Whoops!

“Look at me.”

“Wanna see how good I’m making you feel.”

He feels rejuvenated.

Like the type of rejuvenation you get after a long restful sleep. After a light breakfast and a two mile run, after ecstasy. Nearly half inclined to jump out of bed and break into a full sprint just to see how far he’d get - he feels reinvigorated. Renewed and revitalized. He’s glowing, he’s sure. And he wouldn’t be too far off figuring that it was all because of the figure laying beside him.

He has…never had sex like that. Never. Has never felt so completely one with another person, never felt so inclined to look for the seam between him and whoever it is curled up in his sheets. He’s had one night stands sure. Dime-like dames that are good for an overnight rush but he’s forgotten them by morning. Fixes and scratched itches, but this - this was an experience. Empiricism and philosophy, a finesse on physicality and someone that felt like they truly knew him, and knew how to make him feel good.

Now if only he knew their name.

Familiar hues make brush-like strokes through his clearer memories as he fishes through a night obscured by cheap beer and whisky. - He remembers a smile, bell-like laughter that makes his cheeks hot and his hands clammy. Tooru reaches for his cup and takes another swallow.

He wonders what that dress might look like on his bedroom floor.

You’re familiar. Someone he knows, or at least he wants to know, that if not for the palliative haze would be recognizable with a little more thought. His nerves are what have him searching for liquid courage. You say something and he laughs, it’s the only thing keeping him from kissing you. You’re the only person in the room - you’re upstairs somehow and everything’s suddenly too hot. You’re soft.

“You’re so pretty, Tooru.”

He shivers.

Whoever this is, whoever’s curled up in his blanket right now, naked and cotton like under the peaking sun; whatever angel it is that walked into last night’s house party and captivated him so critically last night. - Fucked him within an inch of his life. And if the way you’ve started to shift in their sleep means anything, he’s about to find out who that is.

You sigh as you come to. Stretch and then yawn. There’s alarm bells going off in his head but he doesn’t know why.

And then you lay on your back.

You’re the transfer!

Tooru’s breath nearly audibly hitches as you stretch again, pretty enough to block out the sun and he suddenly remembers why he went so heavy on the sauce last night.

But you don't look like you’re faring any better when you start to realize who he is either.

“Oi…Oikawa…?”

His charms are a falsehood but he smiles like he’s not already losing his mind. “Morning, sunshine.” His voice crackles. “Hope you slept as well as I did.”

Your stare’s a little stagnated by a look he doesn’t recognize but you’re back in motion with a humored huff. “….I did.” You point your nose to the ceiling. “Your bed’s really comfortable.”

“Last night’s kind of blanking on me though,” You add before he gets a chance to retort. “We didn’t just both decide to get naked and fall asleep in your bed, did we?”

“Wan’ it inside, Tooru! Wanna feel you inside!”

He inhales shakenly. “I’m afraid not.”

“Huh.” And the way you bite your lip has him following it out of your teeth. “That…wasn’t quite the impression I was going for when we talked last night.”

What? Was rocking his world not what you were going for? “Is this not a good impression?”

“I wanted to make friends with you.” You pout. “At least - I wasn’t trying to get into your pants when we first met.”

You chuckle when he leans in, hand comfy on either side of your thighs as he tilts his head to get a better whiff of your perfume. His breath is warm and ticklish.

“Peach on the beach?” He guesses.

“Mango matrimony.” You correct. “You like it?”

He’s brazen as he hums against your neck, impatient but collected as every sanguine skim of his lips inclines you to shiver from where they climb up your jawline. You let out a sigh that makes him goosebump; and for a moment he feels like he’s won it all.

He shrugs. “It’s alright.”

“Just alright?”

Tooru smirks before he goes in for the kill. “Yeah.”

“We can still be friends?” Tooru says. I mean with a fuck like that’d he’d rather be so much more but- “We can take things slow. If you want…?”

“You wanna… take things slow?”

“Is that okay?” After last night? “We can be friends and then… see what happens?” He’ll beg if he has to.

You look at him a pensive moment before nodding.

“Okay.” He follows the curve in your hips as you turn in his direction. “Let’s take things slow then.”

He tries not to look too obvious as he portions out a relieved breath. Slow. Honestly, after what you put him through last night he might just be willing to wait a lifetime if that meant he’d have you all to himself again. Just having you in his bed like this, peeking at you from his peripheral and ducking his head when his heart starts to race. He feels… like a teenager. Like a nervous little boy high off his first time wiping his palm sweat on the sheets. He likes you. He realizes. He thinks he might have even before he bumped into you at that rager last night. Distantly, he wonders why it took him so long to scope you out like he did. But with the way your quiet breaths are turning his shaky, he could probably take a guess.

It’s embarrassing how quickly he turns his head when you start to speak again. “Um, before that though..”

“Hm?”

“Do you wanna…” You hesitate a little bashfully. “Go again?”

Tooru sighs. “God, I was hoping you’d ask that.”

He’s in love with you.

He’s sure. From the moment you walked into his morning lecture to the hours spent worshiping you head to toe, heated lips pressing scorch marks on his skin, and the way your voice sounds when you’re begging for him to give you more. - He’s in love with you. Making heart eyes from across the lecture hall and daydreaming on the next chance he’ll have to press his lips against yours. Taste you again-

“Stop being weird, Shittykawa.” He’s out of his daze when a hefty arm knicks against his. “You can’t just stare at her like that. You’re acting like one of your shitty fan girls.”

“We’re meant to be Iwa-chan.” Tooru sighs out. “You’re just jealous I’ve got dibs on her first.”

“Only thing I’m jealous about is how easy it is for a dumbass like you to completely turn his brain off like it’s nothing.” He pulls his laptop out of his book bag. “You can have your damn dibs, I’m not delusional enough to think I’ll get with the transfer student of all things.”

“No, no,” Maki waves him off beside him as he leans back in his seat. “Don’t put him off yet.”

Hajime raises a curious eyebrow at the unusually glum faces of his two friends beside him. Issei sighs hopelessly. “He fucked her.”

“What?”

“The stupid asshole fucked the transfer student.”

“Hey!”

Hajime scowls. “You’re fucking with me.”

“‘fraid not.” Maki blows a quick breath out through his nose. “Heard ‘em both through the wall of my flat.” And his hands are raw just thinking about it.

“She’s a singer, alright. You can definitely hear it.”

Tooru ducks from what is very surely about to be a good whack on the shoulder from his best friend, a little pink on the cheeks as he scowls up at him “What is the matter with you? Can you go two weeks without whoring yourself out to some underclassmen?” Hajime chastises. “And how much does a dipshit like you have to beg to get the transfer student to fuck you?”

“Hey! I didn’t beg!” Tooru defends himself. “How hard is it to believe that deep down I’m actually as charming and likable as people make me out to be, huh? It can’t all be hype.”

The group fall into a collective silence.

“I think just you saying that makes you like ten times more lame than you already are.”

Tooru gasps.

“How’d you do it, man?” Issei frowns. He seems to be taking the news the worst out of all of them. “How’d you get her to fuck you?”

“You’re that volleyball player, right? The setter.”

Phantom-like wisps of finger brushes burn holes in his memory as he all but shivers. Truthfully?

Tooru shrugs genuinely, blowing out a breath as he follows your smoke trails until the far side of the room. “Feels like she lured me in, really.”

Maki’s head audibly knocks against the back of his chair as the group look on at him in mutual envy.

Issei rests his chin in his hand as the lecture begins. “You’re a fuckin’ asshole, kawa.”

He tries not to be too obvious when the lecture finally ends, how much he’s been dying to make his way over to you before you eventually disappear into the crowd of buzziling students. Some even stop you in your gate to get the exit, probably feigning an excuse to get closer to the foreigner before you’ve gotten your wits about you. Though that’s said with the bit of irony it deserves. He’s hasty in the few muted greetings he passes to the freshmen that call for him in the path he leaves behind, and his apologies are quick as he bumps the few backs it finally takes to get to you.

Your head’s slightly turned to a student on your side when he gets to the wall you’re currently idling against, nodding your head at her as she rolls her words like she’s admonishing you.

She cuts the thought short when she realizes he’s there. “...Huh.”

“Hi,” He briefly bows to the both of you. The whiff he gets of your perfume has already been indexed in his memory. “I’m sorry, I’m not interrupting am I?”

He follows your eyes from him to the student still standing passively to the side of you, a little stiffer than before and scrubbing her eyes against him like she’s trying to say something. A fan of his possibly? She has that same doe-eyed glimmer about her that he regularly recognizes from the court whenever he’s looking into the stands. Fingers unwittingly tapping into the booklet pressed against her chest as she finds her bearings again.

“N-..No,” She finds your encouraging smile as she glances at you again. “No, I was just going-”

“This is Ayumi by the way,” Your smile curls up a little as she quietly hisses your name. “She was at the party last night, if you remember?”

Tooru tilts his head a bit to pause in thought. If he’s being honest, the only thing worth memorizing last night was every moment he spent floating around you. And even that he feels regretful for missing a few bits and pieces. He doesn’t exactly wanna disappoint her but he can’t lie to her either.

“Ah,” Tooru simpers regretfully. “Last night was kind of a blur to be completely honest.”

Your eyes briefly flicker between the two when Ayumi frowns reflectively at his response. Briefly bending her neck to shift on her feet before she raises it again, smiling understandingly before throwing a glance at you. “Yeah… But you two met last night, didn’t you?”

Now it’s his turn to feel a little flustered as she tauntingly eyes the both of you. Shifting a little on the balls of his feet as he peers at you, but even he can’t help but smile at the way your cheeks puff out when you’re embarrassed.

His nerves settle when he realizes she’s teasing you. “I’m glad you two had fun,” Ayumi sighs as she readjusts her grip on her booklets.

“As long as you’re being careful about it.” She eyes you chidingly.

You nod up at her like a child acknowledging a parent, and belatedly he starts to piece together that you must be friends. “I am, I swear.”

His smile pinkens at the way you cross your fingers. You’re really cute.

Ayumi returns your grin of reassurance with an assured nod of her head as she bids you a quiet goodbye, stretching one of her hands forward to pinch you on the shoulder before starting the motion of turning on her heel.

She pauses though, briefly.

“You really don’t remember me?”

Oikawa inadvertently throws his head back at the question. Should he? He hopes that isn’t too coarse to say.

He forgoes a direct response with a remorseful shake of his head. “Uh, no. Sorry.”

Ayumi smiles silently.

You send her another goodbye as she finally turns to the rest of the auditorium, throwing a lingering wave back at you as you return it until she’s blended in with the rest of the crowd. But you’re raising off your back the moment it’s just the two of you left in this crowded space, and it’s instinctual the way he readily follows your footsteps.

Your voice is a beacon in the sea of constantly chattering students buzzing around the vibrating hallways of this university. It’s a distinctive hum that turns the parlance into white noise and parts his thoughts like the red sea. If anything could be any more distracting, it’d be the way your lips curve over each word. Carefully molding around your Japanese, as if you mean to honor the language as you speak it.

The way you smile at him when you notice he isn’t listening turns his ears florid. “You have a staring problem.”

“I have a you problem,” Tooru exhales as he cranes his head to the windows hovering above them. “If you don’t want me to stare, try not sticking out so much?”

“Oooh, way to make the foreigner feel welcomed.”

Tooru pouts as he shuffles his footing to playfully knock his shoulder against yours, blushing a little when you giggle. “You’re a hanker sore is what I mean! It’s like you showed up like that just to spite me!”

You drop your head to quickly scout over what you’re wearing.

Tooru snorts at the way you absently pop your hip out a little for him. “I did wear my sexy sweats today.”

“They’re very distracting. - You’re very distracting. You’re so pretty it doesn’t make any sense. It’s a wonder how I’d get anything done around you.”

You hum. The look you throw him is as inquiring as it is chastising. “Do you talk to all your friends like that?”

“Just the ones I’ve slept with.” He sighs. “Hey, when did you get around to making friends with Ayumi? I thought you just transferred recently?”

“Eh, we met on an internet forum when we were high schoolers and hit it off from there; her and another friend of ours,” And Tooru watches the way you smile fondly as you reminisce. Lilt in your voice that softens like you're kissing the thought and he hopes one day you’ll sound that way with him in mind. “They’re both maybe a few months older than me - but they’ve treated me like a little sister since.”

“Ayumi major’s linguistics so she’s the one who’s been keeping me on my toes about my Japanese, and Mai,” Your eyes briefly flicker up to where he’s staring down at you, returning his attentive look with a small smile. “Mai’s parents immigrated from Brazil so, a language barrier has never really been an issue.”

“Oh! So, you guys must be pretty close then?”

You hum again, faithful in your stare to the path ahead of you as you answer honestly. “I’d do anything for them.”

Tooru nods understandingly as he follows your footing down the southern hall of the building, passing the bay area to the outer garden as sun rays flood the trail to your next class. And it’s hard to think to himself as you’re bathed in the morning sun. Dust particles pass like sparkles as your eyelashes become more defined in new light, and you’re a naiad. Mystic, just out of his reach. Filling his head with fuzz as he becomes encumbered by thoughts of you, being beside you, being all over you-

“Senpai,” You pause in front of the door to Nabuya’s morning lecture. You’re a health and fitness major? Iwaizumi must see you pretty often then. “I really appreciate you walking me to my class.”

“Oh it’s- I don’t mind,” He smiles prettily. “I was just on my way to the gym anyway.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Your stare is honied as you gaze up at him.

“The gym’s on the other side of the building.”

Oh.

The weeks that pass, pass with purpose and earnesty. They start with a sugared message, often typed groggily as he tugs his phone out of the charger with a begrudging pull; cursing his morning alarm before skimming his thumb on the message bar where your previous goodnight was. A few hearted messages, a promise to see you later in the morning; and the giddiness he feels as he climbs out of bed. Knowing it’s you that he wakes up to every morning, even if just by a technicality.

He’s early in his jog across campus, earlier even as he swipes a few cafe drinks on his way to his 8 am and waits for you at the door with a sleepy smile. You tell him he’s crazy. He hums that he’s crazy for you. You nudge him as you take your coffee in hand and lead him to the seats you’ve been sharing at the back of the class. Teasing even as you push him away, loving as you sip at his coffee once yours is all finished.

You furrow at the cup he was just drinking from a minute ago, eyeing him inquisitively as you lick your lips. “Where’s the metric ton of creamer you usually dump in this? Are you sure you gave me the right one?”

He shrugs like he’s not lying through his teeth. “I like the way you have it.”

He doesn’t mind the jog it takes from Nabuya’s lecture to his morning practice.

He doesn’t mind the knowing stares. Definitely doesn’t mind the envious ones. Or the way his coach sighs when he starts the freshmen on their tosses a little later than he should. Tooru doesn’t mind the time he gives to you. Shares with you every chance he gets, and spends with you constantly on his mind. He barely notices when he’s zoning out during group conversations on his lunch break, too focused on the profile of your face as you converse with your friends across the cafe. Giggling just out of his earshot but even then he can imagine how pretty you must sound.

Tooru drops his head when his phone buzzes in front of him.

Pretty girl 💕: stop staring <3

He responds in kind.

stop giving me smthing to stare at <3

The way your lips curl over your teeth as you smile across the room makes him feel like he’s won a nobel prize.

He doesn’t mind fawning over you. He doesn’t mind making heart eyes at you as you walk beside him, wiping the sweat off his palms as you reach for his hand to lead him the way to your dorm block, or the way his heart races when you say his name. Tooru. The way your lips briefly curl over the “u” like your kissing it goodbye as you say it. Breathy chirps of thanks and small adorations as he parks you at your door, and the way he breathes in your conditioner as he holds you tight makes you shiver.

Without fail he hums it in your ear before he lets you go. “I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.”

And he means it.

When he misses you on his way home. When your voice hums into his airpods as he studies. When he wishes you a restful goodnight until morning.

He means it.

You hesitate as you push the doors into the gymnasium.

It’s not the first practice you’ve been to but it’s the most important one by far. From the way Tooru talks about it it sounds like it’s all or nothing, but in hindsight he seems to be that way about a lot of things.

His teammates recognize you as you make the few steps it takes to the bleachers, even his coach points you in the direction of where he’s sat his things on the rows closest to the court. The thick veil of acknowledgement is viscous in the humid gymnasium air, and you can’t tell if you’re flattered or fearful of the evil eyes pointed at your back from the seats a well distance behind you.

After all this time you shouldn’t still feel this nervous. It shouldn’t still feel this nerve wracking to sit here and stew in all the feelings of ardor he has for you. Fight the urge to flinch when he acknowledges your presence before he sets and you burn under that flicker of passion that bursts over you like a spotlight. His movements change and he’s energized again. Moving with a vigor even more dedicated than before and you know that’s all because of you.

Which is why he wants you to come to the preliminaries tonight.

Why they want you to come to the preliminaries tonight, if the way Iwaizumi pulled you aside during your health study to make sure your schedule was clear - should mean anything. With the way things are going you’re the piece that guarantees them the win tonight, and you’re not wrong for feeling a little tense at such an amount of pressure. It’s beyond you at this point, being the only different face in the crowd. You’ve stopped biting your nails and losing sleep over the right way to roll your r’s or straighten your back when you bow. Being designated the Gaijin or doubting yourself when people pretend not to understand you. Real, current, monotonous pressures have stopped getting to you. Feeling like an alien has.

Feeling like a fake has not.

Your fingers twist nervous lines in the fabric in your hands as teal ribbons of tencel pass through your fingers smoothly. Creaking somewhat as your grip absently tightens, and it takes a glance at your lap to realize you must’ve reached for his jacket at some point.

He’s in front of you just as soon as the whistles sounds.

Tooru’s smile dips the moment you lift your head. “Uh oh? ‘You feeling okay?”

Your smile’s a little strained as you lift your knees to hand him his towel, following his movements as he takes the seat in front of you. “I’m okay, Tooru. I think my stomach just hurts.”

“It does?” He dips his head to whisper much louder than he should. “Was it the coffee?”

“No, Tooru, not that kind of hurt,” He whines when you pinch his cheek. “I mean, I’m nervous. I’ve never been to a game like this before.”

“You’ve- Oh,”

Tooru raises on his legs again to carefully climb into the seat next to you. All sweat and limbs as the smell of his natural scent and antiperspirant becomes all the more potent from so close, and just being so close to being wholly enveloped by him makes the little hairs on your arms stand.

He knocks his shoulder into yours as he stares at you more fondly than he has any right to. “Yeah, I get that. I know that something like this could be overwhelming,”

“I know it probably doesn’t help that you’ve been kind of pressured to come,” He sighs up at the ceiling. “Iwa-chan can be a bit of a brute even though he means well,”

“But above all else I want you to know that I only want you to come if I know you’re having fun. If you’re enjoying yourself and sharing… How fun volleyball can be if you really put yourself into it. I wanna share that feeling with you. I never want you to come to any of my games thinking you’re obligated to.”

Tooru looks down at you again. His sincerity twists your stomach in knots. “I’d love it if you came. - Obviously. But I’m not gonna make you do something you don’t feel like you’re ready to do yet. I always have you to come back to afterwards. I could just call you when I win.”

You meet his cheeky smile with a long… sober pause.

“Tooru,” And your tongue feels laden when you speak.

“I'm… nervous, because people look at me like I’m your girlfriend,” Your frown falls to your lap as you avoid his eyes. “And I know I’m not.”

The tension in the air that settles is palpable.

There’s a feeling you don’t recognize that forms in your chest as the moment lingers. A dense, suffocating feeling that coats the inside of your ribs like a thick adhesive and crawls along the path to your stomach like wet cement. It makes you feel like you’re too much and too heavy to even lift yourself from the chair you’ve been planted on; even as every fiber of your body begs you to run away and flee. And it’s an ugly ugly feeling. A rotten, no good pang of the heart that makes you reconsider your reasoning for coming to Japan in the first place.

Until careful fingers are coiling right at the edges of your jaw, and lifting you up like you’re as delicate as glass.

“Look at me,” He’s closer than he was before. Close enough to see the reflection of you in his eyes - and you’re everything you’ve wanted to be.

“If that’s really what you’re worried about then we can-“

Someone calls your name from across the court.

The familiar sound of your first name has him straightening his back just as fast as you do as you turn your head to the double doors leading to the hallway. Immediately reaching up to separate his fingers from where they’ve unlatched themselves from your jaw, and the look on your face is akin to being caught in the cookie jar.

There’s a student he doesn’t know - he thinks he doesn’t know, who looks among the both of you with a stare he can’t quite describe. A warning glance maybe, premonitory and chaste - whatever it is, it’s enough to have you sighing out and stepping out of your seat.

You offer him a short squeeze on his wrist as she calls your name again, and drop his hand with a soft mutter.

“…Careful.”

Everything plays out the way that it should.

You stand from your seat as the collective chatter of the gymnasium buzzes into a loud hum. After the last hour and a half being surrounded by a crowd of people whose only purpose in life is to scream and only as hard as they can. Excited hands raw with clapping, and an exuberant college band who plays like it’s their only chance at seeing tomorrow. Your ears have started to ring from the perpetuity of it all. - Everything about this game has been loud, louder even on their behalf that their team won. The air even as it becomes rich and thick is electrified. And even in the glare of that tangent ring, there isn’t a single part of it that you didn’t enjoy whole heartedly.

Seijoh won. They always do. But it isn’t removed from the fact that every time they do it’s more rewarding.

Nekoma is a power house, they’re in the top five in the country. They play with the intention to stalk and then kill. - And seeing your home team go against someone like that, struggle and stumble and win. It feels like a victory won,

It feels like being in the presence of greatness.

|32| 3 |32|

Oikawa stands at the court line with his eyes focused on the ball. He’s drenched with sweat. And his fingers are littered in tape.

“Go! Go! Seijoh! Go! Go!”

“Push! Push! Seijoh! Push! Push!”

He’s tired. This match has gone on far longer than anyone could have anticipated. And each player’s movements have started to fall behind. The crowd wain’s his focus. He’s tired.

“You can do it Oikawa senpai! Let’s go, senpai! Let’s go!”

He should be tired.

“Rrrrrrght!”

Three seconds and he’s stepping forward. His elbows creak when he throws the ball. But he’s no more bothered by that than the way the lights reflect on the sheen of his sweat. And he watches as the sun falls.

“Ooooolè!”

He’s up in the air. He’s a means to keep the earth rotating. The sun will strike the earth and there will be no more.

“Whack!”

The ground shakes.

“Service Ace!”

You’re the first face he turns to when he wins.

It’s your arms he seeks out after a win like that. His sweaty body that presses against yours with such an unfeigned need to be grounded by you, that you squeeze him back on impulse. He’s so overcome with glee that he vibrates. That his hands tremor and his breath shakes, and what little he can do to calm himself down is tuck his head into your shoulder and exhale.

“God, thank you.”

You figure he needed you there more than he let on.

Tooru’s vision is rose tinted when he declines your suggestion to celebrate with his friends to walk you home. He’s gentlemanly and cautious of the way he follows your heels as you pass through the threshold of the main building, throwing his jacket over you when you shudder from the cold. And all the feelings he’s had - has had, feels just a hair width from tumbling over the melting pot. Wanting you, having you, loving you. Seeing you so duly stuck to his side like you fit there and it’s all he can to stop himself from pressing his lips against yours.

He’s in love with you.

And you know that.

Your eyes are true to the trail ahead of you as you silently walk the path that leads to your dorm block. The quiet is kind to the crunching sounds your footsteps leave against frozen grass and dried twigs, cold blues in the falling sky that turn fall pinks into winter purples, and chill drafts into brisk shiversome winds. Your hands are ice cold from chilled over sweat. Clenching and unclenching at your sides as you work yourself through familiar nerves, and a weight in your chest that becomes more habitual as you let these feelings linger.

At the sight of your dorm room placemat, your eyes start to water.

Tooru slides the arm he has comfortably wrapped around your shoulders down the arm closest to him, and holds your wrist through his jacket with the kind of faith you give to someone you know will treat you kindly. He uses his thumb to peel the fabric covering your hand from his until he’s rolling circles on the back of your palm. And when he turns you to face him, you know what he’s going to say before he says it.

“Hey,” Tooru cranes his neck until he’s parallel with your eyes. “I wanted to talk about what you said yesterday.”

You don’t respond.

He interprets the way your lips quiver as nerves. “I know we’ve been toying this line for a while, and as much as I’ve tried to be upfront with my feelings,” Tooru exhales. “I can see how it’s hard to take any of that seriously.”

“I should’ve considered what it might have felt like being looked at a certain way, and expected to be a certain way, but never having a name for what’s been going on between us.”

He fishes your hand out of his jacket sleeve as he meets your misty gaze with every bit of love he can manage. So focused on how you look in the moonlight to register the sound of you fishing your keys out of your pocket.

“I love you, you know. I’m in love with you. I wanna be yours more than I’ve ever wanted anything.”

“So, I don’t-“ He exhales shakily. “I don’t wanna just be your friend. I don’t want people to look at you like you’re my girlfriend, I want you to be my girlfriend. I want you to be mine.”

And you’re everything he’s ever wanted as he intertwines his fingers with yours. “Please, be mine.”

Your silence is stale.

“What was her name?”

“Hm?”

“What was her name,” You whisper numbly. “The girl you slept with before me?”

Tooru looks disjointed as he shakes his head. “What?”

“Tell me her name and I’ll give you an answer.”

“I don’t-“

“It’s simple,” You all but hiss this time. So sudden that it jolts him back like you’ve flicked an exposed nerve. “You should know the name of the last person you had sex with.”

He reaches for you like you’re already moving back as he tries to pace himself against the sudden change in atmosphere. So taken back by the unfamiliarity of it all that he grasps for the first thing that’ll make him safe.

You avoid his hand as it tries for your bicep.

“W-…Where is this going? What are you-“

“I mean you courted her,” You slide your hand out of his. “For six weeks,”

“Let her watch your practices and walk you home when it got too late. Texted her during class,” And it’s like watching all his worst fears fold in front of him as you slide his jacket down your shoulders. Nightmarish when you press it firmly against his chest.

“Brought her coffee and split your milk bread with her. Made her feel pretty,”

“And special,” You back away. “And irreplaceable,”

“Baby-“

“Tell me her name and I’m all yours.”

He doesn’t remember. How could he? When all that’s been spinning around in his head is you. Since meeting you barely anything else has mattered. Getting out of bed in the morning, going to his classes, following on your heels and indulging himself in every whiff he can get off you like it’s the only thing moving him forward. Since meeting you he’s been lovesick. Rising on his toes to reach at everything he’s possibly wanted in his life - dangled over his head and just out of reach. Fixes and scratches itches, he’d go celebate if he could just have you. Be with you. Why should he care about some girl he fucked before-

“Mai Souza.” You hiss finally, and it hits him like a ton of bricks.

He’s frantic as he tries to stop you in your efforts to step into your dorm room, desperate as he pleads for you. But you’ve blocked him out, and your tears are bitter as you turn to him from your open door.

“You don’t get to hurt someone like that. You don’t get to use someone until you get what you want, and drop them like it’s nothing.”

Tooru shakes his head. “Please… I-“

“If not Mai, what about Ayumi? What about Yoshiko-senpai from cheer? Michi, Yūka, Chihiro? Where’s their confession?”

The doorknob clacks in your grip as your hands shake. “How am I supposed to know that by being your girlfriend I won’t get burned too? When you’ve squeezed everything you wanted out of me. When you’re done.”

You regard him with a look of disgust that finally breaks him into fine pieces. Rooted on your doormat as winter dusting starts to fall over his head and the tears in his eyes start to run hot streaks down his cheeks.

“I hope when your next fling asks you what my name was,” You start the motion of closing the door.

Dungeons have created multiple industries. You may never get to explore one, but admiring the multiple finds hunters bring in is more than enough for you. 

It’s nothing more than a glorified appraisal shop. Still, you enjoy your job, because you’re introduced to finds no one has ever seen before. The store is a little on the higher-end, so your customers are mostly B and low tier A-ranked hunters, each looking to see what their finds are worth. 

It’s a nice job, the pay is wonderful, and if you can look past working with hunters directly, it’s not all that bad. 

There’s a tap on your desk. You glance up. 

She gives you a grin. 

“We got five new swords.” 

“Five new swords?” you repeat, staring back at your desk. “Amazing.” 

She scoffs. 

“C’mon be more excited!” Your co-worker whines. “It’s four more than my last haul.” 

“I am.” You assure, “Honestly! What grade were they?” 

“Bronze, mostly.” She deflates. “But they were all from a B-rank dungeon.” 

“A B rank dungeon.” You repeat. She frowns. You send her an apologetic smile. 

“Ignore my tone. I’m just exhausted. That’s amazing.” 

“Don’t bother, no one gets impressed when they have your numbers.” She sighs before immediately perking up. “Before I forget: your special customer’s waiting for you.” 

You roll your eyes, but you’re getting up from your seat. 

“Stop making it sound dirty.” 

“I’m not!” She argues, but there’s a grin on her face that follows you as you step out of the room and into the gallery. 

The gallery is breathtaking, as always. Most of the displays are the ones you set up. You can’t help but admire them as you pass through rows of gauntlets and knives and crystals. It’s your work and your pride. 

He’s in the same spot as always. You spot his blue hoodie a mile away, face always covered by a mask. The routine is the same as last time. You press a smile onto your face, stopping right behind the glass case. 

“Hello.” You say politely. “How are you doing?” 

As always, there’s no response. Instead, he’s placing a tiny sack onto the glass. Usually, he’s hauling around bigger items. His dungeon raid must not have gone too well this time. 

You peek into the sack. 

Two purple essence stones stare back at you. 

It’s only customary to bring out the loupe, to check the weight, the density. You already know these are S-rank essence stones. You’ve only admired these from behind the glass, but to actually touch and inspect one? It’s almost too much. 

“Okay,” you breathe, placing down the last crystal. “Each one is about 2.5 million won. Would 5.5 million be enough to part with these?” 

Unlike the other hunters, he doesn’t negotiate or groan or boast. He gives a tiny nod, so subtle you had to actively look at his face. 

Not like you could considering it’s buried in that mask. One of your most tolerable customers, and yet you barely even see his face. The only thing you can see of him are those eyes. It’s a familiar kind of blue. His eyes remind you of a hunter you once knew. 

“Great.” You pull away with a smile. “Please wait for me to get my manager.” 

It’s only ten minutes later when your manager is cheerfully sending the hunter away, still clutching the stones in his hands. 

“Everytime,” he sighs, and you watch the hunter’s disappearing back. “I don’t know how you do it, but keep it up.” He pats your shoulder. 

You smile, but you don’t know why this hunter keeps visiting this store, especially when he has such high-end items. You don’t know why he insists on working with you and only you. You don’t know why he hides his face, barely even looking at you. 

He’s an odd one, but which hunter isn’t?

On your off days, you visit the outdoor mall that’s just outside of the city. 

It’s a cute place. During hot summer days, they have free snow cones and ice cream, sales are almost always plentiful. You can spend hours milling around, walking from shop to shop, only to end up with nothing. 

You don’t mind it. It’s fun to waste your time on nothing. You let your mind wander from shop to shop, stopping to pick up trinkets and Knick-knacks, only to place them down when they’re far too expensive. 

One booth catches your eye. A lady with a practiced customer-service smile sits right behind it. 

Awakened? Take the free hunter’s exam to find out!

They’ve even taken malls now, hm? 

Hunter’s have completely overtaken culture. They’re everywhere: in media, podcasts, celebrities, actors, singers. Even D-list hunters are famous. They are completely untouchable by both the law and the public. 

When will people finally realize that’s a bad thing? 

There’s a scream. 

You barely turn around before you see the truck. It’s wobbly, unbalanced. The driver had clearly lost control, he’s wildly honking in his panic, you can see his pale and horrified face, barely obscured by the dirty glass. 

The truck is headed straight towards you. 

You try to move. You can’t. You’re frozen. Your feet have planted themselves on the ground, too stubborn to run. Fight or flight, most ask. What would you do? 

The answer is clear, now. Freeze. 

You blink, and suddenly, you’re not on the road anymore. The sounds of panic feel more distant. 

You moved?  Teleported? 

There’s a hand on your back, steadying you. You catch a glimpse of a blue hoodie. 

He’s not wearing his mask this time. 

“Youー” You barely have time to think before he’s gone, jumping back into the fray. You’re left on the side of the building, watching as everyone else picks themselves up. 

When you look down, your bag has fallen. 

You never even got a chance to thank him. 

Usually, the appraisal shop closes along with the usual work hours. Today, your boss had closed a big deal with a favored investor, and as a ‘valued’ employee, you had to stay behind. 

By the time you were freed to go home, it was already dark. 

You clutch your jacket closer towards your body, but it does nothing to stop your shivers. You can still remember the way that A-rank hunter looked at you. He never did anything. Never touched you, barely even spoke to you. 

He just stared with those beady black eyes. When you met his gaze for too long, his mouth would spread into this sick smile that made you want to slink behind your oblivious boss. 

It was horrible, you were just glad you got out when you could. 

All hunters were egotistical assholes. 

…Okay, you were being mean. Not all of them were horrible. You know a couple of C-rank healers who were the sweetest pair of girls you’ve ever met. There was also that D-rank kid who just started out and was already filled with so much motivation and charisma. 

That one nameless hunter wasn’t all that bad. 

You almost miss your step, narrowly avoiding stepping into a giant puddle as you think about that nameless hunter with the blue hoodie and the white mask. Blue eyes. You remember he had blue eyes. 

Almost silver. 

Pretty. 

He never once gloated over his rank, now that you thought about it, you didn’t even know his rank. It had to be high. B maybe even A? He looked strong, the kind that carried his strength with his silence. 

Also, he’d saved you. You can still remember the pulsing in your heart as the vehicle slowly careened it’s way to you, showing no signs of stopping, and you just stood there, stupid, idiotic, frozen. You’d be badly injured, or worse, if he hadn’t saved you. 

Not all hunters are bad. 

At least, he wasn’t bad. 

Just then, it started drizzling. 

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, feeling the droplets hit your head, as you clumsily pulled over your jacket’s hood. You know there’d be a slight chance of rain today, yet you hadn’t brought an umbrella. You assumed that you’d be home before the storm. 

You fiddle with your jacket a little more, unaware that you were the only person on the street. Usually, you’d be more aware of your surroundings, not so distant, thoughtful. 

You don’t notice him until he grabs your arm. 

You open your mouth, intent on screaming, but he’s faster, shirking a hand across your mouth to hush you into a pitiful whimper. You kick. It does nothing. He’s so much larger than you, pushing you forward until you’re trapped between him and the wall. 

Panic, you can feel it clawing up your throat, into your chest. You can feel his hot breath into your ear, a rasp of a laugh. 

“Shut up,” he snaps, impatient, angered and you can feel your heart sink even faster. “Wallet. Now.” 

He loosens his grip on your arm, just a bit. When you flinch, he squeezes down even tighter. You wince. 

“No funny business.” He demands. “Just reach into your pocket, nice n’ easy and—“ 

He releases his grip. Silent. 

You stay there, facing the wall, eyes shut and shaking for what feels like hours. 

Nothing happens. 

Slowly, you blink your eyes open. You look to the left, then to the right. 

The entire street is empty. 

You don’t think. You don’t care what happened. You don’t care that it might be a trap. You just run. You race down the street, past the flickering lamps, running up your apartment stairwell. You don’t stop until you reach your apartment, shoving your keys into the slot and slamming the door closed. 

When you’re sure you’re alone, when the only company you have is your rapid heartbeat, you sink down into your carpet and finally let yourself have a sob of relief. 

Hours later, when you’re calmer, showered, warmer, tucked into your blankets and a good book, you’d think back to that incident as well as your assailants strange disappearance. Everything about that interaction was so odd. 

Also, this may just be because of the panic, but you could have sworn your shadows were longer in the flickering lamplights. 

You only see him again a month after the vehicle incident. 

Your customer is in the same spot as always, right in the corner, always silently waiting for you to acknowledge him. He’s dressed differently this time. Instead of that iconic blue hoodie, he’s switched to a long black cloak. The only thing that remains of him was that stubborn mask that always kept him anonymous. 

Before you can say anything, he’s already dropping his latest findings onto the table. The sack makes you recalibrate. Buffer. 

You forget your words, silently reaching forward, aware of his eyes watching you the entire while. 

You take the chance, just then, meeting his gaze. Silver clashes onto yours. They remind of you a weapon, a sword, a dagger. Dangerous. 

You look back down again, staring at the treasure he brought you. 

This time, he’d brought weapons and mana crystals. A ton of mana crystals. You immediately total it in your head, the numbers getting higher and higher. After putting the crystals in their designated piles, you start on the weapons. The smallest of the weapons is a tiny blade. It’s featherlight, you can barely feel it. 

“Careful. It’s sharp.” 

He’s never spoken before. You jump at his voice. Deep, quiet. It suits him. 

You offer a tiny smile; it flutters on your mouth. 

“I will.” You give. 

You place it aside, tallying the total before reaching for the second smallest. An arrowhead with a tinted yellow metal. You balance it on your fingers, watching as a tiny drop of liquid balances along the arrow’s edge—poison. That would easily up the price for this. 

“Thank you, by the way.” You start, still not looking at him. “For saving me, that day.” 

As predicted, he’s silent, still as a statue. It’s more of a quirk than a flaw at this point. Out the corner of your eye, you swore you saw him stiffen, just the tiniest bit so you know he heard you. 

Eventually, you finish tallying up the worth of each item, handing him the total. He examines the price, and when he deems it acceptable, he gives a slight nod. You pack away the mana crystals and the weapons, promising yourself you’d put the weapons in that open part of the gallery you’d always wanted to fill. You doubt your boss would mind you taking the space—especially since you’ve snagged such rare items. 

You wait for him to accept the money and walk off. He reaches over the table, fingers itching to grab the packet. 

Then, he hesitates. 

“You get into a lot of trouble.” He suddenly says. 

It’s not an invitation for conversation. It’s a fact. The sun is yellow. The trees are green. Your eyes drift up to meet his. 

That same familiar blue. 

You think he’s talking about the day he saved you on the street, but somehow, you feel like he knows about the mugger incident. How? Was he there? Was he watching you— 

He takes the packet, slipping it into his cloak and turns away. You watch him until the doors shut behind him. 

You’re blinking, and then you’re laughing. No way, you’re overthinking this way too much. Of course he didn’t know. He was just worried, like any normal person would. You needed to stop seeing the worst in people. 

You ignore your shadows, the way they jumped when he was near. It was almost like they wanted to follow him out the door. 

Once again, your boss asked you to work in the back. 

You don’t mind the job, with rent reaching sky high prices, you know you needed it. You just wished he’d give you more of a heads up when he told you about the amount of work you’d have to do. You highly doubt you’d be able to organize all the dungeon artifacts in a few hours. 

At least, he was nice enough to give you a helper. 

“What is this?” Your co-worker asks. She’s one of the newer ones, hired just last month, so she’s less of a competent independent worker bee and more of a baby you have to keep your eyes on. It didn’t really matter if she wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box, you needed extra hands. 

You look up, spotting her messing with a grade-A trinket. 

“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you.” You say, glancing back down to your own pile. “The last person who did disappeared.” 

“What?” She drops it back in the pile, her voice is pitchy. 

Your mouth curls into a smile. 

“Kidding kidding.” You tell her. “But, seriously, grab the gloves over there before you start handling things. Most times, the hunters take care of runes and poisons, but they might miss something every one in a while.” 

She nods, the color returning to her face, before strapping on the gloves. Again, not the brightest crayon, but at least she’s a good listener. You can work with that. 

Above you two, the TV is running. Typically, you’d like to work in silence, maybe a podcast running if your boss allows it. However, the newbie insisted on playing the news, claiming there’s a new S-rank hunter that’s being revealed tonight. You heard about that. Although you were also curious, you felt it was a bit too soon for yet another S-rank to be announced. Wasn’t the last one unveiled just under a year ago? 

“I’m excited!” She pipes up with little prompting. “It’d be nice to see people excited for once, instead of upset of all the gates forming. At the same time, they are kinda’ getting to be a hassle. One popped up on my way from work, two weeks ago. It took me three hours to get home and I live thirty minutes away. Oh, and this other time, my boyfriend got stuck in a subway because a gate had formed right on the tracks. Can you believe that? Honestly, I—“ You hum along, half-listening to her ramblings as you find your eyes drifting to the screen. 

It was one of those old-fashioned TVs, the ones that were getting more and more outdated with every passing year. The images were grainy, a bit hard to focus on until you squinted your eyes a bit. 

Movement caught your eye. The camera was pointing right at the entrance of the Hunter’s Guild. The speakers were quieter than you’d liked, but you could hear the excited murmurings as the reporters talked to themselves of the newest S-rank hunter being revealed. 

Even your colleague had quieted down, just in time to watch as the doors swung open. 

You recognized him immediately.

For the first time, he wasn’t wearing that mask. His eyes were staring straight at the camera, his hands were up, his mouth was open. He was surprised. It was the first time you’d ever seen emotion on his face. 

It’s a little funny: Remembering that a human being is human. 

Cameras and lights flashed at him. He winced, backing away as people shouted ‘Sung Jin-woo!’ ‘Sung Jin-woo over here!’ ‘Sung Jin-woo have you already chosen a guild yet?’ ‘Sung Jin-woo are you—‘ 

“He looks like a model!” Your colleague gasped. “Was he in a movie or something? He seems a little familiar.” 

You shrug, turning back to your work. Strangely, you weren’t too surprised that he was the S-rank everyone was frothing over the mouth for. He’d always struck you as odd, out of place, otherworldly. 

Now, that you thought about it, you felt like you’ve heard his name before.  

After his reveal, he doesn’t show up at your shop anymore. 

He doesn’t need to. S-ranks have their own private tradesmen that give them better deals and ever greater packages. Those days of silently looking over the artifacts and essence stones he suspiciously hauls over your desk were long gone. 

He’s famous now. Everyone knows Sung Jin-woo, the 10th Korean S-rank hunter. You don’t tell anyone he used to come to the shop, looking to sell his items. Firstly, you don’t think anyone would believe you. Secondly, it felt like your way of repaying him; he seemed like a pretty secretive guy. 

Thirdly, it was like a secret for you: personally catering to an S-rank hunter was an honour. Despite how badly you think of hunters, the sheer magnitude of what an S-rank hunter is, is enough to even bowel you over. 

Despite having not seeing him for months, you still see his existence all over your screen. The ant raid, the numerous dangerous gates popping up left and right, red gates, double dungeons. He’s been everywhere, doing everything. 

He’s there, but he’s far away. Always in the back of your mind. A distant memory. You forget to pay attention to him, and eventually, he disappears. 

Hunters are a weird group of people. 

The D ranks are the most tolerable. They’re the most humble, down to Earth. They treat it like a job: just go in and out. C ranks are a little full of themselves, but they mostly leave people alone. High and mighty, think they’re on top of the world. B ranks are the same, but most have the skills to back it up. 

Anyone higher than that…those are typically the problems. 

“What’doya’ mean it’s only worth 150 million?” The hunter demands. 

A-rank. You can tell from the quality of his armour. Also, from his demeanor, the way he eyes you like a pest. The way he knows that if he crushes you right now, he’d get away with it. 

“I’m sorry, sir,” You say as softly as you can, “but I’m just repeating store policy. These essence stones are–” 

“Bullshit.” He hisses, the gaps of his teeth clench into nothing. “I worked my ass off for this haul, and all I get for it is 150 million? What, so you can just gimme a shitty deal and I’m supposed just to accept it, Bitch?” 

You knew nothing you would do would calm him down. Hunters are volatile creatures. They spend their days in caves, holed away from the rest of the world, fighting monsters beyond humane comprehension, and when they come home, society is expected to treat them like humans? 

What kind of humans would willingly do that kind of work? 

No, they were monsters. Just like the monsters they shred apart for jewels and crystals. 

You don’t negotiate with animals. 

It’s why you know there’s nothing you can do to prevent this from growing violent. Just by his look, you could tell he wasn’t even mad at you specifically. He was just walking around, waiting for someone to give him the tiniest reason. 

And then, you fell into his trap. 

Your manager was nowhere to be found. Your co-workers were all in the back, cowering from the yelling you know they can hear. No one is going to save you. You can’t even blame them. You’d do the same thing if you could. 

He raises his fist, ready to strike. You can see his power, fire sparks in his fingers. 

And then, something blue barrels into him. 

It’s a flash, you barely catch it before it zips from behind you and launches at the man. He and the thing are both sent crashing into the back, smashing into the display sets. 

It’s a bear. But it’s larger, almost looks like a hologram, even though you know it’s real. It’s pinning the man to the ground with force. You could feel it as it flew past you. 

The bear roars. It’s loud enough that it rings your ears. You cover your ears, keeping your eyes open as you watch the man kick the bear off of him, scrambling to his feet. 

“What the fuck!” He yells, staring at you with a deadly glare. “Are–are you some kinda’ summoner? Who the fuck are you?” 

This wasn’t your doing, though. You couldn’t summon. You weren’t a hunter. When you look around, the shop is empty. By then, everyone had fled. There was no one close enough that was controlling this creature. 

Which meant, whoever did that had the power to control beings far away….what kind of power was that? 

“Who cares.” He spits in your direction. It lands by your feet. “It’s just a B-rank. I’m gonna rip your precious pet apart. And then, I’m comin’ after you.” 

It didn’t matter. None of this mattered. You had to go. Earlier, this man just wanted to scare you a little. Now, it’s clear he wants to kill you. 

Your legs scramble across the floor. Your heart is thudding loudly in your chest, and you can barely hear the sounds from the fight. There’s more growling, there’s a spark of pain in your leg. You feel hands, the ghost of fingers trailing over your jacket, your clothes, about to pull you back into the fray. 

And then, everything’s gone. 

The silence happens all too quickly. You don’t realize it until you’re pushing past the glass doors when you slip and cling onto the railing. You expect to feel scorching heat from the A-rank’s hands–the unbelievable power from a man who foolishly thinks he is God.

Instead, you feel nothing but a freezing, calming chill. 

The shop is in total disarray. Dungeon loot worth thousands and thousands were scattered around like measly trinkets. The only things that were kept safe were the precious armor, each cemented into glass by a powerful rune. The bear was gone, the A-rank was unmoving on the ground, face-first into cracked cement. 

Like a Monarch of destruction, he looms right in the center of it. 

He’s turned away from you, but you know it’s him. You can recognize his features even from miles away. Sung Jin-woo is leaning over the body, once a monolith of destruction, now just as mortal as you are, inspecting it. You don’t have to see what happened to put the pieces together.

Slowly, things start to come back to life. The police are there in just a few moments. You can see the blue and red sirens flicker from the windows. A paramedic checks up on you a little while later, and you understand why you tripped. Sometime, during the scuffle, something had cut your knee. The pain didn’t set in until after the moment faded, when your breathing was starting to calm down, when you started to feel like a person again. 

The paramedics tell you it’s a minor scratch, looks worse than it actually is. You try to pay attention to them, but you can. Words filter in and out like muck. Your eyes drift, trailing over to the cops and the other paramedics that were checking on the A-rank hunter. He’d only passed out, he wasn’t dead. 

Sung Jin-woo is gone, by the time the police take your statement and release you. You shouldn’t be surprised. He’s a man of few words, you’ve known that of him for months now. Still, your mind lingers on the man who saved your life for the second time, even after the police take your statement, even after you’re manager tells you that the shop will be closed until further notice, even after your remaining colleagues fret over you. 

You’re still thinking of him, even when you step out of your co-workers car, thanking her for the ride home as you hobble up the stairs to your apartment. 

It takes you a moment to realize he’s in your living room, lingering next to the bookshelf. 

You don’t scream, even when your heart is pounding in your chest. The door shuts and clicks behind you. He doesn’t move, doesn’t even acknowledge your presence. 

“Do you have a favorite genre?” Sung Jin-woo asks. 

You stop, torn between thanking him and asking how the hell he’d even gotten in. His nonchalance keeps you from doing either. 

“Yes.” You respond. You don’t say what your favorite genre is. He doesn’t pry any further. 

He sets the book down, carefully tucking it back into its original place. 

“Why are you here?” Your voice wavers, even when you’re not sure why. All logic points to that he’s harmless. You’ve known him for months. You’ve spoken to him. He’s saved your life multiple times. He’s a well-known hero. 

And yet, that strange feeling of offness comes back. Your shadow is reacting to him, jumping every time he moves. 

“How did you get in?” You try instead. Just like last time, there’s no answer. 

Sung Jin-woo finally looks up at you. You expect to see that familiar shade of blue. 

His eyes are different. 

Blue and silver and so cold. 

Like all the light is gone, snuffed from his being.

“You should sit,” he tells you, soft voice, impassive tone, “you’ve been through so much today, you shouldn’t stress yourself.” 

You can’t do anything but listen. Odd, this is your home, but he occupies the space as though he owns it. When you take your seat, sinking in the cushions, he doesn’t follow suit, preferring to stand over you. You can’t tell if it was to provide comfort or to intimidate you further. 

It’s barely a touch. One of his fingers lightly grazes your injured knee. Before you can flinch or even scream, gentle green light emits from your bandages. The aching and soreness fades. When the light is gone, you hesitantly lift the bandages up. Your skin is untouched, unscarred, not even a blemish. As though you’d never gotten hurt in the first place. 

“How–how did you–” Your voice is dry and scratchy. You look up at him, mute, filled with questions but no clear answer. 

There’s a twitch of a smile on his face. 

“You don’t remember me, do you?” He asks suddenly. No presumptive buildup. Everything with him is cut and dry. To the point. 

It’s why you can’t keep up with him. 

“What?” 

“It’s okay, if you don’t.” He tells you, ignoring your questions, moving on as always. “I was a little disappointed when you didn’t recognize me, but I’ve changed a lot since that day. I understand that now.” 

This was the most he’d ever talked, but you can’t pay attention to that feat. You’re still lagging behind him, trying to understand what he’s trying to say. 

“It’s also my fault.” He admits, the ghost of a smile growing a bit the more he talks. “I never formally reintroduced myself. Whenever I tried to, I always found myself backing out. I just wished I’d kept better care of that dagger you gave me. That way I could’ve given it back.” 

Dagger? It sounded familiar. You rack your brain over and over again, turning over every corner, every nook, every cranny until–

How did you not see it sooner?

“You.” Your words feel like sand, sticking in your throat. “You were that E-rank…” 

His smile widens ever so slightly as an answer. 

It was years ago, back when you were still so enamored with the idea of hunters being good-standing Samaritans. You were standing right next to the road, like most other pedestrians, waiting for the light to turn red. 

He was standing there too. You noticed him because of the bandages, one on his face, the other wrapped around his arm. His hair was hiding most of his face, you couldn’t see his features. 

You also noticed him because he was standing way too close to the road. 

It snapped him out of whatever fog he was in. He apologized profusely for disrupting you. You had laughed it off, thinking nothing of it. 

It was easy to figure out he was a hunter, it was even easier to figure out he was a weak hunter. You saw the bandages stretching over his face and hands and skin. The slight limp in his step. You remember there was a raid near the area earlier. 

Sometimes, your employer allowed you to bring some trinkets home. Loot that’s barely worth paper. That night, you’d snagged a dagger. Lower than e-rank, honestly. Probably would’ve only lasted a few more hits. Nothing more than a rusty kitchen knife. You were just planning on framing it. It’d be useless in your hands. Honestly, the more you looked at it, the more of an eyesore it became. 

It was thoughtless. Nothing, on your part. But the way his eyes widened when you handed it to him. He clutched it like it was the most precious thing to him. 

‘Thank you. Thank you so much. How—how can I ever repay you?’

 You remember the words, they were forever etched in your brain. 

“Do you remember what you said to me that day?” He asks, now in the present.

You blink, and you’re sitting back down on that couch, looking at the ghost of your past. Someone you didn’t even know was still alive. 

“I—“ your voice fails “I-just.” 

“You told me to pass it forward.” Sung Jin-woo finishes. “You told me to help someone who needed it next time. I just don’t think you realize that person was you.” 

Too much was going on. Your brain couldn’t keep up. However, you just knew this conversation was headed to a place you didn’t want it to. 

“I’ve kept tabs on you.” A confession, but there’s no guilt. “You keep getting into trouble, again and again. I’ve saved you countless times and I’m afraid that one day…” He trails off. 

He’s shaking his head. “No, no, I won’t let that happen. Not again.” 

You stand. You don’t think you should be below someone who’s looking at you like that. Like you’re: small, tiny, insignificant. 

But if you were in his shoes, you’d probably think the same. 

You can feel it in the air, now. Heavy, close to crushing you to dust. You’ve never once been face-to-face with an S-class hunter, until now. You finally understand why they were so heralded in society. 

Power, unrelenting power. 

And when you look into his cold, dead eyes, it’s all focused on you. 

You don’t understand. But you do. Enough. 

“I’m sorry.” He tells you, but it doesn’t sound sincere, not when it’s watered down by that look in his eyes. 

“But you need to be protected.” 

Something materializes in his hand. A glass bottle filled with something red. 

Your vision blurs, before blacking out completely.