LUNA

“Oh.” 

He did not look pleased. 

“It’s you.” 

You had just arrived at his doorstep, with your coffee on hand in hopes that your severely sleep-deprived self could stay awake for him today. 

“Ohayo, Sakusa Kiyoomi!” You brightly grin, because at this point, how could you not get used to how cold he was? 

“Ohayo. Come in,” he quietly says with a sigh, stepping aside to let you in. 

As expected, his house was clean and neat—just like him and all that he is. Nothing was too flashy, nor was it really simple or boring; in fact, you thought that despite the dominance of monotone colors in his abode, it was a well thought-of and elegantly-matched color scheme. 

Now having entered his living room, you notice how it was spacious and contained the bare minimum of furniture. Again, as expected of Sakusa Kiyoomi, he didn’t fancy anything unnecessary. Over all from what you saw, his home was lovely yet cold, and peaceful but lonely—and it isn’t just because it’s spacious.  

You realize you’ve stopped at the entrance of his living room when you hear him click his tongue behind you. “Are you just going to stand there?” 

Rolling your eyes, you step aside so he could enter the living room. 

“I have to say, I did not expect you at all to ever invite me in your home.” 

He chuckles under his breath, “more did I.” 

You raise a brow, following after him but just awkwardly standing between his gray couch and dark-tinted glass table. “So why did you?” 

If he smiled, you wouldn’t know; he was wearing his usual black mask. “Beats me. Just to shut you up, I guess? As if I’d ever go out in public with you.” 

“Are you saying you’ll go out with me in secret?” You flash him a sly smile, knowing fully well how much you were testing his patience at 8 o’clock in the morning. 

He hated how you twisted his words; even more, he hated how he wasn’t truly irritated. Finally noticing how you were both just standing there with not enough distance between you two, he looks away and steps back. 

He’s noticed it before, but he really didn’t have enough awareness of physical closeness when it’s you, and he blames it on the way your warm, painful memories lingered and clutched on to him like a curse. It gave him a false sense of familiarity with you, who’s obviously changed and is far from the girl he once knew—he’s not even sure if he really knew you at all. 

“Sit down, I need to get something.” 

You nod, finally sitting down, “I’ll be here.” 

“Or you could leave,” he cheekily says as he turns away and disappears into what you assume was his room. 

A few minutes later, he comes out of his room with a thick comforter and a pillow, to which you look at him accusingly in response, your arms wrapping around your own frame protectively.

“What kind of impure things are you planning?” 

He glares at you, knitting his brows. Inside his head, he debated on how to respond to that, but decided he was too irritated to be as nice and patient as he initially was. He carelessly tosses them in your direction, not caring about how you cursed profanities at him. 

“What is this?” You glare at him after successfully getting out from the mess of his heavy comforter. In contrast to your seemingly irritated tone, you were actually quite taken aback and flustered the moment your eyes were uncovered from the comforter as he was sitting on the arm rest of his couch—a mere arm’s reach from you. 

“You should sleep.” 

You frown. “What?” 

“I see. It must be difficult to be an actress and be deaf.” 

You sarcastically smile at him before grabbing the pillow and smacking it towards him, but to add to your frustration, he had grabbed the pillow and took it from you, embracing it in his arms. 

“Damn your volleyball player reflexes,” you scowl.

He stays silent, eyeing the coffee you put at his glass table, thinking about how he could ask you to stop drinking coffee and get your much needed rest without seeming like he cared—because he swears he doesn’t care. Just lingering memories, just false familiarity.

“What are we doing today? We watching a movie?” You interrupt his thoughts, immediately feeling dejected when he shakes his head and stands up, placing the pillow on your lap. 

“We’re not doing anything. I will be in my room and you will be here.” 

Before he could turn away, you have grabbed the back of his hoodie, not caring if you seemed too eager. “But aren’t we spending time together?” 

“Look, I may have been complacent with you, but I still hate you for everything, got that? All I’m doing is trying to meet ends with this stupid, selfish deal you’ve somehow forced on me.” 

“Then why invite me over?!” Out of all harsh things he had said and done, this one stung and infuriated you the most. Still, you can’t explain why you haven’t let go of him. 

“Because you cling to me so much. I just want to get it over with, and after two more weeks, you should stick to your words and do what you do best,” he clenches his teeth, frustrated that once again, he failed to pretend he cared nothing about your past—because you did it so perfectly, shouldn’t he be the same? 

“What I do best?!” You grit your teeth, too confused and angry to level your voice, tears wanting to spill out and you’re not even certain if it’s because of confusion, anger or hurt. 

“What do I do best, Kiyoomi?” 

His chest throbbed, why are you the one sounding hurt? 

“Leaving me. You had no problem doing so before,” his words were cold and hurtful, even when he said it so softly with a hint of vulnerability. Without a doubt, no one confused you more than this man, who had now left you feeling shattered and pathetic, alone in the living room.  

Of course, you thought about leaving, but you didn’t want to. You wanted to know why he hated you so; why he constantly shifts from heartless and subtly gentle when he’s with you, and why he says things that don’t make sense—as if you’ve already wronged or even hurt him before. 

Your second idea was just to knock on his door, but even if you wanted to face him, you couldn’t let go of your pride; not this time, not when you actually felt this hurt. Deciding that you should just wait out in his living room until lunch, you put the pillow and comforter to good use. 

I’m not gonna fall asleep, you tell yourself as you lie down and cocoon the warm blanket around you. You’ve had more than 2 cups of coffee in the span of 12 hours, so you trust you’ll be awake when he finally gets out at noon since he has to eat lunch. 

It puzzled you so, but between the drowsiness and incapability to distinguish whether you were already asleep or not, whether it was a memory or a dream, you see a young, beautiful boy, with dark curly hair and a mask—similar to the one you argued with just moments ago. 

Why is he holding out his hand to me? 

I want to take his hand, you thought, before you drift off to a dreamless sleep. 

| prev || next |

“Oh.” 

He did not look pleased. 

“It’s you.” 

You had just arrived at his doorstep, with your coffee on hand in hopes that your severely sleep-deprived self could stay awake for him today. 

“Ohayo, Sakusa Kiyoomi!” You brightly grin, because at this point, how could you not get used to how cold he was? 

“Ohayo. Come in,” he quietly says with a sigh, stepping aside to let you in. 

As expected, his house was clean and neat—just like him and all that he is. Nothing was too flashy, nor was it really simple or boring; in fact, you thought that despite the dominance of monotone colors in his abode, it was a well thought-of and elegantly-matched color scheme. 

Now having entered his living room, you notice how it was spacious and contained the bare minimum of furniture. Again, as expected of Sakusa Kiyoomi, he didn’t fancy anything unnecessary. Over all from what you saw, his home was lovely yet cold, and peaceful but lonely—and it isn’t just because it’s spacious.  

You realize you’ve stopped at the entrance of his living room when you hear him click his tongue behind you. “Are you just going to stand there?” 

Rolling your eyes, you step aside so he could enter the living room. 

“I have to say, I did not expect you at all to ever invite me in your home.” 

He chuckles under his breath, “more did I.” 

You raise a brow, following after him but just awkwardly standing between his gray couch and dark-tinted glass table. “So why did you?” 

If he smiled, you wouldn’t know; he was wearing his usual black mask. “Beats me. Just to shut you up, I guess? As if I’d ever go out in public with you.” 

“Are you saying you’ll go out with me in secret?” You flash him a sly smile, knowing fully well how much you were testing his patience at 8 o’clock in the morning. 

He hated how you twisted his words; even more, he hated how he wasn’t truly irritated. Finally noticing how you were both just standing there with not enough distance between you two, he looks away and steps back. 

He’s noticed it before, but he really didn’t have enough awareness of physical closeness when it’s you, and he blames it on the way your warm, painful memories lingered and clutched on to him like a curse. It gave him a false sense of familiarity with you, who’s obviously changed and is far from the girl he once knew—he’s not even sure if he really knew you at all. 

“Sit down, I need to get something.” 

You nod, finally sitting down, “I’ll be here.” 

“Or you could leave,” he cheekily says as he turns away and disappears into what you assume was his room. 

A few minutes later, he comes out of his room with a thick comforter and a pillow, to which you look at him accusingly in response, your arms wrapping around your own frame protectively.

“What kind of impure things are you planning?” 

He glares at you, knitting his brows. Inside his head, he debated on how to respond to that, but decided he was too irritated to be as nice and patient as he initially was. He carelessly tosses them in your direction, not caring about how you cursed profanities at him. 

“What is this?” You glare at him after successfully getting out from the mess of his heavy comforter. In contrast to your seemingly irritated tone, you were actually quite taken aback and flustered the moment your eyes were uncovered from the comforter as he was sitting on the arm rest of his couch—a mere arm’s reach from you. 

“You should sleep.” 

You frown. “What?” 

“I see. It must be difficult to be an actress and be deaf.” 

You sarcastically smile at him before grabbing the pillow and smacking it towards him, but to add to your frustration, he had grabbed the pillow and took it from you, embracing it in his arms. 

“Damn your volleyball player reflexes,” you scowl.

He stays silent, eyeing the coffee you put at his glass table, thinking about how he could ask you to stop drinking coffee and get your much needed rest without seeming like he cared—because he swears he doesn’t care. Just lingering memories, just false familiarity.

“What are we doing today? We watching a movie?” You interrupt his thoughts, immediately feeling dejected when he shakes his head and stands up, placing the pillow on your lap. 

“We’re not doing anything. I will be in my room and you will be here.” 

Before he could turn away, you have grabbed the back of his hoodie, not caring if you seemed too eager. “But aren’t we spending time together?” 

“Look, I may have been complacent with you, but I still hate you for everything, got that? All I’m doing is trying to meet ends with this stupid, selfish deal you’ve somehow forced on me.” 

“Then why invite me over?!” Out of all harsh things he had said and done, this one stung and infuriated you the most. Still, you can’t explain why you haven’t let go of him. 

“Because you cling to me so much. I just want to get it over with, and after two more weeks, you should stick to your words and do what you do best,” he clenches his teeth, frustrated that once again, he failed to pretend he cared nothing about your past—because you did it so perfectly, shouldn’t he be the same? 

“What I do best?!” You grit your teeth, too confused and angry to level your voice, tears wanting to spill out and you’re not even certain if it’s because of confusion, anger or hurt. 

“What do I do best, Kiyoomi?” 

His chest throbbed, why are you the one sounding hurt? 

“Leaving me. You had no problem doing so before,” his words were cold and hurtful, even when he said it so softly with a hint of vulnerability. Without a doubt, no one confused you more than this man, who had now left you feeling shattered and pathetic, alone in the living room.  

Of course, you thought about leaving, but you didn’t want to. You wanted to know why he hated you so; why he constantly shifts from heartless and subtly gentle when he’s with you, and why he says things that don’t make sense—as if you’ve already wronged or even hurt him before. 

Your second idea was just to knock on his door, but even if you wanted to face him, you couldn’t let go of your pride; not this time, not when you actually felt this hurt. Deciding that you should just wait out in his living room until lunch, you put the pillow and comforter to good use. 

I’m not gonna fall asleep, you tell yourself as you lie down and cocoon the warm blanket around you. You’ve had more than 2 cups of coffee in the span of 12 hours, so you trust you’ll be awake when he finally gets out at noon since he has to eat lunch. 

It puzzled you so, but between the drowsiness and incapability to distinguish whether you were already asleep or not, whether it was a memory or a dream, you see a young, beautiful boy, with dark curly hair and a mask—similar to the one you argued with just moments ago. 

Why is he holding out his hand to me? 

I want to take his hand, you thought, before you drift off to a dreamless sleep. 

| prev || next |

“Oh.” 

He did not look pleased. 

“It’s you.” 

You had just arrived at his doorstep, with your coffee on hand in hopes that your severely sleep-deprived self could stay awake for him today. 

“Ohayo, Sakusa Kiyoomi!” You brightly grin, because at this point, how could you not get used to how cold he was? 

“Ohayo. Come in,” he quietly says with a sigh, stepping aside to let you in. 

As expected, his house was clean and neat—just like him and all that he is. Nothing was too flashy, nor was it really simple or boring; in fact, you thought that despite the dominance of monotone colors in his abode, it was a well thought-of and elegantly-matched color scheme. 

Now having entered his living room, you notice how it was spacious and contained the bare minimum of furniture. Again, as expected of Sakusa Kiyoomi, he didn’t fancy anything unnecessary. Over all from what you saw, his home was lovely yet cold, and peaceful but lonely—and it isn’t just because it’s spacious.  

You realize you’ve stopped at the entrance of his living room when you hear him click his tongue behind you. “Are you just going to stand there?” 

Rolling your eyes, you step aside so he could enter the living room. 

“I have to say, I did not expect you at all to ever invite me in your home.” 

He chuckles under his breath, “more did I.” 

You raise a brow, following after him but just awkwardly standing between his gray couch and dark-tinted glass table. “So why did you?” 

If he smiled, you wouldn’t know; he was wearing his usual black mask. “Beats me. Just to shut you up, I guess? As if I’d ever go out in public with you.” 

“Are you saying you’ll go out with me in secret?” You flash him a sly smile, knowing fully well how much you were testing his patience at 8 o’clock in the morning. 

He hated how you twisted his words; even more, he hated how he wasn’t truly irritated. Finally noticing how you were both just standing there with not enough distance between you two, he looks away and steps back. 

He’s noticed it before, but he really didn’t have enough awareness of physical closeness when it’s you, and he blames it on the way your warm, painful memories lingered and clutched on to him like a curse. It gave him a false sense of familiarity with you, who’s obviously changed and is far from the girl he once knew—he’s not even sure if he really knew you at all. 

“Sit down, I need to get something.” 

You nod, finally sitting down, “I’ll be here.” 

“Or you could leave,” he cheekily says as he turns away and disappears into what you assume was his room. 

A few minutes later, he comes out of his room with a thick comforter and a pillow, to which you look at him accusingly in response, your arms wrapping around your own frame protectively.

“What kind of impure things are you planning?” 

He glares at you, knitting his brows. Inside his head, he debated on how to respond to that, but decided he was too irritated to be as nice and patient as he initially was. He carelessly tosses them in your direction, not caring about how you cursed profanities at him. 

“What is this?” You glare at him after successfully getting out from the mess of his heavy comforter. In contrast to your seemingly irritated tone, you were actually quite taken aback and flustered the moment your eyes were uncovered from the comforter as he was sitting on the arm rest of his couch—a mere arm’s reach from you. 

“You should sleep.” 

You frown. “What?” 

“I see. It must be difficult to be an actress and be deaf.” 

You sarcastically smile at him before grabbing the pillow and smacking it towards him, but to add to your frustration, he had grabbed the pillow and took it from you, embracing it in his arms. 

“Damn your volleyball player reflexes,” you scowl.

He stays silent, eyeing the coffee you put at his glass table, thinking about how he could ask you to stop drinking coffee and get your much needed rest without seeming like he cared—because he swears he doesn’t care. Just lingering memories, just false familiarity.

“What are we doing today? We watching a movie?” You interrupt his thoughts, immediately feeling dejected when he shakes his head and stands up, placing the pillow on your lap. 

“We’re not doing anything. I will be in my room and you will be here.” 

Before he could turn away, you have grabbed the back of his hoodie, not caring if you seemed too eager. “But aren’t we spending time together?” 

“Look, I may have been complacent with you, but I still hate you for everything, got that? All I’m doing is trying to meet ends with this stupid, selfish deal you’ve somehow forced on me.” 

“Then why invite me over?!” Out of all harsh things he had said and done, this one stung and infuriated you the most. Still, you can’t explain why you haven’t let go of him. 

“Because you cling to me so much. I just want to get it over with, and after two more weeks, you should stick to your words and do what you do best,” he clenches his teeth, frustrated that once again, he failed to pretend he cared nothing about your past—because you did it so perfectly, shouldn’t he be the same? 

“What I do best?!” You grit your teeth, too confused and angry to level your voice, tears wanting to spill out and you’re not even certain if it’s because of confusion, anger or hurt. 

“What do I do best, Kiyoomi?” 

His chest throbbed, why are you the one sounding hurt? 

“Leaving me. You had no problem doing so before,” his words were cold and hurtful, even when he said it so softly with a hint of vulnerability. Without a doubt, no one confused you more than this man, who had now left you feeling shattered and pathetic, alone in the living room.  

Of course, you thought about leaving, but you didn’t want to. You wanted to know why he hated you so; why he constantly shifts from heartless and subtly gentle when he’s with you, and why he says things that don’t make sense—as if you’ve already wronged or even hurt him before. 

Your second idea was just to knock on his door, but even if you wanted to face him, you couldn’t let go of your pride; not this time, not when you actually felt this hurt. Deciding that you should just wait out in his living room until lunch, you put the pillow and comforter to good use. 

I’m not gonna fall asleep, you tell yourself as you lie down and cocoon the warm blanket around you. You’ve had more than 2 cups of coffee in the span of 12 hours, so you trust you’ll be awake when he finally gets out at noon since he has to eat lunch. 

It puzzled you so, but between the drowsiness and incapability to distinguish whether you were already asleep or not, whether it was a memory or a dream, you see a young, beautiful boy, with dark curly hair and a mask—similar to the one you argued with just moments ago. 

Why is he holding out his hand to me? 

I want to take his hand, you thought, before you drift off to a dreamless sleep. 

| prev || next |