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After years of fighting against the universe's will, you decide to guard your feelings. Everybody around you had the chance to find love—everyone but you. With the resolve of focusing on your physics major, you graduate, without the will to pursue a career in it. Ignoring the protest of your parents, you start job-hunting until your friend Layla sets you a work interview for a matchmaking company. Reluctantly you go, needing the position you had nothing to lose. When you were accepted you were stationed on the data department, not daring to go near the "matchmaking" area. Three years later you're burnt out, so you took a vacation to the countryside, staying on your family's dusty cabin. Not really knowing what you were seeking.
With a love for the stars, you kept your evenings gazing up at the firmament. Until one of those nights, you end up chasing an intriguing gold light floating through the woods, whispering your name.
ᨀ. warnings for this chapter ☆ no use of y/n. This chapter is pretty light since it is just the introduction. It is angsty tho.
ᨀ. mar's note ☆ I was just listening to i'll see you there tomorrow and I had this idea. it is inspired by the fantasy genre (mainly the cruel prince by Holly Black), and soulmates but specifically crystal by Joss Stirling.
When you were thirteen years old, you used to gawk at the starry sky often, which looked so far away, vast, and enigmatic. And you felt butterflies in your stomach. Somewhere in the stars rested comfortably your fate. The summer breeze was warm yet refreshing, your young eyes sparkled under the twinkle of the constellations. Fingers brushing against the fresh grass, a distant melody playing in your ears. A magical moment, you thought. Your age did not stop you from fantasizing about soulmates, which were a wonderful occurrence. At least for everyone.
The first time you heard about them, you were around six years old when you read a fairy tale about a princess that met her love in every single life she had. You were far too young to understand some of the implications of meeting someone in every timeline, however, the way the author wrote the first encounter of the girl and the boy made your tiny heart leap.
The princess was reading in her library when the boy interrupted her reading. He had the most beautiful eyes, yet he was a commoner and a wanted criminal. She couldn’t shake the feeling that swept her from her feet when they locked gazes. Usually, soulmates have their own unique way of communicating when you have met the right person. In this case, you could see a shift in the irises of your partner. The tone usually was a product of how you were feeling. So, the girl’s eyes turned a warm and light peach, and the boy’s irises became deep blue.
Not being able to contain your emotion, you jogged toward your mother. With one hand, you clutched the skirt of your dress in a tiny fist to avoid tripping while the other held the book behind your back. With a wide smile plastered across your face giggling; you spotted your mother. She waved at your tiny figure, and you hugged her right leg.
“Mommy, mommy! How did you meet dad?"
Your curious eyes searched for answers while a confused mother raised her eyebrow, crouching to meet your eyes.
“Now, why would you ask that, my little devil?”
Shying away, you fidgeted with the hem of your sleeves, feet moving a little bit, jittery. The afternoon sun entering through the living room windows clashed with your skin, brightening your soft features. Your mother’s eyes were always so hypnotic; they never lacked the ability to watch through you.
Happily, you held up your book. A girl with blonde hair sat on the edge of a pond. The water glowed; tiny specks of dust floated through the air, circling the face of the princess. Her eyes were focused on a lonely white flower that bloomed on a tiny island in the center of the pool. Her right hand was trying to reach for it.
Your mother’s gaze softened. The shadows shifted across her face while she hid a strand of hair behind her ear. A knowing smile and a sigh. This book used to be hers a long time ago; it had been passed through her family for generations. She kept the tradition alive.
“You want to know about soulmates, don’t you?”
Nodding, you gestured towards the book. And with a high-pitched voice, showing your baby teeth, you said, "Yes! Just like the princess. Are you and dad soulmates?”
Closing her eyes, she tried to hide the bittersweet look on her face; you didn’t really understand what this meant—not yet. Standing, she took your hand and walked you towards the couch. Grabbing you so you could sit beside her while she hugged you, she reached for the book.
“Well, soulmates seem cool. Don’t they?” You nodded, feet dangling from the brown couch, and you brought one hand to your mother’s, caressing her skin. “Meeting the person that was born to be with you is romantic, to say the least. However, my dear, there are reasons soulmates are complicated.”
Opening the first page to your book, she pointed at the princess.
“But you know, she is a princess. Right? She is usually expected to marry a young prince or even a king. However, her soulmate ended up being a commoner. A queen would not want her daughter with a thief.”
Huffing, you shook your head in protest.
“But they love each other, mommy. Love is awesome.”
“Yes, love is awesome. But you can love someone who isn’t your soulmate. There are instances where you never meet them to begin with. I would even dare say that is the usual.” You wanted to interject before she could continue. “I never met mine. Not even once.”
You tilted your head, not really understanding what she had just said.
Sighing, mommy took your hands in between hers. She looked at you, lovingly, so fond of you.
“Soulmates usually find each other throughout every single life they live. You can count how many you have met by how many star-shaped moles you have on your body. For example, my friend Lily has met her partner sixteen times, all of these are marked on her body. I, however, have none. No star shaped mole.”
Switching between looking at the drawing of the princess and your mom something clicked inside yourself. You brought your index finger towards your mouth, biting it lightly. Thinking hard, trying to stop the waves of worry that overcame you.
She understood you, she had to live this same truth with her mother.
“Yes, love. This does mean your dad and I aren’t fated to be together.”
You pouted, disappointment taking over your body. Your mom patted your back.
“Dear, this does not mean you will suffer the same fate. But do not make your life based on the hope of finding a soulmate.” She smiled, sincerely. Letting you go so she could sit properly, she showed you her lower back, where a lonely lily of the valley could be seen. This wasn’t one of the things people got with the needles. It looked like a birthmark.
“This is what our family has had throughout the years. None of your relatives has met their soulmate, but we inherited this. We might not be a part in the play of hopeless romantics, but the universe still made room for us.”
You remained silent, not daring to ask what you wanted. Fearing the answer.
And, years after that, you have never said it out loud.
From that moment onwards you kept your family secret to yourself, trying to not feel shame or sorrow. When you were ten, your father found his soulmate. You were not naïve anymore; you could read between the lines and understand what was at play.
The conversation you once had with your mother was replaying in your head while you heard them discuss it downstairs. He was communicating the fact that he met his once-thought-lost partner. You loved your dad; he was the best man you have ever met. He took so good care of you and showed his affection constantly. His demeanor was always calm and soft-spoken, he patted your head often. This overlapped with the man you were hearing today. He was completely broken.
You crawled a little bit closer to the edge of the stairs so you could see a little bit better. Mom and dad were a few feet apart, him in the kitchen and her sitting at your dining room. She was very quiet, looking at every movement of his, yet her eyes were distant. As if they were on another land.
Urging your mother to answer he let the tears slide through his cheeks. Pleading to her for an answer, a sound, anything. He never stopped talking, telling her how much their marriage meant to him and that he would never leave her because they loved each other. Because he loved his family.
So, it was a surprise when your mother got up and walked close to him. She placed her right hand on his right shoulder, smiling. And said, “I think is best if we get a divorce.”
You placed your hand on your mouth, muffling your cries, taken aback. Pulse racing, you crawled back to your room and cried yourself to sleep, worrying about the fate of your family. Your father had left the house the next morning.
Trying to play dumb, you asked where he was. Your mother shrugged and said that her feelings for him had changed, and they decided to part ways.
You knew it was a lie.
You never really lost hope, being young had a certain magic. You fought the knowing truth about your family. Even when it was tattooed on your brain, scalding, hurting. Always finding a way to comfort yourself, you kept living. That year you spent your summer break looking at the stars so many hours you started to recognize constellations. You were hoping to find a message destined to you—at least something had to be made for you.
You grew, fighting to keep the illusion alive. Even now that you were seventeen you had dreams of the stars, of places you have never visited. But it was all imagination and a longing for love. But yesterday, your last day of school before graduating, something changed within you.
You liked a guy whom you knew was not destined to be with you, but you never really cared. If your parents had managed to be together for a decent amount of time, you could live happily for a few years as well. It was what you could allow yourself.
You had met Beomgyu in your first day of high school. He was pretty and cheery, he looked otherworldly, ethereal even. His features were not common, which made him popular in your school. Since soulmates were the craze lately, because a famous actress found her soulmate, every girl dreamed about being his fated partner. You didn’t, you at least wanted to live an ordinary life. As close to normal as you could get. He was always so kind and attentive with everyone that it was hard to stop the fantasies; however, he had a certain liking to you. He usually spoke to you on the hallways, asking for notes or for your opinion after class.
Today, you were both walking out of school. You asked him if he could speed up because your best friend Layla was waiting outside for you. A few meters from the entrance he changed the usual conversation topic.
“Hey, do you like movies?” His hands were hidden inside his sleeves, a little smile forming on his lips. He looked shy, timid, almost nervous. It was odd seeing someone so tall get shy.
You took a few seconds to answer, laughing a little.
“Why? Yes, I love movies. I like going often to the cinema as well.” Stealing a few glances from him, you waited for his answer.
“I was wondering, since its summer break, do you want to watch a horror movie with me?”
He said that while he waited for you to cross the doors first, then following you. You found this cute, he was attentive. Not being the type to date a lot, you felt special. A little bit. You were not dense enough to not notice that this was not a friendly invitation.
Feeling bubbles in your chest, you nodded. “Yes! I love horror” You stretched the ‘o’ in the word love, excited. Spotting your friend, you walked towards her. “Right. I realized I have never given you my phone number. Here let me…”
Trailing off because you noticed he wasn’t listening anymore, you stopped walking. His eyes were set somewhere ahead of you, attention fully focused on something else. You searched for what it could be, intrigued, until you saw it.
He was walking slowly towards your best friend, Layla. They were both looking at each other in a way you couldn’t describe. Understanding clicked inside of you when you saw Beomgyu’s dark hair turn pristine white. Your friend’s hair lost all its ginger color, replacing it with the same shade he had. They were in their own world now, seeing and feeling something, you could never have. Never comprehend.
You knew you were getting in their way, so you politely waited on the side, few meters away from them. Not daring to look because it was little bit awkward, you locked your gaze on the dirty concrete instead. Nevertheless, everybody was looking at them, surprised, some girls were cursing because of what this meant. Others had their hands clasped together, dreaming for this to happen to them one day.
Because they had found each other, they were soulmates.
You congratulated Layla and Beomgyu and left them alone. Not even trying to pick up where you left off. He didn’t even try to look apologetic; it wasn’t his fault. It was meaningless now, and you knew better than to meddle. You were genuinely happy for Layla, but there was a certain feeling that bloomed in you that day. You couldn’t describe it perfectly, but you knew it was rotten. The kind of feeling that wilts flowers— twisted in its own way.
You walked slowly to your house that day, expressionless, going straight to bed. You were not in the mood to cry, instead you stared for a long time at the ceiling, thinking. And when the sun was setting, you recalled what your mother had once said, ‘The universe made room for us’. It angered you, to be played with by some unknown force that ruled the earth, that took decisions for you. Why couldn’t you just be happy? As unfair as it was, it was just what was decided for you a long time ago. Eclipsing that anger, was something deeper, hopelessness. And that could not be mended, even though you had worked hard to sustain it, to be happy and live. There was nothing there anymore.
If you couldn’t find love, that was fine. You were not going to hope for it anymore anyway.
Summary: When Kenma shows up in your living room six years after your breakup, you try to keep it cool. But it doesn't go as planned.
warnings / tags: Angst.
Notes: This can be read as a standalone but it really is part two of my drabble pets. I recommend you give it a quick read before this one so you can catch a few easter eggs I dropped. I love writing for Kenma, enjoy!
wc: 3,464
A breeze—it was all it took to break you down, a mere gust of air. It ruffled strands of hair away from your face, exposing your skin to the icy weather. You let out a sigh that left a fleeting cloud of steam, signaling how the temperature was gradually declining. The streets were packed with rivulets of people streaming to their destinations, your hands fidgeting in the pockets of your long brown coat. You loathed every sporadic little water droplet that fell onto your face, the humidity taking away the scarce warmth you were able to gather. Or were your tears the ones dampening your cheeks? Silently streaming while Vienna was playing on high volume on your headphones. You heard, very clearly with so much attention, how Billy Joel sang: such anguish, such sorrow. The rhythmic clatter of your boots faded into the background, not a single sound daring to interrupt your grief.
You hated how gloomy the day was, fitting for a lonesome evening. As you were approaching your apartment complex, you glanced at the window on the third floor—a white, fluffy speck could be seen. Your cat, Mila, eagerly watched the passerby, resembling a queen gazing from her high, distant throne. Blinking, as tears fell from your eyes, you reached for your keys, swiftly sprinting towards the elevator, careless of the wet tiles.
Standing in front of your door, you felt the storm stirring inside you erupt. Huffing, shakily, you tried to open the door. What welcomed you was not what you expected: a meow, silence, or nothing. But how? You changed the lock after what happened, after he asked you to do so. It absolutely could not be him standing in front of you. It was odd, you thought, how he seemed to be suspended through time; his locks were the same length and color as before. Ah, did he grow a few centimeters taller? Or was it just the effect of his boots, so unlike him since you were accustomed to the sight of him wearing slippers? You noticed him standing on top of the rug. He seemed hesitant, as if dealing with a scaredy feral feline, which he wasn’t very far from. Yet he decided to gift you the faintest of smiles. It couldn’t even be described as one; instead, it was the ghost of a grin.
Jittery and perplexed, headphones still on, lulled by another song that you couldn’t recognize, a fog settled in your head. You felt dizzy, like you were going to throw up, and you dropped your belongings to the ground with a loud thud as you saw the corners of his mouth lift upwards. A plethora of sentences and questions raced through your mind. Unable to speak, you opted for what was most logical.
“Oh, fuck off.”
Scoffing, you closed the door, took off your boots, and exchanged them for a pair of slippers. With a loud sigh, you blinked away the tears in your eyes. Guarding your feelings. The man in front of you was him, really him. After six years apart, he decided to spark your life once again. How dare he. You wanted to break the silence, but a part of yourself did not want to let time fly away, to let him finish his goal. Your heart ached for him, even after six years. Every single fiber of your body reacted to him as if he were some chemicals that burned, tingled, and danced rampant underneath your skin.
He spoke first, after a long pause.
“Alright, so harsh.”
Unbelievable. Was this the way he was going to talk to you after so many years? No. He was not going to. Being unfair to you was something he profusely repeated time after time and one of the many reasons you decided to start anew. You realized your mouth hung agape, closing it quickly, breaking the distance between the both of you.
“You don’t get to wait in my living room wearing those.” Pushing a pair of spare slippers into his hands, you rolled your eyes. “I do not care about the hassle it was for you to travel all the way here, pushing your dumb executive schedule aside just for me. " You feigned being lovestruck, exaggerating your expressions, marking the last word, and then sticking out your tongue, disgusted.
You walked towards the kitchen, placing your scarf and jacket on top of your table. He exchanged his shoes for slippers quickly, as if he were scolded by a parent. Watching every movement of yours, he remained still. He wore a suit, as always, that hugged him too tightly, too gloriously, too perfectly. Too…damned well. But you were not going to let your guard down, not when that date neared soon. So, you decided to do what you were going to do when you got home: organize your groceries and make yourself some excellent Michelin-star-level pasta.
“You will stay for dinner. We will talk. Then you leave. And we continue with our lives.”
He wanted to protest, but you shushed him up. “Ok?”
“Ok.”
“And you will leave the keys.”
“It was weird enough for me to have them…”
“Oh, I know.” You sighed while washing your hands on the kitchen sink. “Why do you have them anyway, weirdo?”
He hesitantly walked through your living room, looking outside the window. The rain grew heavy, nearing its peak time. The floor creaked under his weight while he scanned your bookshelf. Besides being filled with books and trinkets, there was a picture of you and a grey cat. You both looked happy; the frame was decorated in a collage-like style with the name "Taro" on a corner. Averting his gaze, he sighed, defeated.
“I called your sister. I just asked if you still lived here, she laughed through the phone and said I should stop being such a coward and just come.” He shrugged unapologetically as he reached for a book that stood out from the rest. It was pudding-colored and had stickers on its spine.
“She thinks she is so clever, my god, I knew it was a mistake letting her have my keys.” Your sleeves were rolled up until they reached your elbows. Hair away from your face while you chopped the vegetables with a little more sentiment than you dared to admit. “If only I had asked my friend to look after Mila while I was away—Kenma! Put that where you found it.”
You pointed at him with the tip of the knife, eyebrows furrowed. The light above your head made your expression look even more serious. He relished the way you were slowly losing control of your composure; he smiled like a feline. Leaving the photo album where he found it—he knew its contents—he approached you. He didn’t have to look through it to know you hadn’t gotten rid of it.
“We know each other, you don’t have to do that. The formalities.”
You looked at him, chopping faster, gripping your knife until your knuckles turned white. Your face contorted into a scowl, rolling your eyes. His CEO appearance meant nothing to you. You were there when he started, you were with him through college. You were not the one who forced each other onto different continents. You weren’t not responsible for how things turned out.
“We are not even acquaintances—fuck!” You whined, covering your index finger with your free hand. Blood dripped slowly from in-between your fingers. You didn’t even dare to look at him while you let the kitchen’s faucet wash the pain away. The water pooling in the sink was colored scarlet red; it was transparent enough to not worry about it too much. His reaction took you by surprise.
He wrapped his hand on yours, stopping the water with the other one. It was the first time you felt his touch after six years. The adrenaline rush you felt was enough to dull the pain. It was sharp, it was defiant. It was different; it lacked the naivety it frequently had. Instead, it felt like a constant fight. It brought your blood to a boil (not helping your wound at all).
He guided you towards your gray couch, seating you. He didn’t have to say anything; he looked at you, an eyebrow raised. You wanted to object to whatever he was trying to say, ears buzzing. His left hand slid to your shoulder when you were just opening your mouth, the scalding sensation enough to keep your mouth shut. Eyes darting from your clasped hands to your eyes.
“Bathroom, you know where it is.”
Having fetched your first-aid kit, he placed it on top of your coffee table before taking his coat off. Revealing an even tighter white button-down, you couldn’t help but let your eyes roam free over his silhouette. He seemed oblivious as he looked down to unbutton his sleeves, rolling them up. After that, he quickly went to the bathroom to wash his hands.
When he sat next to you to look after your injury, all you could do was avert your gaze.
“You have changed.” You muttered. Then you looked at the way he carefully cleaned your skin, reminiscing about the days he had to look after you because you were prone to accidents. “Some things remain the same, I guess.”
“What has changed?” He inquired, never shifting his attention from your hand.
“Are you taller? You feel taller. Or maybe I’m shorter; I really don’t know.” You brought your free hand towards his arms, softly tracing his skin over the fabric. “You look less scrawny—I swear I’m not insulting you. But I really don’t know; you have grown up, Kenma. I met you when we were starting college, we parted when we were in the beginning of our twenties.”
He didn’t flinch, nor did he back away when you touched him. This was the closest he felt to peace in a while.
“Kuroo has been actively 'inviting' me to the gym. It is not a choice of free will.” He paused the movements of his hands, for a fleeting moment, locking his gaze with yours. “We don’t know each other anymore, I know. Your hair is different, your eyes… don’t look at me like they used to.”
Your free hand gestured to cup his face, but you had to physically restrain yourself from touching his skin. You pursed your lips.
“What else do you expect from me? I really thought we were going to get married.” Before he could reply, you shook your head. “I was willing to follow you wherever you wanted to go. Because we were building our own home, you felt like home.”
“And you? Have you been well? These past years, I mean." Shifting the topic was his last resort, he wanted to avoid talking about their breakup.
“Well enough, I guess. I—um… Today marks the third month of the engagement I broke off.” You laughed, awkwardly, trying to alleviate the tension.
You felt how his movements slowed their pace, hands stiffening. He nodded, his jaw muscles tightening. He reacted the same way he had when he was younger whenever something bothered him. Knowing what this meant, you didn’t reply just yet. Letting him take his time. “How long were you guys together?”
He almost knew this, one lonely evening when he was eating ramen in his apartment alone was enough to make a man lose his head. He had stalked you on Instagram, but he still wanted some kind of confirmation.
“Uh, about two and a half years.”
“Two and a half years” He echoed, flat. Hearing you say it hurt more than he thought, and having to acknowledge this was even more painful.
“I heard you were also dating. Are you guys still together?”
You had the same right to know about him as he did about you. So, you tried to suppress your shame, although that did not stop your body from blushing.
Puzzled, he tilted his head. Then, as sharp as he was, he chuckled a little.
“Tabloids most of the time aren’t true.” When you were about to object, he shook his head. “I had to do a commercial with an idol, there isn’t more to it. She is a very dear friend.”
You nodded, ashamed of yourself.
Finishing up your bandages, he released your hand. Gulping loudly. His eyes had a resolve you hadn’t seen before.
“I never wanted to steal your life."
“What is that supposed to mean?” Adjusting your position on the sofa, you placed a few centimeters between the two of you.
“It doesn’t matter.”
Annoyed, you sighed, grounding yourself.
“You really should stop being a coward.”
He blinked slowly for a little bit, as if trying to muster the courage to say what he wanted. It troubled him, the furrowed brows and averted gaze were clues that gave away how he was feeling.
“You had a scholarship for a master’s abroad. I know you were not going to take it because of me, I overheard you talk about it through the phone. Six years ago. I was just starting my company, and we were talking of moving overseas. I wasn’t going to compromise your future.”
It didn’t hit you at first. But after a few seconds you realized what this meant. Your mind wandered off to the moments before you broke up. When it happened, he said that he lost his feelings for you, that he didn’t see you in his future. That he felt like he couldn’t continue with his life with you in it.
A lonesome tear left a scorching wet trail on your cheek, it threatened to erupt into a messy, raw, and uncontrolled cry.
“You are such a fucking filthy liar.”
Keeping the façade up wasn’t on the table for you anymore, you opened the doors to your real feelings, reaching for every single ounce of pain that has accumulated from the last six years.
“I wanted to feel like I wasn’t robbing you of your life.”
You were now standing up, backing away from him, your back hitting your dining table. You grabbed the wood to keep yourself from falling to your knees.
“I did that stupid master’s—hell, I even have a PhD now. Yeah, I spent these last six years entering academia.”
You laughed between cries, not even bothering to wipe your tears away. You took a moment to sob, to try and still your breaths.
“And you know, it really wasn’t in my plans for you to show up.”
Kenma was sitting on your couch, hands fidgeting. He tried to get up, but you warned him with a finger to remain seated.
“I met a guy. It was around the time I saw you in a magazine with a girl. I thought, if he is moving on, why shouldn’t I? So, as you know, we dated.”
His eyes were the only thing that gave away his pain, he wasn’t going to interrupt you. This was the conversation he wanted to have, the one he regretted not having years ago. His hand brushed through his hair, trying to find some kind of comfort. He seemed nervous about what you were about to say.
“He was my fiancé, Kozume. I was supposed to get married next month.”
That broke something in him. The possibility never occurred to his mind, the one where you got away. Not even after all these years apart did he think you might settle. A brief wash of relief coursed through his body. You had told him you broke the engagement; there was just one question hanging in the air.
Walking towards your frame, he gestured towards your cheeks, restraining himself. He wanted to touch you, but he couldn’t. He felt ashamed for taking a decision that wasn’t his to take.
You felt your body grow so heavy you couldn’t muster the courage to move.
“Why did you call it off?” He was blunt, leaving no room for interpretation.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Your voice came out raspy and unstable. The tension was interrupted by the worried meow of Mila; you caressed her behind her ear, giving you a moment to think.
“No, for me it’s not.”
He was walking towards you with each word. Usually, you were able to read him well, but things were different. He was someone you actively avoided throughout these years, having given up on crossing paths with him. But there he stood, in your dimly lit living room. With the sky roaring, filled with thunder and rain. The light hitting his face softened his expression, his hair cascading, framing his features.
He looked honest, as if saying, “This is all there is to me."
You just had to be honest.
“That is a rather easy question, Kozume.”
You didn’t know where you found the strength to walk up to him, to look him in the eye.
“It is because I have never ceased loving you.” You brushed your fingers along his cheek, careful to not burn yourself while doing so. “When I went to do my master’s in France, I had never felt so lonely. I missed you achingly. Every single fiber of my body resented the idea of being away from you. And…God, when I met him, I just wanted someone to extinguish the flame that was ablaze on my body. He did it, I had never felt so at peace. And I so desperately wanted to believe that I was in love, because he was good at keeping me cool.”
Your face was a few centimeters away from him, noses almost brushing each other.
“I called off the wedding because it’s you, Kozume. I have known this truth for as long as I have known you. I know there is not going to be anybody else. It was either you or nothing.”
Closing the distance, you hugged him tightly, feeling a new wave of tears coming from your eyes. Your muffled cries could be heard across the living room.
“I was hoping I could bury our memories underneath my busy schedule, but it always ended up leading me to you. You are so valuable to me. You have no idea the pain I felt when I saw you were moving on. I wanted to reach out. I was desperate, but I felt like you needed to live your life. And I had to explore mine.”
Giving in, he finally hugged you tightly, his arms crossing over your waist, anchoring you to earth.
This dichotomy was rather curious. He felt like he needed to say so much, to fill this empty room with so many words that the silence was unthinkable. But nothing rolled off his tongue. It was as if it were filled with syrupy molasses, preventing him from opening his mouth.
You both stood still. You were still shaking and crying all those tears you knew you had from years ago. He remained there, stroking your back, inhaling your scent. After a while, you left your spot on his chest and looked at him.
Your eyes were red; there was no tear in sight. You stopped being able to cry a few minutes ago. Your cheeks were wet and rosy from the trails that the tears once left. Wiping your face with your sleeve, you blinked to lubricate your eyes that were stinging.
Clearing your throat, you spoke, ever so slightly, feeling minuscule.
“I never wanted to be away… I know you live on another continent; I don’t really care.”
The corner of his lips turned upward, just a tiny bit.
“You were never supposed to be away.” He inhaled, hugging you tighter. “I’m sorry.”
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
You both lay on your couch with the sky dark and a blanket covering both of you. Kenma was sleepy, drawing lazy circles on your back, hugging you tightly, not even giving a hint of wanting to let go. You were caressing his hair, peppering kisses on his cheeks from time to time.
“Kozume?”
“Mmm…?” He asked, yawning.
“How did Taro adapt to a foreign country?”
He smiled, comfortable, eyes closed.
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean? You are still taking care of him, right? Oh my god… Did he—”
Before you could finish your sentence, he gave you a peck on the lips.
“I wouldn’t know because I never moved overseas. I still live here.”
Your mouth hung agape, dumbfounded.
"Kozume, you have so much to explain.” You drew some of your vowels, disbelieving what you just heard.
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series summary— A banquet must be held for the moon prince. The objective? Finding him a soon-to-be bride. When a letter is sent to Luomen, he confronts Maomao about her relationship with Jinshi. Puzzled, she asks where this was going until she is shown the letter that had the imperial seal. She must attend the gathering not as the apothecary girl, but as Kan Maomao member of the La clan.
warnings— I have read up until light novel 8, so I narrated some of the jumbled details that I remembered. There are major spoilers from LN 5 and characters from LN 7.
notes— Sorry for not updating, life got really busy, I will try to update more frequently but I won't promise anything. This is not proof read, enjoy!.
Having good intuition was key to surviving the palace. Not only because it kept you away from trouble but also because everyone seemed intent on being ambiguous about their intentions. Everything here had a hidden meaning; nothing was as straightforward as it seemed. And, sure, it made sense. You couldn’t be truthful when beheading was the other option. Maomao was currently stationed in Lakan’s state, much to her dismay. Even when Lahan made sure to help her avoid the eccentric strategist.
It was the early morning of the last day of the banquet, and with that came Jinshi’s decision. It wasn’t going to be public yet. The only ones who would know were the lucky lady and her family, but it was pretty much obvious that if you didn’t receive some kind of notice, you just weren’t what the moon prince wanted. Regardless of knowing the answer to this question, a weight had settled at the bottom of her stomach, making her work challenging since she just couldn’t shake the eerie feeling that something bad was going to happen. Call it what you may, she gulped the sensation down and kept examining the report on Haoran. He was a young bureaucrat who worked at the palace, especially overseeing their relationship with the West—which included Shaoh. There wasn’t much merit to his work; he was an ordinary noble doing an ordinary job. A peculiar thing sparked Maomao's curiosity; he had supervised the organization of the arrival of the delegation in which Ayla and Aylin came. She knew Ayla to be much trouble; she had partaken in the production of feifas orchestrated by the Shi clan and had also chased her cousin out of her country. Aylin…Well, the woman wasn’t less trouble than Ayla, but she had significantly done less damage than her. She recalled the conversation she and Lahan had with her: “food for Shaoh or political asylum.” Those had been the terms of their agreement. Although, ultimately, she had been admitted to the rear palace as a consort.
What puzzled Maomao was that this man was clean; there was nothing suggesting he might be betraying Li to Shaoh, which made sense if you were going to be a spy. He had the most connections with Gyoku-ou, the brother of the empress who now ruled the Isei province. She sighed audibly. When she searched the handkerchief, she found aromas that, yes, didn’t originate from the capital, but they could also easily be found in the west—which had lots of trade with Shaoh. So, nothing out of the ordinary. Then why was this man meddling in Jinshi’s affairs? She was given a clear order: search for a man that might be getting too close to Shaoh. But this just wasn’t falling into place.
She clutched the cloth, now washed and dry, in her free hand. Today she must return it to its owner, which made Maomao sulk. Having to interact with nobles drained her energy.
Much to her luck, or lack thereof, Lahan entered the room, grinning.
“Are you there sulking because the Moon Prince might pick a better lady? Don’t worry, sis, we’ll find you an apt suitor for you to continue the family bloodline.”
She glared at Lahan as if to tell him to go die in a pit. That tousled-haired idiot looked by far not better than her, so how dare he make remarks? She quickly cleaned the mountain of paper that was in front of her and got up.
“Again, tell me, how many women have taken interest in you?”
He seemed at a loss for words, and when he was about to object, Maomao smiled and crushed his toes. He suppressed a yelp, defeated, and worked his way towards the table where most of the papers stood. It was useless to hide it from Lahan, he would find out about it soon enough.
“Yang Haoran… I have met with him once. He is…nothing out of the ordinary. However, these numbers here, they look odd.”
Walking near her cousin, she saw nothing strange with what he was pointing at. Numbers were Lahan’s specialty; there was a reason why the four-eyed idiot always carried an abacus. However, to not allow him to get full of himself, she tried to analyze what her eyes were seeing.
In his hands, three documents were splayed out for her to gaze at easily. She didn’t ask what she was supposed to be seeing; the first scroll had records of when the man left the palace. She saw nothing weird, except for the dates. He had left at the same time they had their first trip to the west, which might’ve been a coincidence, but the second one was a letter addressed to Haoran from Gyokuen. It aligns with the time he was supposed to be absent. Had he come? Maomao wasn’t good at remembering things she had no interest in, so she couldn’t be trusted to discern this claim. However, the third one was a complaint from his superiors that the man had been caught slacking during the day. The date matches the time he was supposed to be away.
All of this didn’t make sense; why would he take an absence and then come to work? She felt that she needed more pieces for this to click. She gave the man a look, encouraging him to make a claim.
“I’m just stating the obvious. If you have these documents, then this is a task that falls solely upon your shoulders. Why should I help? I am not given anything in return.”
She didn’t feel disappointed; knowing the penny-pincher that he was, this was very in character for him. Shrugging, she walked towards the door; she knew why he had come. It was time to get ready.
⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°
Maomao wore the most excellent robes; the tailor Lahan picked was astounding. The fabric came to life under those skilled hands. Today, she was wearing pink and peach garments cinched around the waist. The sleeves were long enough to hide her scarred arm (this was a request from her cousin). The most beautiful pieces of jewelry dangled from her ears and neck: sparkling pink and white beads moved along with the movement of her steps. Today’s banquet was a classical Linese one, everyone sat. She sat alongside Lahan, waiting for their food.
She eyed Jinshi, who sat on the Emperor’s left, to his right was Empress Gyokuyou. All the girls in the room were diligently watching the Moon Prince, and when he smiled, hearts fluttered and small squeals were heard. Maomao rolled her eyes, he was always using his looks to manipulate people.
The first meal was uneventful; she didn’t eat that much, as Lahan had taught her. However, she found herself reaching for the alcohol much more than for her chopsticks. When the intermission came, she was ordered to wait there, much to her dismay.
A man approached her; she recognized him as Haoran. She put her best fake smile on and gestured for him to come near.
“I’m sorry, milady, for intruding.”
“It really is no problem, sir.”
“I just…didn’t have the time to chat with you. I never even asked you your name.”
She saw him wandering near her the other days of the banquet, but he seemed too busy to spare some time, so he just didn’t. She decided to give him the name her cousin had given her that represented her addition to the La clan.
“Lanhua, a pleasure meeting you again, sir.” Fetching a fine piece of cloth from her robes, she handed him the handkerchief he gave her. “Thank you so much.”
He nodded, taking it in his hands, but he gave her a hairpin in return. “Let’s meet up again.” And then he left.
It was an offense to the imperial family to do this when everyone who came knew that the ladies in here might be wed to the Moon Prince. However, that was a tacit rule, so no one could pin it on you if they found out. She hid the ornament in the folds of her robes.
Sensing a set of eyes on her, she caught Jinshi staring. He had his brows furrowed but winked at her anyways. Terrorized, she gulped the rest of her wine; this was going to be a long day.
When Lahan came back, he had a grin on his face; she didn’t bother asking him about it—she had no interest in it whatsoever. When the intermission was over, the second meal had to start. When the server placed the glass of wine along the dish, she grinned. Without thinking much about it, she gulped the wine.
It was pretty much yucky; the wine tasted bitter. She thought it might be one of those wines from the west that went bad because they had been traveling for too long. But they wouldn’t dare to serve this at a banquet where the imperial family is present. Furrowing her brows, drowsy Maomao (she had ingested a good amount of alcohol, too much even for her) felt a tingling sensation taking over her lips and mouth. Something’s up…
Son of a—!
Bitter! Of course, when wine goes bad, it doesn’t taste bitter. It tastes sour. This was tampered with. She was careless and trusting; she never realized she might be a target for poison.
It’s that idiot’s fault!
She recalled the events of the first night when Jinshi approached her; in this war for power, anybody would want to eliminate a threat. She needed to be quick, but her clouded senses had wasted precious minutes trying to think. Her mind was racing. They choose a setting where they knew she couldn’t just get up and vomit. This was so stupid.
Her worries grew when the tingling spread to her throat and limbs; she had trouble breathing. She loved poison, but maybe some part of her fretted that she might die. If she should die, she would want it to be with poison. Sweat ran through her spine; she started to feel lightheaded. She needed to tell somebody; she was so jittery.
“Lahan, the wine is poisoned…” She murmured as she stood, but the world spun, and she fell flat onto the floor.
A simultaneous gasp was heard. Everything went dark for Maomao.
⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°
By the emperor's orders, Jinshi must pick a girl that very same day. However much the apothecary girl had helped them in the past, she was a mere commoner. She wasn’t raised in the nobility, and frankly, she was just too much trouble for them.
But it was curious how his heart clenched at the sight of Zuigetsu, an odd feeling creeping up his body. He saw a little bit of himself in him, much to his dismay, the moon prince’s purple hair was a reminder. A reminder only he could understand, only he knew what it meant. A secret he knew would cause an outbreak in Li. But however much he knew of love, he was also versed in politics. And the La clan was nothing but trouble, the apothecary coming from a humble background plus the number of enemies “Jinshi” had acquired were a few of the reasons he disapproved of the look in Zuigetsu’s eyes.
Love was not enough sometimes.
“I won’t delay this because of this incident.”
“I know, I have already chosen.”
The way his eyes shone brightly against the dimly lit room was a sign, something he should have commented about but decided he wouldn’t. He simply waited for him to speak, patiently.
“Your majesty will know in due time.”
Before he could reveal the identity of his bride, Jinshi had to make some efforts so Maomao could stay by his side. When his brother dismissed him, he crossed the door’s threshold, breathing in. A few meters away from the room, he exhaled sweat running through his temples. He could only think of her, he knew she had a high tolerance for poison, but when he saw her collapse, his heart sank.
The corridors and roads seemed endless while he trotted towards his state, his pompous clothes drifting in the wind. The turmoil generated thanks to the attempted assassination of Maomao had everybody running towards the infirmary. He had to avoid her at any cost, any interaction between them might endanger her.
So, he sent Gaoshun’s son, Basen. He would have sent his father instead, but he was now serving his majesty. He acknowledged that Basen was rough, a little reckless, and perhaps not fond of Maomao, but he was diligent enough (he had no other choice).
Basen did not understand how such a beautiful man could worry about a lowly woman like Maomao, he questioned his master secretly. He knew better than to say what he thought. Walking fast through the outer court, meters before arriving at the infirmary, he heard a man scream Maomao’s name, he recognized the voice of the strategist of the La clan. Some soldiers were trying to restrain him so he wouldn’t search the entirety of the physician’s place.
He walked carefully towards what he recognized as the ladies that freckled girl always hung out with. He tried to remember their names…
“Sir Basen.” Said one of them respectfully, the other looked skeptical. Almost like she loathed the idea of him speaking to her. “Are you here looking for Maomao?”
He nodded. Both signaled carefully to follow them towards the dormitories, discreetly they walked inside a chamber. Greeting them was a very beaten Maomao, she was crouching, vomiting inside a bucket. There was no trace of the fine lady of the banquet. The makeup was washed away, and her hair was down.
“Maomao, you shouldn’t be up!”
“Miss Yao! I’ll take care of it.”
“En’en, I’m an apprentice too.”
Both helped Maomao up, guiding her towards the bed. He looked away while they tucked her inside.
“Maomao was poisoned, but her body reacts well towards it. We still don’t know the side effects of it, mainly because we don’t know what it is. So, she will have to be under careful examination.” En’en very matter-of-factly spoke, explaining.
“It was so good! Ah.” Maomao grinned, murmuring, eyes closed.
“Maomao! Don’t say that you sound like a freak!” Yao exclaimed, urging the freckled girl to stop talking.
“I am here on behalf of ma—uh, the moon prince. He wants to see you as soon as possible.”
Maomao sat so fast she almost fainted, but she looked annoyed.
“Ugh...No, I want peace.”
And so, she got up, grabbing her physician’s clothes, and walked off, ignoring the protests of her friends.
type— Series? This might be a one-shot, but I might be planning to continue it. Chapter 1/?
wc— 4728.
summary— A banquet must be held for the moon prince. The objective? Finding him a soon-to-be bride. When a letter is sent to Luomen, he confronts Maomao about her relationship with Jinshi. Puzzled, she asks where this was going until she is shown the letter that had the imperial seal. She must attend the gathering not as the apothecary girl, but as Kan Maomao member of the La clan.
warnings— I have read up until light novel 8, so I narrated some of the jumbled details that I remembered. There are major spoilers from LN 5 and characters from LN 7.
notes— I adore the apothecary diaries, it has been my fixation lately and—yeah, I know—I mostly write reader inserts, but I felt like writing for JinMao. I didn't proof read this oops!
Scattered across the vast land of Li, a wide variety of flowers grew. They peppered the landscape with their own uniqueness and attributes, colors so unique you could hardly see them repeated on another. It is as if this could also be applied to the women of the court, which, of course, Jinshi was well acquainted with. Far away were the times when Jinshi existed as a mere eunuch, his identity hidden behind a façade. Of course, this did not stop women from gazing at him, from judging him. After all, when it came to it, your appearance was defining of your value. Even his brother perpetrated these standards; only the most beautiful women were the ones he visited, flowers he admired. Of course, some of his concubines lacked—so to speak—redeeming qualities, but they of course couldn’t overlook the fact that they were there because politics were at play.
Now that Ka Zuigetsu shone brightly against the sun, as if he were a rare purple stone, he couldn’t hide anymore. This meant a lot of things, but by far the most tedious one was finding himself a spouse. He was twenty years old by now, and he was nearing the age one ought to be wed. And thus, his majesty had a banquet arranged for him to meet the most gracious and delicate petals. It wasn’t the first time; he recalled his time in the west—that one annoying gathering, where he implied to Maomao that he wanted her as his wife.
When bestowed with the opportunity to pick his fiancée, he couldn’t look another woman in the eye. Not when he knew where to find her, and even when he couldn’t reach her physically, he could rely on the memories tattooed on his head. For one, it was troublesome for him; he didn’t want to strip her of her freedom. They both knew that if she were to become his bride, she would no longer be able to do the things that brought her joy.
Lost in thought, alongside a very conflicted Basen, he scanned the documents on his desk. It was a letter from the imperial family, directed towards Luomen. He knew she would look at it in disgust, but he preferred to try.
When her old man called for her, she had to excuse herself from her talk with Yao and En’en, her friends shrugged and smiled reassuringly. Her heart was always happy to see her father, whom she was so fond of. He invited her on a walk, which worried her; his leg wasn’t fit for walks, as it was missing a kneecap.
“Say, Maomao, what is your relationship with the moon prince?” His kind expression never faltered, not even when he spoke about the imperial family.
She was taken aback; something must be going on if he is asking these questions. Moreover, Luomen wasn’t one to act on assumptions, so he must be gathering information. Even if he already had a picture on his mind.
“He is the moon prince, and I am a medical apprentice. I sometimes run errands for him, by his own volition. That is all.” She spoke with her gaze fixed on the ground, almost betrayed by her nerves. He looked at her and smiled; instead of his lips moving, his hands fetched something from the inside of his physician robes—a letter. She looked like a scaredy cat; she recognized that seal. It had to be from Jinshi or worse, his majesty. She prayed that it wouldn’t be the latter, but still, hope could only get you so far. She scanned the contents on the paper; she recognized the handwriting to be Jinshi’s, but it was signed by a higher, far more influential figure, the emperor.
A shiver ran through her body; perplexed, she gave the stupid scroll back to his father and scowled, thinking of him. She was “invited” to the banquet in honor of the moon prince, this time in Li. And not as a food tester, not as a lady-in-waiting. As a potential bride for Ka Zuigetsu. As Kan Maomao, a member of the La clan. She felt like vomiting every time somebody associated her with that eccentric strategist. She was born a commoner and needed to be treated as such; she couldn’t fulfill what was expected of a member of the court. She wasn’t dense, of course; she knew her ways around the nobility, but at the end of the day, when the stars shone brightly on the firmament, she was just an apothecary who grew with impurities, crooked, like a weed. She was nothing more and did not have any ambition to escalate any higher.
So, when her father sighed and looked at the clear heavens, her pulse quickened.
“Maomao, I advise you to assess this situation with utmost care.” He sounded so serene, such an antithesis to what she felt “However, you should also do it whilst taking care of yourself.”
As always, Luomen was so wise and careful. She sighed, grounding herself. Anxiety had no use; she probably couldn’t do anything about it, so she decided to do what she could. With that, she bid farewell to her father and left for the medical office, where she continued working.
The next day, she unexpectedly got the day off. It was under the pretext that higher-ups requested her presence. Yao seemed alert and teased her a little.
“Maomao, if you are slacking off, I’ll grab the spot as best student!” She smiled mischievously, her arms crossed. En’en behind her, admiring her mistress with sparkles in her eyes.
“I will just be worried… Who will eat the frogs I prepare if I’m not here?” She squealed, frightened by the thought of the slimy animal, then she shook her head and said, “Yuck!” Maomao just laughed it off before heading off.
She was summoned by none other than Lahan; when they met, she quirked her eyebrow. He probably knew she would absolutely loathe the idea of being near Lakan, so they resorted to what she could withstand. She didn’t bother greeting him; he—an eccentric one as well—didn’t deserve as much. He looked awfully hurt.
“Come on, Maomao, I’m your older brother!”
Her face contorted into something so horrible, so frightening, that even the ladies-in-waiting shrieked, hiding just a bit behind the man. Lahan looked beaten; he dropped the subject.
“Ahem, alright. Since you won’t be making a fool of our family at the moon prince’s banquet, you ought to look somewhat decent.” He then stroked his chin; there was not even a sign of a beard to be seen, and he should be old enough to at least grow some “I mean, it is hard to make you look presentable. My numbers don’t even add up! Why you? Your numbers are mediocre at best.”
She crushed her toes with her foot, almost stomping on them. He tried his best to hide the yelp that came out of his lips. She knew even Lahan was jealous of everybody who got close to Jinshi; he said that the numbers he had were beautiful, a work of art. Lahan knew that if the moon prince were a woman, he would have pursued his hand in marriage, or vice versa.
Maomao acknowledged such a thing; she, of all of them, saw how he looked with rouge, which was almost as terrifying as declaring war on Shaoh. He possessed the type of beauty one would go to war for.
On the other hand, Maomao knew her value, even if Rikuson had once kissed her hand and told her the contrary. She knew commoners could never dream of this, that she should be grateful. But Jinshi was pristine and immaculate, and Maomao was covered by mud and debris. He belonged to the great heavens; Maomao belonged to the pleasure district. They were so far apart it seemed ridiculous to get offended by what Lahan said, because it was the truth. It truly didn’t add up.
Her chest was flat, and she was scrawny. Ever since living on palace grounds, she had gained a little bit of weight, but nothing worth noting. And this led to her not having…well, you know, a decent chest. Her hair wasn’t silky smooth, nor did it shine under the sun. And overall, she just wasn’t a pleasure to the eye.
“If you are done rambling, could you perhaps tell me why you need me? The banquet is not to be held until the next week.” She always spoke matter-of-factly; her words lacked emotion whenever she was around the La clan. This, of course, did not include Luomen. She had a sense as to why she was summoned but feared that if she said it, it would become true. She did not want to play dress-up with Lahan again.
“You must look presentable. I would have wished to give you some proper manners ahead of time, but a week's worth of work will have to suffice.” He adjusted his glasses as he spoke, his hand clinging to a stack of papers. Perhaps there it was written what Maomao will have to do for the week.
“I am not going to be picked as a bride. You said so.” Her hands were fidgeting behind her sleeves. To the world she looked unfazed, but if you knew her well, you could catch how her eyebrows twitched ever so slightly, the suave movement of her hands beneath her robes, and how her eyes lost some of the color they usually had. It felt like a waste to do this to her; her name wasn’t going to be next to Ka Zuigetsu anytime soon. It was a good day too; there was no cloud to be seen, and the breeze was fresh, heavy with the smell of nature. She wished to be somewhere else, where nobody could find her.
“From now on you will be treated as a member of our clan and will cease working as a medical assistant. Until whatever is decided by the moon prince.”
She raised an eyebrow; without so much as looking in his direction, she knew he was looming there. That stupid idiot.
“Is your father aware of this?”
“He opposes the very idea of it, but he can’t reject an order of his majesty.”
“Keep him away from me, or I’ll run away.”
He led them to a secluded room where the tailor could take her measurements; Lahan left her with his ladies-in-waiting. He explicitly said that they were also hers, and she should ask whatever she needed. She stood still, answering questions and being judged by her lack of weight in some areas—they were polite enough to not comment too much about her breasts, but alas, they were designing things that could make her stand out, so her deficits were to be listed as much as her assets (which were significantly fewer).
She saw as the light danced across the room, the carpets were red with gold woven drawings, the thread sparkled under the light. It was way past her lunchtime; she was getting hungry. She had learned from little comments her company made that the banquet was to last four days. That was one day more than the one they held at the west, at Gyokuen’s house. But they also were designing clothes for her to use daily. In summary, Lahan was making sure that she looked presentable at any time.
“Miss Maomao.” One of the ladies spoke. She didn’t bother remembering their names; she wasn’t going to be here for long, and, honestly, Maomao wasn’t good with things that didn’t spark her interest.
“Yes?”
“We are finished; part of your clothing should arrive tomorrow. Meanwhile, Sir Lahan wanted to meet you for lunch.”
She followed… Yu? Or was it, Mei? Through the corridors until they were in a dimly lit room. Different kinds of dishes were on the table; seated were Lahan and a woman speaking. The woman turned to look at her, her eyes an icy sight. She shuddered, knowing what was about to happen.
She tried to flee, but two eunuchs blocked her path.
They were about to teach her manners.
⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°
Maomao walked across the palace grounds defeated; her eyebags were skillfully covered with makeup. She hadn’t seen her old man or her friends in about a week. She was now eating better, but she missed En’en’s cooking. She also looked like an entirely different person. Her hair was up, held with two beautiful lotus flower hairpins. She wore refined robes; the skirt was a pale pink wrapped with a beautiful shade of green. This fabric, though, was embroidered with lotus flowers with a white thread that glimmered under the sunrays. She was amazed at how the tailor listened to her suggestion for commodity and mobility; nothing squeezed or felt uncomfortable. They did a great job. They also started giving her the best skincare treatments there were, and she wore perfume picked by her. Ointments were also lathered across her skin, making it glisten, so she hardly needed to use powder to hide her skin; even Lahan admitted it, she looked healthy. They also applied makeup to her face—enough that she looked elegant.
Nobody dared to look at her, not because of her status but because of the freak strategist. If he found out somebody had made a move on her, he would have them fired. So, it was a surprise when somebody approached her. Basen. He was alone, with no sight of the moon prince.
He looked disgusted to see her, as if he was looking at a four-eyed frog. Maomao shrugged, giving him an apologetic look.
“I have heard rumors of the incredibly beautiful yet aloof daughter of—” She cut him off with a glare before he could finish that sentence. He was dense but understood what she meant. “Of the feared Maomao. I miss your freckles.”
“Yeah, me too.” She reached for the place where she drew her freckles, nostalgia filling her body. She was sulking when Basen clicked his tongue and scolded her.
“You know you should be grateful Master Jinshi invited you to the banquet. I don’t think you are fit for him.”
She snorted, and it looked horrible with such a sour atmosphere surrounding her.
“That makes two of us. Or, well, maybe everybody thinks so too.”
“Anyways, we need your help. You should come with me.”
“Let me change into my commoner clothes.”
“No need; it is an urgent matter.”
She sighed; this will do, I guess.
They walked across the palace towards the inner court, specifically Jinshi’s state. Maomao grew wary of this; it wasn’t appropriate for a lady to be here, less than a day away from the prince’s banquet. Suiren was the one that greeted them first; she looked so pleased with the way Maomao was looking that she complimented her and said that she looked lovely. Gaoshun was still serving his majesty; she missed him so much. Compared to Gaoshun, Basen was a juvenile and inexperienced toughened by combat; he lacked on other fronts.
All the manners she had been learning were to avoid embarrassment; she couldn’t behave like she normally would. Now, not with this façade. So, she sat delicately where she was told to and didn’t speak a word until she had to.
When he entered the room, she felt her body flinch, her palms sweaty. He looked taken aback and laughed it off.
“Maomao, are you okay? You look like you could kill somebody.” He said it amicably; what he really wanted her to understand was that she could relax with him. Jinshi was so enamored by her that she looked beautiful with whatever she was wearing. And he felt like he needed to find the tailor that made those dresses; they were skillful. She was absolutely glowing with those robes.
“I’m sorry, Master Jinshi.” She bowed and fixed her garments. The pieces of hair that framed her face made her look so harmonious; he didn’t want to imagine what she had planned for the banquet.
“I want you to do something for me.”
And so, she heard his case. It made sense he reached for her.
And tomorrow came. The banquet was to be held in the evening, but her ladies-in-waiting were waking her up early in the morning to prepare. Her body wasn’t even woken up yet, and people were changing her sleeping garments for the ones for the party. She wore a layered robe; the skirt was a gradient of ivory red ending on ivory red. It was embroidered with flowers and petals, giving the illusion that these were floating in the fabric; it was cinched at the chest with a cream belt, and it had a big flower in its center. Embroidered with different color threads. It looked unreal. It had long, flowy sleeves that started as a crimson color but ended on the now repetitive cream. A piece of light fabric hung from her arms; it was a very deep red. That very same red was used to create an ornament that tied around the belt and hung loose with some marble at the end.
As for her hair, they did an updo, leaving two front pieces framing her features. They added headpieces of a light pink flower that almost faded into white in her hair. This alongside four hairpins. She specifically asked to wear the silvery hairpin Jinshi had gifted her in the west.
Applying makeup was as much a long process as she had imagined; she used to see how the courtesans at the brothel used to get ready for the clients, hours of the early morning spent on enhancing their natural beauty. She thought that it must be such an odyssey to enhance something that just wasn’t there.
Her eyes were dolled up with crimson pigments, and the color of her eyebrows was enhanced. They applied a soft pink pigment on her cheeks alongside a strong red rouge, making her appear paler. She did not need base powder, as she looked just fine.
“Makeup is like a sharp blade.” Lahan commented, adjusting his glasses.
“Don’t be an idiot if you want me to behave.”
Lahan pressed his lips and dropped the matter.
⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°
She walked into the banquet alongside Lahan; she thanked him silently that he was able to keep his father away. It took a weight off her shoulders. The room was crowded; everyone looked rather pompous. Every flower looked embellished, adorned. As one might suspect, everybody turned when they arrived. They were, after all, curious about the eccentric La clan. The girls gave bitter looks to Maomao. She knew this would happen, so she shrugged it away. This banquet was like the one they had in the west; one would go towards the table to fetch themselves food, so nobody was sitting.
She, however, did not expect his majesty to be here. He sat at the end of the room alongside his wife, both scanning the room. Sometimes exchanging some friendly conversation between them. There was no sign of their children, it made sense. She locked eyes with Gyokuyou, who gave her a heartfelt smile. She gave her smile and a curtsy nod, wary of anybody who might be observing.
A crowd formed around something on the left corner of the room. She saw a tall figure, by the looks of it, she figured it was Jinshi. His hair, silky smooth, shining under the light. She saw him gracefully manage his way around people. Keeping his distance from the girls, rewarding them with an apologetic smile.
He was forever careful with what he did and how he unfolded in society. One of the girls surrounding Jinshi saw her eyeing him. The girl scoffed and whispered toward the woman to her right. They both laughed at her; he noticed.
Jinshi excused himself from the group and walked gracefully towards Maomao, she went still. “No, he is not going to do this. Right?” She murmured more to herself than to Lahan.
Ignoring that, Lahan gave her a response. “Good luck, sis.” And then smiled towards the prince.
“Miss Maomao.” He greeted her in a sweet, melodic tone. She wanted to stick her tongue out and say barf. The prince took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles softly, like a feather’s touch. Eyes locked on hers. Everybody seemed to go silent, glaring daggers at Maomao. Jinshi then closed the breach between them and gave her a grin. His lips parted, and he whispered, “You have always been charming. I loathe those who dare to lay their eyes on you.”
Unbelievable! He knew he was compromising her publicly by doing this. She wanted to give him a piece of his mind; she felt her cheeks burning hot. She had to mentally suppress the shivers that arose. Instead of giving him the satisfaction he wanted, she bowed to him alongside Lahan. Even though the prince hadn’t regarded her cousin. This bothered him; the slight twitch of his eyebrow gave him away.
“Moon prince. An honor to be acquainted with you.” He smiled, giving Maomao a side-eye.
“An honor.” She said, unable to meet his gaze. She was furious with him.
He then bid farewell; the public still looked struck by what had just happened. He was going to regret it.
She had to moderate what she ate and how she ate it. Lahan had his eyes on her the entire evening. Before Jinshi approached them, he was vigilant of Maomao’s doings; he now didn’t leave her side. A handful of politicians decided they were worth their time after the moon prince publicly acknowledged them; it was a hassle on its own but a necessary one at last. She needed to pinpoint who, among these plump gentlemen, was a spy for Shaoh. It was a hard task that had befallen upon her shoulders, but she was not a quitter.
Some of the politicians complimented Maomao, looking at her chest quite disappointed. Others were…satisfied with what she had to offer. She felt disgusted, as if she were a mere flower in a garden for people to touch and smell, to admire and decide if they were going to be picking this specimen today. One of them—she didn’t learn his name, she instead called him monobrow—dared to joke and said to Lahan that if she wasn’t chosen, she would be a great fit for his son.
It was funny how everybody thought of women as toys. If the leader of the pack showed some kind of interest in her, all of them wanted to have her, possess her. She wasn’t born for this, nor does she have the patience to be with any bureaucrat’s boring son. Lost in thought, a funny smell flooded her nostrils; it was exotic. It came from another land, she knew it, the spices in it were only brought from other regions. She excused herself from the conversation, earning herself a look from Lahan, and followed a man. He stopped at the tables where the food was displayed.
“Excuse me.” She did her best to appear shy, even flustered. The man wasn’t unappealing; his face was sharp and had some imperfections. Unlike Jinshi, he didn’t seem heavenly, he was just a man. Still, he was taller than her, but it really wasn’t hard to be taller than Maomao.
He took her in, she knew he was deciding if she was worth anything by just her looks, her ultimate presentation card. Thanking the work of all the people that created this nonexistent persona, he smiled at her. “Yes, milady?”
He fell for it. She blew wind to her face with her hand, nails coated with a fine layer of cream pigment.
“Would you be so kind as to lend me a handkerchief? I feel so flushed I might faint.” She spoke low and fragile. It was so opposite of what she truly was. Disgusting.
He fashioned an embroidered handkerchief, it was a beautiful shade of white, it almost matched with her robes. She tapped the cloth on her forehead—it was the only place that lacked makeup. She didn’t want to ruin it.
“I’m sorry. I dirtied your handkerchief. Would you be so kind as to tell me your name so I can return it?” Her eyes looked helpless; she had heard that some people fell in love at first sight. She wondered if she was doing a good job at faking it.
Maomao had to make the living effort of remembering the name. She spent the next hours of the evening roaming around with Lahan. Until the very end.
When she was about to go home, Basen caught up to them.
“Maomao, we request your presence.”
“Is this something I can’t attend? How do I know he is not going to do something weird to my sis—ouch!” Lahan squealed when Maomao crushed his toes.
“I’ll go.”
Jinshi changed into his sleeping garments when he greeted her, he had the decency to wear his main robe, covering what could have been seen. It irked her that not even Suiren was around. He smiled at her, showing his teeth.
“And? Did you manage to catch him?”
She observed Jinshi in silence whilst showing him the handkerchief. “His name is Yang Haoran.”
He examined the piece of fabric; it looked pristine. He raised an eyebrow at the woman, encouraging her to keep going.
“He had a foreign perfume. Among all the other attendees, he was the only one who smelled funny. I subtly stole his handkerchief for further investigation. I can try to discern what was exactly in that perfume. Also, his robes had patterns that somewhat resemble what I saw on the caravan.”
He nodded, giving the cloth back. Getting up, Jinshi approached Maomao. She was ready to flee when he reached for her wrists, holding her into place firmly. He smelled so sweet, she could smell it even when it was faint.
“Maomao, don’t you think this banquet is kind of stupid?”
“Yes.”
He chuckled.
“Do you know why I think it is dumb?”
“Perhaps because you might not have a say on this marriage. You could be a political asset, maybe a girl from Shaoh to soothe the growing tension. Or from farther from Li. Political alliances are common among the nobility.”
He looked defeated. Sulking, he sighed and placed a hair behind her ear.
“It’s because I already decided.”
This again… she thought. She wanted nothing to do with this, knowing his decision only augmented the possibility of her head rolling onto the ground.
“Sir, if you need somebody to hear you, I advise you to turn to Gaoshun—even Lady Suiren. I fear I am not fit to give you a proper assessment of the situation.”
“Maomao, listen to me.” She stood still; she knew she had a habit of running away from him when he wanted to tell her something. So, she obliged just because she felt a pang of guilt in her heart. “I am going to make you my wife. I don’t care how many obstacles I must go through to make it work. How many people I will make furious by doing so. I just know that you are the woman that appears in my mind all the time, the one that could look at me with absolute disgust, and I will be at her feet ready to do as she decides. I have eluded my feelings not because I wasn’t proud of you but because I taint everything I lay my hands on. And my position only endangered you—it still does. But I am willing to perish for you, Maomao. If somebody were to lay a finger on you, I don’t know how I will react.”
She didn’t know how she was feeling or how to answer, so instead she did what she was best at. Following her gut. She leaned in on her tippy-toes and kissed him, grabbing him by the collar of his robes. Jinshi kissed her back, with hunger, desperate to touch her, to feel her, to have her.
They both had to stop themselves before they could make a mistake they could regret.
Maomao knew the banquet meant nothing now: Jinshi had chosen.
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Summary: You decide to accompany your father to his business party with all his boring-looking co-workers. Until you spot Nanami Kento and you’re not able to take your eyes off of him the whole evening.
warnings / tags: No use of y/n. Reader is in her twenties, a lot of slapping, creampie, praise and degradation kink, almost public sex?, mentions of the pill, unprotected p in v, oral (f recieving). VERY BADLY WRITTEN SMUT. Sorry if i forgot anything, tell me if that is the case !
notes: This was so self-indulgent. I'm really sorry if you read this I'm so bad at writing smut. This was not proof read so enjoy!
wc: 2,296.
minors dni, 18+ only !!
It was a saturday night when your father randomly asked you to accompany him to one of his work parties. It made sense; your mother was on a trip visiting your grandma, and your dad surely loathed going alone to said gatherings. That did not mean it didn’t take you by surprise—this whole boring ordeal—but you loved your dad and ended up agreeing to be his company for the night.
So this is how you ended up at a party with people clad in work attire; ergo, you felt like you were sticking out like a sore thumb. You innocently picked a flowy white blouse and a black pleated skirt alongside a pair of Mary Jane shoes. Even so, you were not going to feel self-conscious over some stupidly boring outfits that only people who gave up on fun could pick. And also, your outfit was super cute.
“He is my boss, little one. He makes my life miserable.” Your dad whispered to you. You saw a man who could easily be an NPC. You chuckled a little bit, rolling your eyes. You couldn’t believe that a boring-looking man could make your dad’s life so difficult.
“So sorry to be you, dad.”
And then, in a sea full of grey and monotonous office workers, you saw him. Toned, tall and well-built. A blonde guy who could easily crush you between his fingers. It urged you to know who he was. He was no different than the others, dressed in caqui pants and a blouse that, to your surprise, was blue and not white like the other ones. It urged you to know who he was, as you slightly bit your lip when you analyzed him from top to bottom. The room felt a little bit more hot with him in it.
You panicked when you saw him approaching you. Did he see you? Did he notice how you looked at him? You were so out of it that you almost didn’t catch him and your dad exchanging greetings. You heard your name escape your dad’s lips, only to be followed by the guy’s voice. Your name sounded angelic coming from him. You had to force yourself to snap out of it.
“This is Nanami Kento, little one.” Your dad told you. “He works with me.”
“Hello, I guess my dad already introduced me.” You looked at him, this time intentionally, and extended your hand so you could feel at least his hands. He took your hand in his firmly and shook it. This left a tingling sensation on the palm of your hand.
The rest of the night, you couldn’t take your eyes off Nanami, It was as if he had a magnet glued to his torso. He drew you in; he looked so deliciously toned that you started to feel the need to see him without this much clothing. What could he be hiding behind his office worker clothes? Was the room always this hot? My god, he was going to make you collapse.
For a really short moment, he connected his eyes to yours. Stoic as he was, he did not take his eyes off of yours, not once changing his collected expression. And you didn’t know if this was your delusion, your own imagination, but you swore he signaled you with his head and then walked off the crowded place. So, with your heart on your hands, you told your dad you needed to go to the bathroom and followed Nanami.
You caught a glimpse of blonde walking and taking a turn towards the office desks, so you hurriedly followed him. You saw him standing, giving you his broad and muscular back. You licked your lips before saying:
“Nanami-san, are you alright?” You innocently said.
He turned around to face you, looking at your body, unashamed. The curve of your hips, your plush tits, and your ass that was barely covered by your skirt. He slowly walked towards you, cornering you with the wall. You could feel how his chest rose with each breath he took.
“You’re such a little naughty girl. Looking at me all night long.” He clicked his tongue, disaprovingly. “Thought I wouldn’t notice those shamelessly pretty eyes?”
You quivered looking at him; you saw him starting to loosen up his tie, shaking his head in the process. Deciding it was best not to move a muscle, you gleefully decided to admire his movements.
“Imma teach you to be respectful to your elders, pretty girl.”
He then put his hand in front of you; he looked to be asking for permission. You knew this meant you were tacitly agreeing to something bigger than just a single hand. And you wanted it so bad, so you gave him both your hands. Nanami very swiftly tied both of your hands behind your back with his tie.
“Pretty eyes wonder how they’ll look brimming with tears while you scream my name.” He whispered near your earlobe, nibbling at it. You shuddered, feeling something deep inside your core. He was going to get you wet with nothing, how pathetic of you. You wanted to touch him, to sink your hands into his neatly done hair, to squish his muscles, but you couldn’t.
Nanami brought his hands to your hips, squishing them tightly, while leaving a trail of wet kisses from your ear to the crook of your neck, he stopped there. With one of his hands, he revealed a little bit more of your collarbone and started leaving lovebites there, marking territory. Anybody who could see you will know that you were his.
“You’re so soft.” He mumbled in your skin, his hot breath making you quiver. He looked at you with hazel eyes, hungry, and then kissed you. It wasn’t a sloppy kiss; this was orchestrated, as if he were a director and you were his orchestra. You matched the kiss, it felt as if he was all you needed in your life. Lips clashing, he glued his body to yours, grabbing you by the hips. He explored.
He decided to explore your ass, squishing it hard once, twice, then slapping it. You moaned in between kisses, feeling how his hand pushed your skirt upwards to gain more access to your ass. His other hand went up, landing underneath your blouse and slowly going towards your breasts; he felt them, over your bra. You could feel how his digits applied different kinds of pressure to your sensitive area, how he placed two fingers in between one of your nipples.
“Nanami-san, ah” You moaned when he started playing with your nipple.
Nanami Kento looked like a cool, calm and collected type of guy, and he showed it in every single one of his movements. On the way he ruthlessly flickered and squished your nipple between his fingers, on how he casually stopped the kiss and looked at you—plush lips, pinkish cheeks, and big, lustful filled eyes. You huffed, trying to catch your breath.
“You look so perfect like this.” He whispered, close to your face.
He started teasing you, touching the hem of your panties, tugging at them. He then pushed you towards a desk, urging you to sit on it. He positioned himself in between your legs and planted a chaste kiss on your covered pussy. You whined at this, feeling a heat rush deep into your core. You could feel it, you were getting wet. He did not make any comments; he just let out a faint chuckle, as if this amused him. Nanami decided to explore the plethora of reactions you could give him. He first felt your clit over your clothed folds, rubbing slow, delicious circles.
Arching your back, you purred a little moan. He then slapped your clit lightly, scolding you.
“Be quiet now, darling. We don’t want your daddy hearing us, don’t we?”
He resumed his task, pushing your panties aside, he admired how wet you were. He teased you about it, your name escaping his lips in a degrading manner. This made your head feel fuzzy as he acknowledged that this was, in a way, something that couldn’t be discovered. For fucks sake, you were his coworker’s daughter and at least 8 or 6 years younger than him. You felt so lewd, so out of it. Your hands wanted to explore Nanami, to touch his abs and his well-toned chest. God, you hated being restrained, but at the same time, it elicited some kind of deep, twisted pleasure.
He kneeled down inches from your wet, dripping entrance. You caught him licking his lips, and then he pushed his face into you. Wet sucking sounds were all that could be heard, you tried your best not to be noisy, but it was hard, extremely hard. You felt how he used his tongue to lap at your clit, applying the right amount of preassure to send you to heaven. For him you taste sweet, like honey, and he was enjoying you.
He decided his tongue was not enough, so he used your wet arousal to coat his finger and pushed it into you, you moaned. He started thrusting, his moves deep and well-maneuvered, everything was exactly calculated to his liking. You felt how he was hitting that spongy point of yours, with his finger curled up. The little knot in your lower belly grew stronger by the minute; you were a hot mess. Soaked and messy, the squelching sounds and your whimpers echoed in the room, fogging your brain and clouding your senses. He made you feel mushy.
He increased his pace, knowing this would manage to get you on edge. You arched your back and started squirming.
“I’m going to cum soon, Nanami-san.” You gasped.
He started pumping his finger in and out more ruthlessly, inserting a second finger.His fingers felt tight they were thick and long, reaching perfectly every spot that needed his attention. You felt it before him, how your walls tightened around his fingers before you covered them with your juices, coming. He did not stop pumping, helping you through your high.
He looked neat, as if none of this had an impact on him; you could only discern the hard bulge that grew in his pants. Nanami made eye contact with you, giving you a stern look, and afterwards, taking his glistening fingers to his mouth, tasting you once again.
“You taste as sweetly as you look.” He commented, wiping his fingers clean. “Look at you; I can’t believe you are doing such lewd stuff with your dad’s coworker. Such a naughty girl, might need a lesson or two.”
You whined, not replying to him. It really made you feel aroused by the way he spoke to you, how he treated you like you were the prettiest thing in the world, and then how he reminded you of how indecent it was what you were doing. He gave you a long kiss, in which you battled against his tongue, trying to win terrain in an already lost war.
After that, he decided it was time for you to have him because he unbuckled his pants and took out his length. You saw it sprung free and pushed your legs together expectantly, trying to ease your need. He was large and thick; he pumped his shaft twice, coating it with precum before he asked:
“Are you on the pill, darling?” He huffed.
“Yeah, please, hurry up.” You pleaded, needing him more than you have ever needed anyone in your life.
He gave you a quick slap to your tits, grabbing them roughly afterwards, flickering your nipples.
“You don’t tell me what to do.” He then added, looking directly into your eyes. “Imma stuff you full, sweetheart.” He then aligned with your entrance, entering in one swift motion, leaving you stuffed and flustered. This was nothing like his fingers; this felt a step further than heaven. Bliss was all that you could think of.
He was good, with each and every pump, he managed to undo you more, leaving you in chaos. He grabbed you by the hips with brute force, fiercely. You knew his fingers were going to leave marks on your soft skin. But it didn’t matter as long as he kept thrusting into you, you didn’t care.
You also knew that, after this, no man could ever satisfy you like he did. Nanami was going to leave you broken for everybody else. You could feel him stretching you out, deliciously, feeling the pang that came with him hitting the right spot. He felt your cunt starting to squeeze tightly around his cock, making him grunt.
“Gonna finish inside of you, angel.” He said, dangerously close to your ear. For the first time in the evening, you were able to see him worked up. Pearls of sweat pooled in his forehead, ruining the neatness of his hair, which was now sticking to his forehead.
And you felt your high coming and moaned in answer; you two were a symphony of grunts and whimpers, clouding the room with heat. And with one final sound and whine of his name, you came undone. Covering his cock with your juices. He didn’t stop, though, guiding you through your high and going into overestimulation. He pushed with more brute force into you, pushing you thighs upwards.
You felt his cock twitch and knew he was close. He increased his pace, smashing his hips into your ass, creating even more lustful sounds. After that, he came, saying your name in a grunt and filling you up with his cum. He gave you a kiss and pulled out.
And as if nothing had happened, he fixed his hair and pants and left you there, panting and gasping, messy.
A few questions: What characters specifically will you not write about? Is there any limit on characters we can ask about at once? Will we get less content if we ask for more characters? And for Persona, can we ask about the confidants or characters from the side games? Sorry to bother, just want to be sure before asking anything. Thanks and have a fantastic day!
Hello! Thank you for asking; you're not bothering me. I'm glad you asked. There is no limit to the number of characters; however, please remember that one-shots and drabbles take time. So, more characters do not necessarily mean less content; it does mean that it will take me more time to publish said works.
For the persona series, I can usually write about the main characters, people we do get to know better and can see their personalities. So that means that I can write for confidants; it just depends on which ones. Sadly, I haven't played the side games yet, so I can't write for them.
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summary— you hate Ren amamiya so much you avoid him everyday, until your classmate decides to play you a little prank.
warnings— Slight bullying.
notes— I feel like I can't write enemies to lovers, enjoy.
It was a rainy day today—the kind of day you cherish and love. The rain reminded you of many things, among them your boyfriend. You met him in your high school days when you were just a teenager, full of dreams and vehemence. The thing is, you and him had a weird start, a very weird one, which even today makes you laugh hard.
Ren Amamiya was always able to infuriate you. Regardless of the situation, something always came up when it came to him. God, you couldn't even stand to see him in the school corridors. You always wondered what the hell it was that kept you on edge when it came to him. God cursed the days you had to see him more than once at school, all because of bad luck. He wasn't even in the same class as you were, and even so, you saw him at least three times a week.
Today was one of those days. Between classes, you were standing in the center of the hallway when you noticed his jet-black hair. Along with him were Ryuuji Sakamoto and Ann Takamaki, who looked very busy discussing something you weren’t able to hear. He hadn't noticed you, and you weren't going to allow him to see you. Quickly, you ran towards the nearest door, which was a few meters away. On the way there, Mariko Yoshimoto intercepted you with a big, bright, toothy smile.
“Hey there! Where are you going in such a hurry, dear?” She asked naively. You were aware that she was faking it. Mariko liked to mess with people just to see their reactions, and while you never even allowed a pinch of her foolishness to deceive you, she still dared to use you as one of her little toys. You were strong-minded and hated when other people played dumb tricks on you; you could not stand injustice.
Perhaps this could not stop her from doing what she was about to do, because somewhere inside you, you knew. You knew what she wanted to do because it was no secret how much you loathed Ren Amamiya and how much you loved to evade him. And she knew this piece of information very well.
She peeked behind your shoulder, and her smile grew even wider.
“Wow, running away now, are we?” A devilish chuckle erupted from her mouth, and as her lips mouthed her next sentence, a cold sweat ran through your body. Your instincts were telling you to tackle her and escape to the roof, the library, or somewhere else that would let you be at freaking peace. But you didn’t do any of those things; instead, you stood, frozen in place.
“Ren-kun!, hey! How are you?” One of her little devil hands flew to your shoulder to keep you in place. You could feel how her nails were digging little moons into your skin, while also wrinkling your school uniform, which you worked hard to keep pristine. You pursed your lips at this.
“Don’t you fucking dare.” You warned. Placing your hand on her wrist to free yourself, she countered by staying still and strong, unfazed by her mission of making your life miserable.
Regarding your threats and silent protest, she kept her schemes up, and her next sentence was the last nail in the coffin. It was the last thing you wanted to hear in the world.
“My little friend and I would love to spend some time with you and your friends if that's okay with you. Uh, and them too, of course.” Her eyes looked like those of a deer, glazed and doe-like and her teeth were showing again. She was smiling courtly and kindly, trying to hide the deception behind her words.
Say no.
Say no.
Please say no.
Mentally, you pleaded. Turning around, he was standing there a little bit taken aback, even more so seeing that it was you who was included in that sentence. He looked at you, piercing through your figure, analyzing every movement and every gesture. Anything that might tell him otherwise.
“You sure? Your friend sure looks like she could be buried at any moment.” He said it sternly. His eyes were scanning between you and Mariko, noticing something odd about the situation.
Ann thought otherwise, because she smiled brightly and shrugged Amamiya off. “They just want to hang out with us; I don’t think there’s something wrong with anybody.”.
But there was!
You mentally screamed and rolled your eyes. It was out of comprehension how this was even happening and why you were allowing it. You sighed, defeated. You smoothed the pleats on your dark skirt and proceeded to walk towards him, and with fake pleading eyes and a pout, you confronted him.
“Today is not your lucky day, Amamiya, and neither is mine. If we ever have to spend some quality time together, it would be in fucking hell.” You spat. And then you turned around to finish your blow. “And Mariko, find someone else to be your bitch because I am not available to fill that damned position.”
And you walked off. There was nothing else to do but walk away from there. And you walked—not run, not sprint—walked. You walked to the beat of the confused conversation you were leaving behind, and when there was a turn, you ran. Ran so fast you could feel a stream of tears forming in your eyes.
You ended up in the girls’ bathroom, feeling a little bit safe. You hid on one of the stools. Letting yourself go, the flood of tears came like a current, strolling down your cheeks like a river. Thank goodness you were wearing waterproof mascara that day. Feeling a little bit pathetic, you let yourself go and cried like a baby. You hated when everything went to your head; you hated when such trifles were able to get a grip on you.
Life was just this shitty, you guessed.
Later in the day, you were on cleaning duty, trying to dust off a corner filled with spiderwebs.
“Do you need help with that?” He was softly spoken, almost like a faint mumble. Just like he didn’t want to be either heard or perceived.
“Maybe never,” you spat. Was it that hard to have a single peaceful day? He meddled in every single one of your businesses as if he were your mom or something. You turned around to face that fair skin and sharp features, those deep eyes and ruffled hair, to face him.
He frowned; he looked a tad bit pissed. Like if somebody just stuck gum in his pristine, perfect hair. He took two steps towards you, perfectly measured and dance-like. The light shone in his iris, making it difficult to pinpoint what was making you feel so drunk-like.
“You are one hell of a nice person, aren’t you?” he hissed in a poisonous manner.
Was it his tone that made you feel a tingling sensation at the nape of your neck? Or maybe it was how his eyes lit up with fire when you spoke. Or maybe, just maybe, was it that you hated him so much that you wanted to shut him up in just about any way you could? The room was empty but it felt full to the brim with anger. It was an antithesis of how the light danced on the floor and the little specks of dust floating in such serenity and then you two, full of tension and loathing.
“You’re one to talk, mister perfect behavior.” You gave him a very fake, crooked smile. He looked like he expected it as such but still managed to lose composure whenever you were around. He ran his hand through his air and adjusted his glasses; he almost looked disheveled.
“You play with my nerves.”
“Can’t believe you even have nerves.”
“Ugh.”Another step closer—too close, maybe. Everything felt as if it were slowing in time; the little dust specks were suspended, and the light ceased to dance. A light breeze flew past you, messing up some hair strands.
“What are you even doing here?… You don’t even go to this class.” You almost whisper, lowering your tone.
"Why, just why do you hate me?” He said bluntly.
“Cornering someone is not very friendly, you know.”
“I’ve never said I wanted to be friendly with you.”
“I hate you.”
Another step closer to you, he leaned in, millimeters from your face. You were able to see his porcelain skin and dark eyes, as well as how he scrunched his face when he was near you.
“You don’t understand how much I do too.”
He looked as if he were going to kiss you; he looked at your lips and then at your eyes, analyzing you. He smiled, a mischievous grin, and exhaled. You felt his breath hit your nostrils, your warm skin. Instinctively, you took a step backwards, putting as much distance between you two as you could.
He then approached you and kissed you very swiftly but passionately. You returned the kiss, hatefully kissing him, with spite and loathing.
“I hate you.”
“I know.”
And the rest was history. After that, you two started sneaking out of class to kiss, progressively started having lunch together, and then, after keeping all of this a secret, you asked him out, but not before discussing what the hell was the feeling you both had. At the end, you both came to the conclusion that you hated each other’s guts because you couldn’t have them. Ren said, “I hate to love you.” and you agreed with him.
You definitely hated to love Ren so much, but still, at the end of the day and even right now, you couldn't imagine a life without him.
