Don't Listen In Secret

You giggle triumphantly, although tired from a long day at the arcade. Nagi doesn't understand this aching he feels in chest whenever he sees you smile. Normally, he wouldn't be phased by your overwhelmingly outgoing behavior. "You did? Yay... I'm glad!" Your giggles die down into huffs of laughter after you reply. It took alot to convince Nagi to leave the comfort of his dorm and honestly, you don't know how you did it. You hold the miffy plushie close to your chest as you wave one of its arms at him. "You really like that thing, huh." You shake your head, a grin plastered on your face. "Nah, I just like it because it reminds me of you!" His face is unreadable as he responds with a murmur. "Reminds you of me...?" He doesn't see the resemblance. "Yep! You both look comfy to hug and fun to be around." With a sigh through his nose, he pats your head. For a moment, he carries a dazed look in his eyes as if he's contemplating something. He leans forward and...

Lays his entire body onto you, to the point where you had no choice but to drop the poor plush in order to catch him.

"Oi! You're heavy!" You shout in annoyance but you never push him away. It's the little things you said or did that made the aching in his chest appear. It's a pain to deal with, he thinks. And even though you're the one causing it, he wants to be with you more. You sigh, patting his back in a silent plea to get him off. The burning blush on your face is evidence of the vision you had if something else happened. Perhaps, on another day, it might happen.

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notes: i admired my little miffy keychain today and thougut of nagi haha. this idea popped in my head afterwards and i had to jot it down quickly!

Your passion for your craft came as a discovery not influenced by those around you, but from your own enjoyment. The discouragement from others had almost guided you away from this path, letting their misunderstandings cloud your judgement. However, after countless nights of pondering whether your talents were enough to risk it all, you decided it was.

In a fit of impulsivity and a little bit of hope, you arrive at the front door of an artist your family occasionally commissioned. It was late at night but you hoped she'd be awake. When an older woman answers the door a couple of minutes after your timid knocking, you sigh in relief.

That night was the start of a long journey. One that had you secretly working on projects late at night. Ms. Bachira, the artist you've gotten familiar with, had taught you from afar. She believes that art is a concept intimate to solely the artist and their work; meaning it is an activity that inspires one's freedom in expressing themselves. With that in mind, art became a window into your mind and a mirror for your perception of everything around you.

Your works caught the attention of Ms. Bachira... and her son, Meguru, who was the same age as you.

In the bright mornings of summer, he'd see different unfinished pieces. Sometimes the same artwork would be seen for weeks, others would last a day. No matter the medium, he found himself attracted to it, staring intently before running out the door to play with his ball. He knew of you since his mother occasionally brought you up in conversation. However, Meguru didn't bother to try to meet you yet.

He didn't need to when he found you hunched over on a stool working on pottery.

The machine's whirring echoed in the room of the studio as he was left staring at you. You were working carefully, the sleeves of your crinkled shirt were rolled intensely to your shoulders. He concluded that if he tried to talk to you, he'd mess you up so with a small smile, he retreats to his room.

Often times you've heard your classmates call Meguru weird and you wondered why, especially when all he does is play football alone. You've seen him play in the backyard when you came to his house early enough. It was inspiring, really, and almost sad that he was playing by himself. The stories you'd hear of him from his mother were endearing and you couldn't understand how he, of all people, could be weird.

When you reached your half-finished painting, you scrap it and grabbed a new one. This feeling of lonliness overwhelms you but it wasn't yours. It was Meguru's. You tried to paint it, letting the brush guide your strokes and the colors bring to life both the joys and struggles Meguru might have. For the first time, you didn't sketch or brainstorm--- you feel. When you finished, pride swelled within you. In other occasions, you'd probably try to do the same piece again with less error but it was perfect even with its imperfections.

Months go by and the school semester has you busier than you imagined. Your escapades to the Bachira household were less frequent but you managed to keep creating wonderful artworks. On a free afternoon, you decided to attend one of your high school's football games with the purpose of getting quick gesutre drawings of the players. As embarrassing as it was, you find yourself staring at Meguru. The way he played was different than the other players, seemingly enjoying the game with a noticeable smile on his face. While the others struggled, he did not and you found the disconnect odd. You figured the team would be more in sync since they practice formations and other things similar to that. To satisfy your curiosity, you search for Meguru and find him dribbling the ball alone on the way home.

"Why'd you guys lose?"

He turned around to look at you before responding. He tilted his head with a grin after recognizing you. "Because they couldn't keep up with me." You gave him a look. "You could've went for the goal instead of passing, y'know." He put his hands up in a shrug and his smile turned into a small smirk. "But wouldn't it be more exciting to score a super goal than a normal one?" He swiftly lifts with his feet, doing some balancing acts with it. You huff through your nose. "Only if-" "-Someone could keep up with me! Right?" He interrupts you with a giggle. At first, you were annoyed but realized that maybe he did have a point. Compared to everyone else on the team, his movements on the field seemed second nature to him. It was spontaneous, much like his personality. In a way, the field was his canvas and his moves were his marks of paint. Together, they make something beautiful... and it reminded you of your experience with art. There was silence, save for the rhythm of the ball on his feet, until you spoke up.

"Do you think we could've been friends?"

You think about the question you blurted out for a moment, recalling your past. Meguru looks up to the sky in thought as well before giving you the brightest smile you've ever seen.

"Who says we aren't right now?"

A smile creeps up to your face. You laugh as you wonder why you didn't befriend such a wonderful person sooner.

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notes: woah... honestly, i was planning angst. writing on the fly is an experience bwahaha. at first, i wanted to make it more universal to readers but... i guess i secretly wanted to capitalize on bachira's mom being an artist.

From the way his body language betrays what he says, shifting his weight from one leg to the other to his straight lined smile and absentminded nodding; it's safe to say that he wasn't socially adept in bigger crowds at the bar. Yet, he was perfect for you. You who just wanted to forget the loneliness and the stresses of daily life--- Vernon was an anomaly that interrupted your night out clubbing. He didn't try to swoon you to bed or anything else that had secret intentions. He respected your space and talked to you normally, as if you were old high school friends. It definitely wasn't... the experience you wanted but rather needed; someone to hear out your troubles.

After months of knowing him, you guys tried sleeping with eachother and it became a thing that happened often. For someone who's terribly awkward, he was good at making you feel good, maybe even assured--- a feeling you hadn't experienced in a while. He made you temporarily forget about everything bad in the world and he was the first to do so.

Asking him out was probably a mistake. "Oh... Did you want to date?" In response to your confirmation, he just nods with that straight smile on his face. He shifts to laying on his arm on the bed, clearly uncomfortable. He doesn't say a word, like how he did when you first met at bar. There was a deafening silence that weighs heavily on the both of you before you speak up to change the topic. He never came back after that day.

Two weeks go by with nothing but texting, even then it was dry. Regret, embarrassment, and anxiety consumes you every day since then. Even work can't distract you from how you feel--- Did you read into him too much? Did he not feel the same way as you? Was he not as special as you thought?

Before you knew it, it was your birthday. Your best friends and family greet you with many wishes and gifts but they weren't enough to fully soothe your aching heart. Maybe some part of you hoped he'd show up at your apartment or even send you a text. The evening comes quick and so does the snow. It descends onto the ground and parts of the building, gently piling up to make a winter wonderland.

Your eyes follow a few people, boredly looking out the window and you swear you saw someone familiar walk into the entrance of the apartment building. Brushing it off, you roll over and cover yourself with the blankets.

There's three knocks on the door. When you open the door, your heart drops.

"Happy birthday."

Vernon doesn't avoid your gaze as he holds a small bouquet of your favorite flowers. You're more confused than happy, wondering why he suddenly appears with a romantic gesture after so long. He can tell so he figures he should explain his actions in his own way. In the way he fidgets with the wrapping paper of the bouquet, a hand in his jean pocket... Shifting his weight from one leg to the other. Through his long eyelashes he looks at you, his every word speaks his honest truth: he was scared and more or less was overthinking his feelings. It wasn't as complicated as he thought it was because---

"Yeah, I like you. I always have."

Since meeting at the bar, every normal hang out, even during the hook ups, Vernon had always felt strongly about you. It was in the way he looked at you longingly, paid attention to complaints you had about your job, and celebrated the tiny victories you had during the day. He likes you more than he realizes and it shows more in his actions. Yeah, he was always socially awkward but despite this, he'll try his best to tell you how he honestly feels. And he feels that you're the one.

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notes: unedited and totally not looked over, but i wrote him to the best of my abilityㅠㅠ this was written for a friend who finally married vernon in the sims lol