways to do that,” you notice his lips curl into his signature smirk, one that makes you smile involuntarily as well.

the two of you bask in silence as it blankets you under the comfort it’s offering. you hate being in situations where there’s no absolute answer and your mind keeps oscillating between two choices that you can’t bring yourself to choose from. it’s humorous and equally irritating how one moment, you think you’d be just fine without iwaizumi and the next, you feel like drowning when he’s not next to you. perhaps, it’s the mood of time, the feeling of forever. the belief that you both could live and die by your word and never regret a thing. from what you could decipher, iwaizumi has always been in love with everything around him when he waltzed into your life as if it’s his own; and now that you’re taking your steps into his, slowly and gradually, all you want is to be a part of that. you would wake up thinking about how iwaizumi and you are like parallel lines— always close, but never together, but then you’d go to bed with the belief that somewhere, in some timeline, perhaps your paths were meant to intersect. you wouldn’t say it is love, but you couldn’t say it isn’t either.  

at times, you wonder why iwaizumi chose you, and it’s beyond your insecurities about academics and things that separate him from you. it’s rather a rhetorical question, one that iwaizumi, probably, has already answered, but you couldn’t help but ask again— why me. you have always been a nuisance to those who know you. despite receiving unconditional love from your parents and relatives, one would always hear them complain about how much of a bother you could be. however, you’ve never heard iwaizumi complain about it. it’s as if he knows you can be handful, but then again, his hands are always empty when it comes to you. you’re pretty sure you wouldn’t pursue yourself if you were in iwaizumi’s shoes. you’re too busy being lost in your own worries and concerns that you can’t see the person who adores you to death; and if somehow you do, then it’s impossible for you to believe you could be of so much important to someone that they’re willing to embrace single piece of you as if it belongs to the museum. 

“yn, get that you’re scared. you might feel that we won’t make it and that’s okay. i’m not asking you to disregard your worries. i respect them, and in return, i’m asking you to respect me.” iwaizumi says out of the blue, replacing the silence with his melodic voice. “you don’t have to give an answer now. we can stay the way we’ve been, no labels, i won’t force anything upon you. in other words, i’m asking you to let me like you—” 

“and then one day when i suddenly feel up to it, i’ll accept you then,” you cut him off, there’s a smile on your face before you playfully hit his arm. “seriously, iwaizumi? quoting a dialogue right now?” 

“i mean it, though.” he pulls you into a hug, chin resting above your head as he draws circles on your back, and you give in as if there’s no better place in the world than his arms. you may not be sure about him, or your feelings for him, but if it means you can spend a few more seconds in his arms, then you don’t mind reconsidering your decisions. 

“i love you,” his voice is no louder than a whisper and, you’re sure it wouldn’t have been audible if you weren’t next to him, with his arms around you. “i apologise for taking so much time to say this, and it’s fine if you think it’s rushed. take your time and sort your feelings. all i know is that i love you, i always have, and all i’m asking you is to let me love you.” 

his last four words ring in your head like an alarm. you look up, his grip loosens around your waist but never lets you out of his hands— there’s a puddle of emotion in his eyes. you see love, you see sadness, and fear, it’s a given. a smile rests on his lips but you could feel the hesitation in his fingertips soak through your shirt and exude through your skin. his words are the same, but it’s the first time you think of the possibility that maybe, he’s scared too. the future is predetermined and nothing could refute fate’s design. but if, even for a brief second, you can have the opulence of stars aligning in your favour, then you’d want to welcome it with arms wide open and a heart ready to walk into the storm. 

“can i kiss you?” albeit not the words you wanted to say at the moment, you don’t mind the intent. however, your doubts cave in when his hands ghost up your waist, feet taking a step away from you without a second thought. 

“no,” it feels like your heart has stopped. “you’re scoring in single digits. i think you should focus on academics instead of wanting to kiss a guy,” 

“gosh, iwa. that’s brutal.” and the very next second, it comes back to life as your lips curl into a smile. “are you going to tutor me?” 

“yes,” you chuckle at the cheery smile on his face as he takes your hand in his, planting a soft kiss on your palms. “and we can kiss after your studies.” well, it’s unlikely that you’d be able to get a good score in just three months, especially now that you have iwaizumi to serve as the main source of distraction; but the unlikelihood of falling in love with him? zero, because you realise that he has always been in love with you and you just caught up to him. 

The relocation from Argentina to Japan posed challenges for both father and son; now, it was simply a matter of settling in.  

Mateo was having difficulty at night, and Toru couldn’t understand what was wrong. Then, when bedtime arrived, Mateo would cry incessantly, eventually wearing himself out until he fell asleep, utterly exhausted.

Until a miracle happened on day three of their new life in Japan.

Toru didn’t make a single sound as he continued to rock Mateo against his chest, the baby was silent, but his eyes were slowly drooping close.

This was all due to their only neighbor next door, who either blasted deafening piano music to muffle his son’s cries or happened to have a piano positioned against the shared wall, providing them with a live concert.

Initially, he suspected it might be a recording. Still, whenever the piano ceased playing, Mateo would stir and start whimpering, prompting the piano to resume and soothing the baby to sleep.

That’s when Toru realized his neighbor was attentively listening.

He felt guilty that his son’s relentless crying would unknowingly disturb the neighbor next door. However, it never occurred to him that the sound could travel through walls.

Meanwhile, Toru found peace in listening; it was when he discerned the neighbor was playing their rendition of “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.”

Several minutes later, Mateo peacefully drifted into a deep slumber against his father’s chest, and Toru let out a profound sigh, gently swaying back and forth. In that moment, he made a firm resolution to express his gratitude to the neighbor whenever the opportunity came.

The tune continued and put Mateo to sleep and lulled Toru to sleep.

Just going to close my eyes briefly, he thought as he gently laid down on the bed and shifted his son in his arm.

.

Three weeks later, Toru hasn’t gotten the opportunity to head next door to meet his neighbor.

Ever since that night, his neighbor would spend hours playing the piano every evening when Toru attempted to take Mateo to bed. But, remarkably, Mateo adored it. The melodic tunes would instantly soothe him, gradually lulling him into a peaceful slumber.

Whatever it was, it proved to be the sole remedy for his son.

However, one particular night, the absence of the piano’s melody left Mateo restless and irritable. In a desperate attempt to recreate the soothing effect, Toru resorted to playing classic piano pieces he hastily found on YouTube, but they failed to satisfy Mateo’s needs.

Growing frustrated and feeling helpless, Toru was on the brink of allowing his son to cry himself to sleep when a gentle miracle, the soft piano notes began resonating through the walls. Instantly, Mateo’s cries subsided, and Toru lay awake, basking in the comforting melody.

Toru is convinced his neighbor is a gift from God.

.

His mother would stop by every day to help with his son while Toru organized transferring his items from Argentina to Japan.

“Can you stay with Teo while I pick up dinner, mom?”

She hummed, shooing him away.

Toru is grateful to his mother for her unwavering love for his son, despite her initial disappointment upon learning about this accidental pregnancy with his ex-girlfriend from Argentina.

Although his relationship with his ex-girlfriend was long gone and relegated to the past, every day served as a reminder that it was just him and his son, which was more than enough.

The elevator chimes rang out, and within moments, the door slid open, unveiling a petite woman who leaned against the wall, her eyes closed. Immersed in her own world, she appeared lost in the music flowing through the electronic devices plugged into her ears.

She took a step forward without opening her eyes, and it wasn’t the second step when they opened, and she stopped, startled by another person waiting outside the elevator.

Toru found himself somewhat amused, assuming the woman hadn’t noticed his presence until the very last moment. However, as he took a closer look, his eyebrow raised in curiosity, and suddenly, his eyes widened in recognition, realizing who she was.  

“Y/n?” He smiled brightly, “are you – are you my neighbor?”

There were only two units on the 25th floor; if he occupied one, she must be the other occupant.

Now…

It all made sense.

A few nights ago, he talked to Mateo as they enjoyed their nightly routine of waiting for their nice neighbor.

“Any second now,” Toru coos at Mateo, who is excited and waiting.

As the keys of the piano resonated with the melody, Toru yearned for a way to create a window connecting to their units, allowing the enchanting piano sounds to flow more clearly between them.

And so they can greet their neighbor.

Nonetheless, it was still clear enough.

Mateo flapped his chubby arms excitedly and began blowing bubbles. Toru smiles at his son lovingly until his ears finally listen to the piece played tonight, which differs from the other nights.

The smile on his face faded, and his attention sharpened as he focused his ears intently. The familiarity of the piece struck a cord within him. He had heard it before and knew it well.

Y/n…

That was it!

That was Y/n’s piece she always played for him when he would study at her house!

He never got the chance to ask her for the name.

How long has it been since he last seen her?

Over ten years?

The sweet girl who stutter all her life.

The sweet girl was often self-conscience about speaking, going silent to avoid being teased. Finally, however, she discovered her voice in a different form, expressing herself eloquently through the keys of her piano.

The sweet girl who was expected to become a future pianist.

The sweet girl would play the piano for him so he could focus and study.

The sweet girl who had a crush on him during Aoba Josei’s days.

The sweet girl whom he took advantage of to get his grades up so he could graduate on time.

The sweet girl he took a bet on to see if he could make her fall for him.

His last memory of her was saying he was sorry for being caught.

And she only smiled and walked away.

“To… Toru?” She stuttered; eyes still filled with shock.

Toru gives her a soft smile, “hey, yeah, it’s me…”

The door began to close when they both reached out to stop it from closing. Y/n quickly hops out of the elevator.

“You’re… you live there?” she pointed to his door, “you… you have a ba – baby?”

“I… yes, I live there, and I do… it’s just my son, and I thought…” he wasn’t sure why he had to explain himself, but he did anyway. “Are you… living by yourself there?”

She nodded, taking off her earbuds. “I – I should get… going… it is ni – nice to see yo – you again.”

Toru stopped her, grabbing her elbow but quickly releasing his grip when he realized his action. “Sorry, I… I’m happy to run into you again. I’m really thankful for you…” he searched her eyes, “my son, Mateo, and I are thankful to you every night for playing for us – “

“I don’t play for you.” She said clearly, and Toru flinched at her tone. She spoke so clearly that he was shocked.

“Ah,” he rubbed the back of his head, “we are still grateful… it helps my son sleep….” He smiled, “I should get going; it is nice running into you.”

Y/n nodded again, giving him a small smile before disappearing into her unit.

. .

Ever since uncovering the identity of his neighbor, Toru couldn’t shake off the lingering ache in his heart.

Following their most recent encounter, Toru had expected his neighbor to refrain from playing the piano. However, to his surprise, she continued playing beautiful melodies.

He was an asshole years ago and was genuinely sorry for hurting her.

He wanted to atone for what he did to her and make it right.

He wanted to see her again.

And he did.

She was waiting for the elevator first when Toru and Mateo returned home from a walk. She didn’t notice them until Mateo began to fuss in the stroller, and she looked over, and her eyes met Toru’s before they shifted to Mateo.

“Hey.” Toru greeted, picking Mateo up from his stroller, which immediately calmed down when he was in his father’s arms. “This is Mateo.”

He could see her expression soften as she hesitated but stepped forward to look at the baby closer. “Hi… Mateo.”

It only took one interaction and one look for the baby to be smitten. Mateo squirmed and smiled brightly, burying his face into his father’s chest as if he was shy all of a sudden. He lifted his head as soon as Y/n stepped back and just blinked.

“How old is he?” She asked quietly.

Toru shifts his grip on his son, “he’s six months turning seven months next week.”

Y/n nodded, keeping her eyes on the baby. “He – he is very cute, looks just like you.”

“Thanks, Y/n.”

The door to the elevator opened, and she gestured for Toru to go in first.

The elevator ride was silent, with Mateo constantly staring in Y/n direction while suckling his pacifier.

“Thank you.” Toru uttered out of the blue, “for playing every night…”

Y/n doesn’t respond but smiles at Mateo, reaching to wiggle her fingers at the baby.

Mateo grabs her fingers in a tight death grip and then leans toward her as if he wants her to hold him. Unfortunately, Y/n had no choice as he leaned over suddenly, and she plucked him from his father’s arm.

“Uh, I guess he likes – “

The elevator abruptly stopped, causing Y/n and Mateo to stumble, but Toru caught them both. His arms wrapped securely around him as he regained their balance. The lights turned off briefly before the dim emergency lights turned on.

Mateo spat out his pacifier and began to whimper.

“Oh! It’s okay; it’s okay.” Y/n cooed, gently rocking the baby. She looked at Toru, who was looking at his phone and dialing for help.

A voice over the intercom immediately announced, “we deeply apologize – the construction next door has caused a power outage within the vicinity. We are working diligently to restore power and immediately send assistance your way.”

Toru and Y/n locked eyes, their silence speaking volumes as they exchanged a shared sigh.

Toru knelt and began to fumble with the basket attached to the stroller.

“What are you looking for?” Y/n asked.

He stopped to look up at her, “just checking to see how much formula Mateo has left; not sure how long we’ll be stuck in the elevator.”

Speaking of the baby, Y/n looked down and discovered the baby was fast asleep against her chest. She wraps his blanket around him before shifting him into her arms.

“You’re really… good with kids…” Toru remembers when Y/n would play with his nephew Takeru when she would come over to help him study. Takeru found liking in Y/n and would ask about her whereabouts whenever he saw his uncle. “Do… you want me to take him? I can put him back in the stroller?”

Y/n shook her head, “not if we don’t know how secure this elevator is; it’s best to hold him for now.” She carefully shifted, passing the slumbering baby back into his father’s waiting arms. Almost instantly, as if sensing the change, Mateo started to wiggle and emit soft whimpers.

As Toru struggled to console his son, the situation seemed to escalate. Finally, Y/n extended a gentle hand, reaching over to tenderly retrieve the baby while soothingly cooing and whispering sweet words. Mateo’s distress dissipated almost instantly, and he surrendered again to sleep. His tiny, chubby hand tightly clenched onto Y/n’s shirt, finding solace in her presence.

Toru believed he knew his son, having been there for him since birth. Yet, it became evident that Y/n, a stranger to his son, possessed a unique ability to provide peace and comfort that surpassed Toru’s efforts.

It wasn’t jealousy he felt but warmth.

. . .

E/n: nothing edited (as always). This might be another roller coaster...

Life always has a weird way of fucking you over.

Not to say you haven't deserved half of the mandated karma – you haven't always been the best person, given the borderline psychopathic attempt of climbing to the top – but a break, or a nice surprise would be a great change in routines.

Whoever said success is a lonely road was, painfully, correct. To think that you spent your high school years working hard to get into an ivy league, spent those four years working at internships to make those desired connections people dream of!

Only to get out at the age of twenty-two and spend the next year as some glorified, under-paid, under appreciated, assistant. And no, that's not what the job description is supposed to entail, you're meant to be an associate – associates are not supposed to run around getting coffee – with the main purpose of developing your career and hopefully making partner in seven to ten years time.

Not to mention, since the city has unbelievable prices of living, you had to move to a neighbouring borough just for the possibility of having a studio apartment that isn't the size of a closet for the same price. Is it the most convenient?

No, not really, considering the fact the commute is over thirty-minutes and you have to go back and forth from work at unreasonable hours because your boss insists on bringing you to every little, insignificant meeting, or post-work drinks at nine at night – which is an excuse for the woman to spiral further into alcoholism – where you will inevitably end up carrying your boss back to her penthouse on the upper east side.

And no, it doesn't get better, because afterwards, after spending two hours at an expensive bar with the drunken, divorced, mess of a boss you have by the time she gets home safe, you're expected to deal with the city's delayed – and inconsistent – subway times at this ungodly hour and spend the next thirty-minutes in a train with rando's and sketchies.

Oh! No, that's not where it ends, because by the time you get off the subway, it's almost midnight, and you have to take a lovely – scary – ten-minute walk alone to your apartment, but walking anywhere at night is terrifying... Except for the rumour, or fact, that violence has been making its way around the borough, and according to new statistics – regarding the quarterly crime rate review – it's been looking a bit too stabby for your liking.

Now, this walk home is nothing different to how it is every day. You stride down the street with purpose, clutching your taser, and eerily aware of your surroundings. Although, remember how life always has a new way of fucking you over through some odd, irrelevant, way of testing your resilience?

This is one of those occasions.

Let's say it's not common for a man to be curled up in the small alley where residents keep their trash, but then again, crime rates have increased by a percentage that can make anyone uncomfortable – still, committing those types of crimes in a residential neighbourhood where people are simply trying to live their lives is ridiculous. Have some class.

Sure, as a law abiding citizen or natural samaritan would help, but no, not you. Living in a densely populated city means one thing, and one thing only, keep your head down. It's a game of see nothing, know nothing. Everyone minds their own business, that's how you stay safe and avoid danger – including scammers, or the random cult recruiters.

So, you intend on reaching for your keys to the front entrance of your small building, until you hear a small groan come from the neighbours dumpster alley. Sighing, you swallow your pride – and maybe your safety – holding your phone in one hand, and taser in another, and go over to look. The flashlight turned on, as you flash it on the curled up body.

You cannot see his face, but you instantly recognize the leather jacket and matching bandana. Of fucking course, out of everyone in the world, you happen to come across a member of a gang – as if this is some cruel joke from the universe. What do they call themselves? The Foxes? That awful group that parades around in black and maroon, with their emblem of a fox printed on leather jackets that they display for the world to see.

You're reluctant to step forward, maybe it's the threatening affiliation this guy has wound himself with, or the blood on his hands – literally and figuratively – as he grips onto the side of his stomach. The thing is, you've got a massive report to read over and playing doctor with someone is not on your list of side-quests – as it doesn't benefit your position, or reputability on the job any better. However, people are always watching, so if word were to magically get out that you saw a member of this notorious, tight-knit gang and ignored him, that could put a dangerous target on your back.

But, if you help him, you can probably lawyer your way into securing safety for your silence. You could exchange saving his life, for him, inevitably, saving yours in turn – ensuring that you're home, your spaces, where you are at all times is a no-go zone. Sure, that means turning your back on the entire legal system you've spent studying is thrown on the backburner, but you need to look out for yourself.

What is success if it means you've got strangers pinning a vendetta against you, and watching your every move before they strike? How could you ever reach partner if you get killed? How could you ever live with the benefits of making partner, if you get killed before you can exercise those benefits?

The short-term pride is not worth it if you don't get to brag about it... and silence for safety seems like the best option on the table. No one ever said that law always has to be good, it's unjust – at times – unfair and just as corrupt. Only ten percent of people who go into this job do it out of the good of their heart, the rest, the majority do it for the money and respect.

And it isn't part of your job description to be a good person, you're not a doctor. You didn't pledge to an oath about refraining from causing harm or hurt, or to act honestly and responsibility. No, you are conducting yourself with dignity and conscience – and as far as you care, freedom of speech and association still exists, and what you're doing isn't necessarily illegal unless you get recruited or actively participate in a crime.

And since when helping someone not die a crime? He's part of the Foxes, for christ sake. They can invoke power anywhere, he can potentially make you untouchable. You can live your life somewhat more peacefully if it means that safety is a guarantee. If you save one of them, they have no choice but to repay you. That's how the system works.

Sighing, you step closer, bending down to get a better look at him. Flashlight illuminating the severe wound on the side of his stomach, the blood surrounding his black top and his hands. "Fuck my life," you mutter. He's practically losing consciousness with every second, you doubt he's capable of standing up by himself, and there's no way you're going to attempt to fix him by a pile of trash.

So, you do what you can, gently lifting up his upper body, draping his arm around your shoulders as you begin to stand. God is he big, and getting him up the stairs will undoubtedly be a struggle. Still, as if on impulse, his feet start moving as you carry more than half of his weight towards the front door of your building, up the stairs to the second floor – where your apartment remains.

Forcefully, pushing open the door, you find all the strength in your body to lead him to the couch – internally crying at the stain that will taint the grey cushions – where he falls over and lays on his back. Absolutely winded, you walk into your bathroom, searching for that old – raggedy – first aid kit in the cupboards along with cotton balls and comically large band aids that you have no reason for owning.

God, it's as if this was planned, fucking written in the stars. Yes, you were meant to end up in this situation because you are one of the only people in the world who thought it'd be fun and convenient to own large band aids that can temporarily cover a stab wound. Good going!

Gathering all the materials in your hand, you walk over to the couch where he remains in limbo. Again, you're no medical professional, no, the most training you have consists of a short one hour life skills lesson and a topic on human physiology that was part of your biology course in high school. So, yes, you're a bit rusty – but that doesn't mean you're incompetent.

Kneeling down on the floor, scattering the items next to you on the floor, reaching for the cotton balls and bottle of disinfectant. But as your fingers graze over the skin on his torso to lift up his shirt, he flinches, and for the first time since running into him, you look at his face with an offended look on yours – as if he's able to see you through his shut eyelids.

He catches you off guard, the delicate and mesmerising features. Strong jaw, dark hair, furrowed eyebrows that mix in well with the discomfort he must be feeling. Yes, he's beautiful, but he's also bleeding out on your couch and part of an infamous gang that got himself stabbed. Letting out a frustrated, hmph, you lift up his shirt to examine the wound – as if you have any idea what you're doing.

First, you need to unarm him. You run your hands through the pockets of his cargos, pulling out a phone, wallet, and pocket knife, then dig through the pockets of his leather jacket finding nothing alarming.

Next, you cover your hands with latex gloves, then get to work. Letting the cotton balls absorb the disinfectant before running it along his skin, in which he finches in response. "Stop flinching, I'm helping you." You mutter, sure, maybe using water would be a better alternative than bathing him in on the shelf disinfectant, but water is not going to effectively clean him up.

You don't even know what you're doing, and your body, mind, even fucking adrenaline knows that by the way your hands shake. Do you need to stitch him up? You don't know how to suture a wound, you don't even know how to stitch! You don't even own string, yarn yes, but you doubt that sealing someone up with lilac yarn is the most sanitary or safe.

So, of course, you do the most reasonable thing and search it up, and given the short research it confirms that you don't have to do anything – then again, how many people get stabbed and don't receive certified medical attention?

Hands still shaking, you dive into the medical box, looking for antibiotic ointment. "I hate you, you know?" You begin speaking to yourself as you uncap the cream, "You're bleeding out on my couch. Is it a good couch? No, it is uncomfortable, and by the way your legs hand off the arm rests, it's not the biggest. But it's my couch, I found it on the street."

You apply the cream around the puncture, hearing his quiet groans and incoherent murmurs. After that, you reach for the band aid – or non-adherent pad as they call it – peeling off the back and gently placing it over the puncture. It's not a good replacement for proper medical care, but it will suffice until he manages to crawl his way back to wherever he lives and gets professionally treated.

"You better pay for a new couch, or a deep cleaning." You continue, beginning to pack up all your things before standing as you remove your gloves, and move to the kitchen to toss them out. "I have things to do, you know?" You say from the kitchen, washing your hands thoroughly.

That's partially a lie, the things you claim to have insist on reading a fucking brief or case while sitting on your couch watching something on Netflix – because cable is a waste of money – with one of many microwave meals stocking up your small white fridge. Still, this momentary distraction has moved those plans to tomorrow night. A Saturday night.

"I don't know who you are, or what your rank is in this stupid gang of yours, but I don't care." You continue your rant, grabbing a glass of water and pain-killers – placing them on the small cushioned ottoman, because who has the space to own a coffee table? – pacing back and forth in your apartment, where you can finally kick off your shoes by the front door and grab the purse you discarded by the small circular dining table next to the fridge. "I have work to do."

You storm towards your bedroom, dumping your purse on your bed and digging through it for your laptop and thick file, then you grab a highlighter sitting on the bedside table. And hopefully by the time he wakes up, you would have done something worthwhile and beneficial to your career.

So, yes, in conclusion, life always has a weird way of fucking you over. 

An hour has passed since you fixed up the stranger who lays, practically comatose, on your couch. Since then, you've changed out your clothes, showered, and gone through at least fifteen pages of this case you're supposed to assist with and eventually write a report for. Sitting in bed, music softly plays through your laptop as you bite on the end of a highlighter, re-reading the same paragraph over and over again.

It's safe to say that your mind is a bit distracted, maybe it's the fact you're harbouring a criminal in your apartment, waiting for him to wake up and possibly kill you. The Foxes are notorious for many things, heists, robbery, petty murder, but particularly famous for the sale of illegal goods – whether it be drugs, or unlicensed arms – and you happen to have one sitting in your living room.

All for what? The fear of getting murdered? Having a target on your back? Trading integrity for safety? To be fair, those are all valid reasons why you've decided to take him in. You can call the police, turn him in, do greater good for the grand community. He's docile and helpless right now, you've searched him for weapons and you keep his belongings hostage on your bed. But, what are the cops going to do?

You hear a groan coming from the living room, and immediately shoot up from the bed, swinging your feet over the mattress and feeling them hit the cold wooden floors as you turn around to grab the baseball bat leaning against the mattress.

The first, and big thing he feels is pain. An unbearable type of pain on the side of his stomach. He places a hand over the plaster, expecting to feel blood or an infection, but jolts awake when he's proven wrong. He sits up, painfully, and scans the apartment for any sign that will tell him where he is. The messy decor of the room, the glass encased bookshelf that's filled to the brim with trinkets, novels, DVD's, CD's, and records. Behind him, on the wall are framed movie posters and paintings. Lamps, candles, and a full wall tapestry behind the tv. A plethora of coats and bags hanging on the door. So much clutter in this little living room.

He turns his gaze to the small kitchen, a shelf lined with snacks, spices, a bowl of onions and garlic, and a concerning amount of liquor. On the counter, are dishes, coloured pots and pans, empty jars. Whoever lives here loves their fair share of pink, grey, and light blue cups, bowls, and plates. They apparently also love their fair share of tea and instant chai latte mixes, and colourful string lights.

He has no idea where he is, or who happened to pick him up from the streets. All he knows is that he was ambushed by the Crows and left for dead, talk about sending a fucking message. Understandably, he turns his head to look behind him, where you stand holding a baseball bat to your side. He reaches for his pocket, where his knife always remains, only to feel nothing. You've disarmed him.

While he should be focusing on that thought. The logical sense that you must know who he is; hence why you've hidden all his belongings and why you're holding a baseball bat for defence, or the fact that you must've called the police by now. But no, his mind is focused on who you are, why you've brought him into your apartment to avoid death, and how those little shorts look on you. Those little black shorts, that tank top, and that big knitted cardigan.

So what if he's about to get arrested, he loves this sight.

"You brought me here?" He asks, watching the way you nod your head.

"You were bleeding out near a pile of trash, and while I considered leaving you for dead, I figured that I could get something out of saving your life." You explain nonchalantly, well as nonchalant as you can given that you've invited a known criminal into your house.

"Who do you work for?" He questions. There are always upcoming rivals or new recruits circling the scene, they love dirty work and favours – an eye for an eye – and will extort, abuse, and come up with the worst reparations. While you don't look threatening at all, especially in that little outfit, he can't underestimate you.

"Specter and Hastings, the law firm." You reply, causing him to laugh out of pure irony. Out of everyone he could have gotten entwined with, it had to be a lawyer. The universe really loves to play games on him, doesn't it?

"What do you want?" He sighs, "Names? Operations? You want me to snitch?" He'd rather die than rat out his friends, his family, just cuff him and take him down to the station because he's not speaking.

"No." You say, "I want safety." A flash of curiosity flashes across his face, allowing you to elaborate. "I want to make sure that wherever I go will be unharmed, untouched, or fall victim to whatever wars you guys get into. I want to be left out of danger, and never have to worry about getting followed home, mugged, or stabbed. I want the guarantee of safety... for my silence."

"What?"

"Is it so hard to understand?" You huff, "I save your life, you look out for mine. And in doing so, I will pretend that I didn't potentially break a law by not turning you in, I will turn a blind eye and ignore that tonight ever happened."

She's looking out for herself. He can't blame her. If anyone were to find out that she left him for dead, she would be a target. However, as someone whose job literally regards the law, you can't blame him for thinking you're hypocritical and maybe the slightest bit untrustworthy. If you can't even stick by your career, how can he expect you not to snitch on him?

"So?" You say, "Is that a good arrangement?"

"I can't guarantee anything sweetheart," he claims.

"Fine, then can you at least keep the stabbings out of this neighbourhood?" You question, "When I get home at night, I'd rather not come across another bloody body and risk getting more blood on my couch out of fear of being targeted."

That he can do. He can tell the guys to avoid this particular area, in exchange for a stranger – who happens to be a lawyer – that saved his life. Not to mention, you didn't call the cops, didn't turn him in, and you're supposedly open to turning a blind eye. In regards to the blood he got on your couch, he can easily fix that. He nods, "That I can do." There's no reason why he should deny anything, you already know he's part of the Foxes – that's the only reason you bothered saving him – and you are well aware about the culture and how no good deed goes without payment.

"Okay, great." You nod, resting the baseball bat against the frame, you've negotiated poorly, and your terms and conditions are promised to be met. Now, you can move along with your life. "Excuse me for a moment," you say, disappearing back into your bedroom to gather up all the things you took from his pockets.

In your short-lived absence, the man glances over at the painkillers and glass of water on the ottoman. He grabs the packet, reading the warning on the bottom half of the box that informs the users of the small percentage of codeine and its addictive properties, only to ignore it and swallows down the pill. It's drugstore painkillers, so of course, it's not going to be the strongest but when it kicks in, it'll help.

You return holding his things, hanging them to him before sitting on the curved back armchair next to the couch. You are unsure of what to do, or say to the brunette. You've never been put in a situation where a gang member is sitting in your apartment, wounded, and you've offered up your silence in turn of safety. Is it time for you to kick him out, or should you try to make conversation?

He, on the other hand, glances down at his phone, texting away to his friends about what happened and how he'll be back soon. There's no doubt that they're all mad about the situation, how he got ambushed by their rivals, and left by a pair of trash bags to bleed out. Though, it's not all that bad, he got saved by a pretty girl who graces him with skimpy shorts and a tank top that loves to plague his imagination. Better yet, this girl happens to be a lawyer, and if he plays his cards right, he can get a run down of loopholes and secure defence.

"So, do I get a name?" You ask, wrapping your cardigan closer around your body. "Or is that confidential? I'm not going to rat you out, I'm barely a lawyer, let alone a narc. And I need a solid ally in case anyone part of your... um, group ambushes me."

"We're allies now?"

"Are you going to give me a name or what?"

You've already seen his face, and he doubts you'll ever be able to say anything to the authorities without ratting yourself out in the process. Also, he's sure he's never going to see you again, or the maximalist, messy design of your apartment... including the row of CD's and records that you keep in that bookshelf despite being in the age of digital streaming.

"You can call me Rin," half a name, but one nonetheless. "Yeah, Rin is good, or Suna, whatever floats your boat." If he could, he'd try and leave, but he doubts he's in a good enough physical state to do so. Also, being stuck in an apartment with a pretty girl makes him want to stay even more. "Do I get a name from you?"

"No."

"Whatever you say sweetheart," Suna shrugs. "So... a lawyer, what made you go down that route?" He questions, wanting to get his mind off the unbearable ache in his body and sharp pain on his side, as he lays back down on the couch. Might as well get some information on you while he's here.

"I'm doing it for the money." You reply, crossing one leg over the other – unaware of how his eyes follow your movements – as you lean back against the seat, finding some sort of strange comfort in talking to a criminal. "I'm an associate, and in ten years I hope to make partner and move out of this place to somewhere closer to my job. I'm aiming for an apartment on the upper east side, maybe west."

"Is that all?" He hums, watching as you glare at him, "Just for the money?"

"Isn't that why we do anything?" You remark, "For the money, so we can sustain ourselves and live. And it's not like I'm doing court law, or criminal justice, I'm mainly interested in business law – contract and tort law – which is what my firm focuses on, including divorce law, because that's where all the money is."

"So, you're just a lawyer who conveniently knows how to bandage up a wound and goes around saving gang members?" Suna comments, "Oh, and how can I forget the whole trading a life thing for safety."

"Well, it's better than running around on the streets causing havoc." You retort, "Besides, becoming a lawyer is in my blood, meaning both my parents are lawyers and I was told as a young girl that I'd be a good one. Whether or not that was a compliment, can be debated. It's a stable career, a respectable one, and once I move up the ranks, I'll be able to order myself town cars."

"And law is something you really want to do?"

You're quiet for a moment before getting up to walk to your kitchen to brew yourself a cup of tea, "Yes. It is. I don't see what else I could do; the arts are a dying career where only one in a million makes a name for themselves, I don't plan on being the next big entrepreneur, and I hated biology and anything medical." You flip on the kettle, hearing it begin to boil as you dig through your tea bags. "Besides, law seemed easy enough, and there's nothing wrong with sitting through prenuptial meetings."

Suna feels a lot better about getting trapped with a lawyer now. He was initially scared of getting trapped with a potential narc with a six-foot pole up their ass, but you, you're just like every other sleazebag lawyer who's in it for the money. It's refreshing.

"Yeah, and I guess there's that whole thing of justice, but I don't even work in that field." You continue, "The justice system is fucked up anyway, and why would I want to contribute to that? I mean, I could get an innocent life out of prison but then again, I could fuck up and let a guilty person run free or risk them getting a reduced sentence. But, I don't work in that type of field, I just praise the people who do."

You wait for the kettle to finish boiling, and once it does, you pour the water into your mug, adding in honey or sugar into the mix before walking back to the living room. Not before grabbing a bag of chips from your shelf, tossing it at him. He is a guest, can't be that rude.

Reluctantly, Suna accepts it. He hasn't been around you long, but the way you've abandoned your baseball bat and returned all his belongings must mean you don't see him as that big of a threat. Well, how could you? You saw him at his weakest, and he hasn't given you a reason to be afraid... or he hopes he hasn't. Additionally, you're not that much of a threat either, you're smart enough to get through law school, attend an ivy, and work as an associate at a well-known firm in the city. And while he doesn't see much of what you do in your private life, he can see the few small framed photographs on the lamp tables next to him.

He can see you partying with friends, clearly drunk at the time when the photograph was taken, which must mean that you do know how to have fun in whatever spare time you have. Also, your refusal to give him a name eliminates the idea of him ever searching you up online. Meaning, whatever worries he's supposed to have can easily be debunked.

"So, what exactly is your role?" You ask.

"I work in the background, I help plan out whatever, I stay on guard, I'm there to protect them." He explains as vaguely as he can, not wanting to give the gorey details of his role or job description. By the way you nod, it's clear you accept that fact since you don't bat an eye or demand an explanation. Both of you know that the less you know the better. "Are you not scared of me?"

You can't blame him for wondering. Usually, you'd be terrified or the slightest bit frightened, but enough has happened tonight to make talking to a criminal the most normal thing. However, he's not exactly the worst presence. Sure, you can see the way he's looking at you, feel his gaze burn into your skin, how they trail up and down your body – and while it gets a piece of your heart racing, at least you know that he isn't planning on harming you.

"No." You shake your head, "I mean, you probably would scare me if I were to be walking alone on the street at this time of night, and I would definitely be terrified if you happened to be with all your friends. But you're alone, in my apartment, I can see your face, and you're wounded. You can't hurt me, at this point in time, I'm a lot stronger than you."

Unfortunately, you make a good point. He doubts he can walk comfortably, let alone act as a proper threat. "Right, of course," he hums, noticing the obvious blood stain on your couch. "Sorry about that, sweetheart." He comments, "I'll get you a new couch."

"Good," you say, biting back a smile. "I'd prefer one in cream, or even this light grey. In terms of style, I'd like one with a wider back and comfy cushions – like a cloud couch – if you can find one that will fit this apartment, that'd be great."

Suna's lips twitch up in a smile as he listens to you give him a detailed description, you avoid his eyes, staring down at the steam coming out of your mug. He tries to sit up to get your attention before it fades away – and for the act of dramatics, he lets out an exaggerated groan, which causes you to rush towards him – you place your mug on the lamp table behind you and crawl onto the floor in front of him.

You push him back down onto the couch, the force being more painful than when he tried to get up, you lift his shirt up to examine the damage you poorly tried to cover up, it looks fine physically, but you can't imagine what he's feeling. "I can't do much, as I said, I'm not a licensed medical professional." You say, moving down his stained shirt. Your touch ignites a trail of flames along his abdomen that takes all his willpower to fight.

"At least, I'm alive and not curled up by a pile of trash." He remarks.

"Yeah, but who's to say that's going to happen again?" You question, "Next time you get into a situation like this, I can't guarantee that someone will be there to patch you up in time."

"If it's not you patching me up, I don't want to live."

"Oh," you say, surprised, backing up from him. "Well, that doesn't give you an excuse to show up to my doorstep all bloody if it does end up happening again."

It has been a week since you've seen Suna.

Last friday you were nursing a gang member back to life with the promise of safety for silence, and a new couch – both of which you aren't sure you're going to get anytime soon. Instead, you still clutch your taser while you walk home, and you've done your best to wash the stain on the couch cushion. However, nothing is getting rid of that disgusting, faded stain, so you've opted to flip it over and hope time will make you forget.

The individual lamps and overhead lights illuminate the apartment, the candles flames are burning– casting a mixed scent of florals, vanilla, and lavender – creating the perfect ambiance for a Friday night in.

You sigh, collecting a mountain of rice – from your ready-made curry – on your spoon, curled up on your couch, gaze fixed on the television that plays an old show you were obsessed with in your teens. Beside you, is a glass of wine filled with ice cubes, and the bottle is placed on the floor awaiting refill. What else is there for you to do than stay home on a Friday night?

"Previously on Pretty Little Liars," you hear play through the speakers, shoving a mountain of food into your mouth, "It's Mona– Hanna won so Mona loses..."

You sink down into the couch, suddenly engrossed in the recap. It's been a while since you've had time to catch up on television, so the recaps serve a well-needed purpose to remind you of the over-the-top drama and plethora of plotholes. There is nothing better than unwinding after a long, long, week at work. Grabbing the wine glass, ice cubes clinking as you bring the drink up to your lips.

It's an odd combination, putting ice cubes in wine– that's unheard of – but you don't mind the diluted taste, also, you aren't the biggest fan of wine, it just seemed classier than making yourself a sad looking cocktail. Though, given the fact you're watching one of the more questionable teen mystery dramas, wine with ice does not seem like the worst situation.

You could have easily gone out, but all your friends are all too tired to go out, and drinks at bars are far too expensive. And let's be honest, going out by yourself is possibly one of the most depressing things a person could do, also that would mean walking home by yourself intoxicated. Obviously, that's not the smartest or safest decision, given the current rise in crime.

Engrossed in the show, absentmindedly feeding yourself until you're scraping the plastic container with your spoon picking up scraps. Sighing, you slide off the sofa, dragging your feet towards the kitchen where you toss out the empty container and dump your spoon into the sink. Half of your attention is still focused on the television, not wanting to miss anything going on.

Drifting back towards the couch, leaning against the armrest as you refill your wine glass, bringing the bitter alcohol to your lips and tasting it on your tongue. This will be your second glass of the night, the first glass came and went as quickly as the previous episode did.

A loud knock on the door sounds throughout the apartment, causing you to choke on your drink. Frightened, you place the glass down on the lamp table, pushing yourself away from the couch as cautiously and quietly as you can. Walking on your tiptoes back to the kitchen, reaching into a drawer for a knife.

Of course you're not going to open the door, you're not stupid. You're simply going to sit against it, clutching the knife until whoever is on the other side goes away... like a responsible, intelligent, adult. It could be someone with the wrong address, despite how persistent they are on knocking. And no criminal would think of knocking either!

Maybe you should turn off the television, give the illusion that no is home, or alternatively, you could turn the volume all the way up and drown out the sound of their fist pounding against wood. Nevertheless, hiding out in front of this door with a knife seems like the safest option. If things go wrong, and the intruder does break in, you can stab them and leave their body on the street.

Crime isn't news around this area, unfortunate things occur all the time! And the police, being police, won't bother stepping in. It's an accidental murder in a bad part of town, or another victim to gang violence, they won't bother finding out it was a kitchen knife that caused the death. Morally, will it crush you? Yes. It will.

You lean back against the door, the continuous knocks do not falter... Until they do, you hear them rest their head against the wood. Maybe they've finally given up. Slowly, you get up from the floor, the faint noise of police sirens flying by. You backpedal until your back hits the counter, reluctantly, you place the knife on the surface behind you.

Heart racing in your chest, then you hear it. You hear him. "Sweetheart, open the door." His voice is muffled, but a simple piece of wood is not going to hide the exhaustion lacing his tone. "Please," he adds.

You hope that your home isn't the new hideout for gang members running from the police, but you can't stop yourself from quickly striding towards the front door and swinging it open. "Oh my god," you gasp, catching him in your arms before he plummets onto the floor. Stumbling back, you quickly catch your balance and drop him on the couch – the same way you did last week – where he falls back, arms resting on the back cushions.

Apparently, Suna has taken an involuntary liking towards you and insists on showing up outside your apartment, and door every time he gets hurt. At least, this time around, he's not shot, stabbed, or badly wounded, he just looks a little... beat up. Busted lip, and black eye that's beginning to form. You know this is not the time, but god does he look so good.

Lord knows what he's gotten himself into, why he's bruised or why out of all the places he could run, he ran here... to you. What happened? Why is he suddenly out of breath, unable to stand, and exhausted on your couch? You climb over him, straddling his lap, and grab his face between your fingers, forcing him to look at you. "What the hell have you gotten yourself into?" You huff, slapping the side of his face to jolt him awake, "This is no time for a nap Rin, you need to tell me what happened."

Even in this dazed state of mind, even after running five blocks, being chased by both the police and the Crows as a distraction while his team can get away. Getting cornered, beat up (not as bad as the others), picking the lock to get into your building, then running up the stairs, and waiting for you to let him in. He can still appreciate the sight in front of him, including those shorts, his hands running up your thighs, leaning his head back while his lips turn up into a smirk.

"Sorry, sweetheart, I had to run, and believe it or not, this is the safest place for me." He mutters, sitting up to lean in close to you. "And I know you won't refuse me," he hums. Suna's breath is hot against yours, his touch running up and down your thighs setting a fire to burn and a shiver to involuntarily run down your spine. He kicks off his shoes, opting to make himself comfortable on your couch.

"This is not your safe haven," you scoff, pressing a hand flat on his chest to push him back from you as you climb off his lap. You storm over to the kitchen, opening the small freezer hatch on your fridge to pull out a frozen bag of peas for his eye. Sure, it's not your job to care for him, but you can't help doing it – as if it has been engraved in your memory after one experience. You toss the frozen peas at him, which he luckily knows what they're for. "I did you a favour, which you have yet to return, by the way."

He holds the frozen bag of peas up to his eye, this is not the warm welcome he's been expecting, and for your information he has kept up one side of his deal. He has kept your street a no-go zone, and he has been making sure that you are safe. Sure, his methods are a bit stalkerish, he's been trailing you to and from work – lurking from the shadows and wiping out any potential threats that come your way. In terms of the new couch... he's working on it.

"Don't tell me that you're running from the police," you say, beginning to pace back and forth in your living room. "What do you think you're doing?" You exclaim, "You can't keep coming here to hide from the police! Do they know what you look like? Do they know that you came here? Do you know that my entire career can be ruined?"

"Calm down sweetheart," Suna hums. "No one knows I'm here, you're fine. And speaking of the police... yeah, I'm running from them, but I managed to get away through a couple short cuts. Trust me, you're safe." He stands from the couch, one long stride taken to reach you, his hands running down your arms in a somewhat reassuring manner. With one hand tilting up your chin, "And I wanted to see you."

His eyes are mesmerising, a perfect combination of green, yellow, and grey. It's hard to not melt under their gaze. Your hand wraps around his wrist, moving his touch away from your face before turning on your heel to walk towards your bedroom. He hates to see you leave, but he loves to watch you walk away. Maybe this is the universe repaying him for almost dying, it sent an angel in the form of you.

"Wanted to see me," you mutter to yourself, packing up the mess on your bed. The files, loose papers, highlighters, notes, and your laptop. You move them to sit on your cluttered vanity. "As flattering as that is," you continue, "I'd rather you come see me when you're not running from law enforcement. You owe me."

"Sorry to add insult to injury, but I was wondering if I could camp out here for the night?" Suna asks, leaning against the doorframe of your room. He knows you're not going to deny him refuge, whether you want to admit it or not. You don't have it in your heart to leave him out in the rain. Even if you want him gone, he's not going to leave. He's never been that good at taking hints – hence the black eye and busted lip. "Just for the night."

"One night." You sigh, "Only if –" there's always a catch "– you avoid robbing my bank, and stay clear of where I work, and make sure that everyone knows that. And no more attracting police to this side of town," you list. "And if you're going to stay here frequently, I'm going to need some sort of compensation."

"Is that all?"

"Yes." You nod, "now," you begin pushing the brunette back into the living room and onto the couch. Since he's here, may as well check up on how that old stab wound is going. You force him down onto the sofa, his back hitting the cushions – the wind escaping his lungs – as you lift up his shirt. There's still a nasty cut that's bound to turn into an even worse scar, but at least it's healing correctly.

"You sure are quite aggressive," he comments, propping his head up with his hands as he looks up at you. "I don't mind, kinda like it." He purrs, softly laughing at the way you pull his shirt back down and storm up off the ground, grabbing your wine glass and downing the rest of the contents. "I was just teasing babe, no need to overreact."

"Are you aware that you're an idiot?" You comment, placing your glass and the wine bottle on the kitchen counter.

"Do you like that I'm an idiot?" He retorts. He's got a bit of a little infatuation with you. A hot shot associate with a morally grey high ground, and a weakness for criminals like him. It is not everyday a pretty normal girl like you fixes him up and lets him into the apartment while he's running from the cops.

"The same way I like how I continuously find myself harbouring a fugitive." You reply, "It could be better. And can you please either use the frozen peas or put them back in the freezer."

You have better things to do! Sure, the situation could be worse. At least Suna is decent to look at, and he's alright company who doesn't want to kill you, and you have felt the slightest bit safer on your walks to and from work. Though, it's not like you're thrilled to have him in your apartment.

He gets up from the couch, places the peas back where they belong, then slides in next to you. He grabs the wine bottle, taking a swig from the bottle. You watch him intently, the way his Adam's apple moves, the beginning traces of a bruise forming around his eye, and the cut on his lip. He still wears that stupid leather jacket, but at least there's no blood on his hands, legs, or torso. Suna glances at you from the corner of his eye, holding the bottle firmly in his hand, "Take a picture. It lasts longer."

"I would," you say, "but that would mean proving a direct affiliation with you. And lord knows if you ever get caught, I'd rather die than testify in court and risk losing all respect I have in this industry."

"I get it," he shrugs, "I'm bad news, but that doesn't mean I'm necessarily a bad person. I mean, you make money off people's brokens marriages, shouldn't that equate to something? I think that we both do bad things, but we're not bad people."

"Comparing me to you is a low blow," you snort. "That's like comparing apples and oranges."

"They're both fruit aren't they? They both grow on trees, they both make juice." Suna argues, "One is sure, significantly better than the other, but that all depends on personal preference."

You meet his eyes, seeing nothing other than the greyish-green hues. He's got that tough exterior that can draw any girl toward him – including you – the danger that people write about, the allure and flirty personality that makes him less of an asshole and more human. He is the fallen angel that the universe sent to you as a form of twisted karma and dilemma of morals that cross a line. He's beautiful, prideful, a criminal, but has got a strong sense of loyalty and protection. Why else will he make himself the scapegoat to every situation?

"Yeah, well, anyone with a brain can tell who's the better one of the both of us."

"If this is about breaking the law," he says, placing the bottle down on the counter. He steps in front of you, trapping you between his arms, pushing you back against the counter as his body presses against yours. "You're breaking a lot by being here with me, hiding me from the law, trading silence for safety, I'm sure there's something in the constitution that you've broken by not turning me in." He lowers his voice, dipping his head down to yours, "I'm sure if I string enough together, you can be charged with aiding and abetting."

"That's one thing out of the many covering your roster."

He bends down, lips brushing against your own. Heart pounding against your chest. He's so close. Remnants of his cologne fill your senses; oak, wood, musk, sweet amber, cardamom, raspberry. He's addictive in all the ways he shouldn't be. A real fallen angel. Beautiful, perfect, but dangerous, treacherous, and duplicitous. But what does that make you? You're addicting, the light in his dark tunnel, his bittersweet obsession that he cannot indulge in.

"You don't care." He rasps, "If you did, you would have kicked me out. You like me, you like having a dirty little secret, you fucking revel in it."

You don't respond, verbally that is. You break the small gap between the two of you. He reciprocates the action, deepens the kiss, presses you further back against the counter. A hand gripping your hip, while the other travels up your neck, holding under your jaw tight between his fingers. His body against yours, fingers wrapping around the belt loops of his jeans trying desperately to pull him closer. It's messy, driven, and lustful.

Your hands travel under his shirt, feeling the burning skin and the shiver that runs down his spine. The hand he has on your hips, his fingers dig harder into your side while the one around your neck shifts to the nape, reaching up to tug at the roots of your hair. The throaty moan that he elicits from you sends him into overdrive, fuck you're addictive. He wants you, so bad. He needs you.

Palms placed flat on his stomach you step forward, pushing him back onto the couch. He takes in the sight of you, standing over him in those little shorts and tank top that hugs your body so well. You climb on top of him, straddling his lap, and his hands instinctively run up the back of your thighs, sliding under your shorts. Rough hands making themselves comfortable, holding the flesh in his hands, squeezing hard as he helps you grind down onto him. He's hard as a fucking rock, and your moving against him so needy. The friction against your clit, slow and tortuous, small whimpers and staggered breaths that Suna swallows.

Your hands move to move the leather jacket off his body, which he tosses across the living room, leaving him in a black muscle tee that shows off all the hidden, scattered tattoos on his arms you've never had the pleasure of seeing. His fingers grab the front of your tank top, tugging down the fabric to expose you to him. His cold hand cupping your tit, the pad of his thumb running over a hardened nipple as goosebumps scatter down your body and you press down further into the bulge in his jeans.

"Fuck," he groans at your reaction, breaking away from your lips to kiss down your jaw, neck, collarbones, before his lips wrap around your chest. His tongue pressing against you, teeth grazing your skin, while his hand continues to work and massage against the other.

Your back arches, hands tangling themselves in his brown hair, continuously grinding against him as his leaves scatter hickey across your chest. "Sweetheart, you're killing me." He murmurs, reconnecting your lips together. You hum against him, lifting your arms in the air as he pulls off your top, throwing it across your apartment before he does the same with his shirt.

You begin to kiss down his chest, his torso, his stomach, falling down to the floor in front of him – between his legs – as you undo his belt. Suna's eyes fixed on you, the sweetly dangerous glimmer in your eyes as you unbutton and unzip his jeans. He lips his hips, allowing you to pull them down – jeans and briefs – letting his clothes drop to the floor. He shudders the second your hand wraps around his dick, head dropping back and hands gripping onto your hair.

Wrapping your lips around the sensitive tip, you tease the spot hearing desperate whimpers escape his throat. Tongue flat against him, head beginning to bob back and forth, cheeks hollowing out as you literally suck the soul out of him. The salty taste of pre-cum on your tongue, his hands firmly entwined in your hair as he lets out a strain of whimpers, bucking his hips up, controlling your movements making you take him deeper in your mouth, his cock hitting the back of your throat repeatedly.

Tears begin to prickle in your eyes. Head moving back and forth at a faster pace, his hands knotted in your hair as he takes control, fucking your mouth. Looking up through teary eyes, laying eyes on a sinful sight. His abdomen flexing, head thrown back, eyes shut, and Adam's apple moving at every repressed whimper and moan. You grip onto his thighs as he increases his pace.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." Breathless moans coming out in repeated pleas that chase a high. He's so close, impatient, and seeking a heavy and desperate release. "Just like that baby, keep going."

You don't stop, you continue as a mess of fallen tears, pre-cum and saliva. You can't breathe, throat filled with his cock. He fucks your throat, using you for pleasure. He fucks your mouth, swollen head hitting the back of your throat, shuddering as you to swallow or gasp for air. You feel his dick twitch, and in seconds a hot load is shot down your throat and his grip on you loosens. You swallow down his cum, tongue and lips cleaning him up. Once, your lips remove themselves from his cock, he wastes no time to pull you up and reconnect your lips, tasting him on your tongue. You stand from your knees, and he pulls down your shorts along with the simple black panties, then pulls you down onto the couch, laying you on your back.

He hovers over you, hand wrapping itself around your throat as he kisses you. The other, spreads your leg, calloused rough fingers pressing against your cunt. Using the arousal to rub against your clit, a harsh play of light and rough. Fingers pressing hard against your clit, causing a strained moan to sound through the living room, he rubs against the bud. Playing between teasing movements, to forceful mechanisms. He's fast and slow, teasing you, edging you.

"Rin," you muster out, biting down on his lip which pushes him to give you what you need. Working his fingers swiftly, skillfully, roughly against your clit. You squirm beneath him, he's vicious against you, his free hand kneading your tit in a hard grasp. "Fuck, Rin." You moan, chest rising and falling, as he quickens his pace. Eyes rolling to the back of your head, you grip onto the armrest of the couch, mouth agape.

Legs twitching, as he brings you to an insatiable climax. His fingers are covered in your slick. He brings them up to his mouth, getting a taste of what he's missing out of. He doesn't waste time, wrapping your legs around his shoulders before he buries himself in your cunt. Lips wrapping themselves around your clit, sucking on it, his tongue moving at a rapid pace. He feels how sensitive you are. Fingers digging into your thighs, sucking your clit into his mouth.

You're a mess, a writhing, mess. And the way he looks up at you through half lidded eyes, buried between your thighs. You sink your hands into his hair, looking for something to hold onto. A groan rumbles in his throat, sending you farther over the edge. He increases his pace, devouring you like a starved man who hasn't eaten in years. He's pushing you over the edge, your heels digging into his back, pulling at his hair, forcing him deeper into you.

To add fuel to the fire, he thrusts two fingers inside you, curling into your sweet spot that has you bucking your hips into his mouth. He pumps his fingers in and out of you, perfectly matching the pace of his tongue. He continues until he feels you come undone, pleasure and heat clouding your vision as he pulls away from you. He examines the sight, leaning in close to you.

"I need to feel you." He pleads, the blood already rushing back to his dick, "I need you sweetheart."

You nod, "Please." Whispering, "It's fine, I'm on the pill." You reassure.

He almost collapses right there and then, letting out a whimper as he slides into you. Feeling you raw and whole, he's going crazy, losing his mind at the way you suck him in. Your walls around his dick, warm and so good that he could come right there and then. His find is spinning, he's going absolutely feral over being in you. He slowly moves out, before bottoming out, stealing your breath in the process. That's all he needed, the feeling of having you grip around him.

Suna thrusts into you, picking up a faster speed and your ragged breaths urging him on. He revels in the way your tits bounce, his movements causing the sinful shake of your body. Your nails digging into his back, scratching the skin. If he could save this as a permanent memory in his mind, he would, and he'd replay it over and over again in his dreams. He bottoms out, rolling his hips each time he does so, thrusting in and out at a faster speed and pace.

He then pulls out, the lack of touch jolting you back from your daze, only for him to flip you over onto your stomach, harsh grip on your hips as he lifts your ass in the air. He grips onto the flesh, holding it in his palms while he tugs them towards him in a big thrust. You let out a moan, face buried into the couch cushions, as he pounds into you.

Dick reaches deep into your cunt, watches you shake under him, the couch shakes, and the lamps shake. He holds both your wrists in his hands, pinning them behind your back, as he pushes himself faster, rougher, crazier than he did before. The sound of skin slapping on skin echoing throughout the apartment, mixed in with your strained whimpers and his throaty groans. "You like this?" He mutters.

This is so much better than he imagined. All the nights he spent with his hand wrapped around his dick in the shower and in bed. The thought of you crumbling beneath him, moaning out his name, becoming nothing but putty underneath him. The thought of him pounding into you relentlessly, feeling you bare and raw, the way your walls wrap around his cock. Imagination never could have prepared him for this, it's so much better than he imagined.

You're so wet around him. He fucks into you, in and out so quickly that you can't even grasp onto the feeling despite your cunt quivering and tightening around him every time he fills you. He lands a hard slap on your ass, only to rub over the red spot, roughly massaging and kneading the flesh. Suna continues to go harder, faster, more feral, moving both your hips to meet. Back is arched and he pushes you further down into the cushions, if that's even possible.

"You're no saint sweetheart," his hips stuttering, "you fucking love getting fucked dirty by a criminal." He rasps, tugging you up by your arms, whispers close to your ear sending a shiver down your spine. "Tell me how much you love it," he instructs. "Go on."

"I love it." You breathe out. Suna forcefully pushes you back down onto the couch, harshly pounding into you, "Fuck, so good."

"No one's ever gonna fuck you as good as I will. I'm going to make you mine, I'm going to corrupt you, I'll protect you." His voice falters at the feeling of you tightening around him, his cock twitching in response. "Fuck, you're mine. Mine only, and I'll fucking kill anyone who comes near you."

You listen to him, losing all sense of strength in your body. You're so close, he knows you are. "Rin, please keep going, I'm so close." You whimper, and he endures, picking up his pace and pushing into you faster, deeper, and harder until you become a limp mess, tightening around him, giving him the greenlight to release.

He cums inside you, white liquid filling you and dripping out as he pulls out. Your hips fall to the couch, as you flip over in time for him to collapse on top of you. If you didn't need a new couch before, you definitely need one now. His arms wrap under your body, he lays between your legs, head resting on your rising and falling chest, hearing your heartbeat in his ears. You brush your fingers through his hair.

He meant what he said. You're his, and he will fucking kill anyone who comes near you. 

i. start of something new

ii. be careful what you give your voice to