welcome to the menu! owner is currently occupied, but if your craving something sweet or maybe bitter, you're still in the right place.
𝗔𝗣𝗣𝗘𝗧𝗜𝗭𝗘𝗥𝗦 𑣲᭪𓏻 ―
@lycheepetals on ao3
I write for: Hunter x Hunter, Dr Stone, Death Note, Tokyo Ghoul, Kakegurui, Blue lock, Detective Conan, Toilet Bound Hanako-Kun, High-rise Invasion. I'm open for anime recommendations! I have watched lots of animes, but this are what I'd like to write for! If you want to order something that is not here, simply ask :3
my specialty is dark & angst themes ! I do write fluff, rarely ^^ everything with pink hearts is my favorites :3
currently obssessed with: Hattori Heiji from Detective Conan and Midari Ikishima from Kakegurui
watching: Clairebell ( GL )
rules, navigations, all you need to know — MUST READ
order not made = against the rules, or I'm still writing
𝗗𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗞𝗦 𑣲᭪𓏻 ―
Gilded — Meguru Bachira x Reader ( BLUE LOCK ) 🩷
Fervor — Feitan Portor x Reader ( HUNTER X HUNTER )
Reverie — Juuzou Suzuya x Reader ( TOKYO GHOUL )
𝗗𝗘𝗦𝗦𝗘𝗥𝗧𝗦 𑣲᭪𓏻 ―
Ce qui Reste ; ll — Chrollo Lucilfer x Reader ( HUNTER X HUNTER )
𝗗𝗘𝗦𝗦𝗘𝗥𝗧 𝗦𝗘𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗦 𑣲᭪𓏻 ―
Amor, haine et gloire — Rin Itoshi x Reader ( BLUE LOCK ) 🩷 every verse is peak, trust 🙏🏻
Verse l. Le Cocktail Neurologique
Verse ll. Haine
Verse lll. Forcé de
Verse lV. Invités d’Honneur
Verse V. Invités d’Honneur ( ll )
Sacrilege — Chrollo Lucilfer x Reader ( HUNTER X HUNTER )
Verse l. Confession
Verse ll. Assumption ( Tomorrow is never promised )
Palimpsest — Kaneki Ken x Reader ( TOKYO GHOUL )
Verse l.
Burning Avarice — Leorio Paradinight x Reader ( Hunter x Hunter ) ALADDIN AU
Chapter l.
Chapter ll.
˚.⋆♬ 𝗠𝗘𝗟𝗢𝗗𝗬 𝗦𝗣𝗘𝗖𝗜𝗔𝗟𝗦 ˚.⋆♬
Treat you better ; by Shawn Mendes — Michael Kaiser x Reader ( BLUE LOCK ) 🩷
Playdate ; by Melanie Martinez — Midari Ikishima x Reader ( KAKEGURUI ) 🩷
The Scientist ; by Coldplay — Senku Ishigami x Reader ( DR STONE ) 🩷
Thank You ; by Dido — Kurapika Kurta x Reader ( HUNTER X HUNTER )
everything is a work of fiction. any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or real events is purely coincidental and not intended. all characters depicted are not owned by me and belong to their respective creators. this work is purely fictional and for illustrative purposes only.
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thinking of writing a detective conan fanfic cause there ain't a lot but I can't think straight because my stomache hurts so f bad
someone pray for me to get well within 15 minutes or else my ideas will float and go away
( no I'm not pregnant I'm a young student who has an unfortunate life, including my stomache ache or whatever you call this right now ).
thinking of hattori heiji. but omg my stomach feels like its gonna explode...
the future of a new Detective Conan fiction now rests in your hands: pray devoutly for my recovery so that you may be blessed with a new tale, and do so as soon as you can, for not everyone is granted such divine opportunity— and should my well-being be restored once more, expect only greater blessings to follow.
— forth of melody specials, song by Coldplay. a metaphor for a person trying to rationally analyze a broken relationship like a science experiment, only to find that the heart defies data.
DR. STONE: Senku Ishigami x Reader ( GN )
Contains: modern civilization isn't fully restored yet, ridicilous amount of science and math, research if sought, some words and informations are hard to understand. angst, weird way of grieving, heartbreak and break up, senku lowkey yearning, reader isn't much shown, more on senku's situation and feelings. not proofread
Word Count: 6,188 words and 37,651 characters
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the rain did not care about structural integrity; it simply fell, obeying the cold, unyielding laws of gravity and fluid dynamics. outside, the downpour turned the surrounding earth into a soup of suspended clay particles and nitrogen compounds— good for future crop rotation, irrelevant for tonight. inside the lab, the steady, rhythmic drumbeat against the windowpane was just background noise, a predictable low-frequency oscillation that ought to have been easy enough to filter out.
Senku stood at the workbench, a half-used chalk stub pinched between his calloused fingers. the slate board before him was a dense, hyper-packed field of logarithmic curves, thermodynamic balances, and precise chemical equations. rebuilding a human civilization from absolute zero required tens of millions of exacting calculations, and his brain was churning through them at ten billion percent.
the primary math on the board was already solved. he knew it. yet his hand kept moving, tapping the chalk against the slate to cleanly log secondary proofs and alternative yield ratios across the dark stone. idle processing power was a waste of caloric energy.
friction. that was all the split had been.
two bodies moving along adjacent trajectories at varying velocities, generating localized heat through contact until the material integrity gave out. a purely mechanical consequence. there was no tragic narrative worth cataloging, no hidden variable left to solve. people entered a defined system, reacted with the surrounding elements, altered the kinetic state of the room, and eventually exited the boundary. basic entropy. systems expand, energy dissipates, and matter redistributes. it was elementary physics.
he paused, digging a pinky into his ear with a sharp, dry huff of air before flicking the imaginary debris aside.
he didn't miss you. to suggest such a thing would be fundamentally irrational—a romantic hallucination that ignored the cold, hard facts of human biology. you were simply a variable that had been removed from the immediate working environment. it was just a cold matter of data: his baseline task efficiency had dropped by a measurable three point four percent over the past months.
his brain had simply grown accustomed to calculating around your presence— the ambient, low-decibel sound of your breathing, the quiet, predictable rhythm of your soft leather shoes against the floorboards, or the completely unscientific, highly inefficient way you used to lean over his shoulder to watch the distillation retorts boil, blocking half his ambient light.
it was a matter of neural pathways. the brain builds predictive models based on repeated sensory input. remove the input, and the model experiences a temporary delay while re-calibrating. a minor system lag. nothing more.
he reached to his left for a clean glass beaker, his fingers tapping against the empty air where you usually stood, ready to hand it to him before he even had to ask.
his hand didn't tremble. he didn't flinch. he simply adjusted his reach by precisely fifteen centimeters, grabbed the beaker himself with sharp, practiced precision, and set it on the rack.
a familiar, sharp smirk cut across his face—confident, pointed, and sharp as a scalpel.
“ Illogical, ” he muttered to the empty room, flicking a stray smudge of slate dust off his canvas cuff. “ Thinking a missing data point changes the outcome. ”
the logic was absolute. the science was absolute. the world was waiting to be rebuilt, and gravity wasn't going to pause while a human brain recalibrated its sensory inputs. he pulled a fresh piece of chalk from his leather vest, rolled his shoulders, and threw himself right back into the numbers.
he reached the bottom of the slate, his chalk flying through a standard thermodynamic equation he had done ten thousand times before.
he wrote an addition sign.
he stopped dead. the chalk hovered a millimeter off the dark stone.
it was a basic exothermic reaction. it required a minus sign to denote energy release. a primary school level error. the kind of brainless oversight he wouldn't make if he were blindfolded, sleep-deprived, and suffering from stage-three hypothermia.
Senku stared at the little chalk cross. his eyes narrowed, the sharp smirk slipping from his face for a fraction of a second. his brain hadn't missed the math— his brain was running a secondary, useless background thread about the exact angle you used to tilt your head when he explained heat transfer. a garbage file clogging up the processor.
a sharp, dry huff of air escaped his nose. he dragged his thumb over the board, aggressively smudging the chalk line away, replacing it with a clean, hard dash.
“ Pathetic, ” he muttered, grinding the chalk stub against the slate. “ A zero-point-zero-one percent processing error. Unacceptable. ”
he shoved the chalk back into his vest pocket, turned away from the slate, and stepped toward the open doorway facing the rain-slicked path outside. routine inspection of the exterior roof drainage. a completely rational use of time to allow his neural pathways to clear the error.
Come up to meet you, tell ya I'm sorry
saying sorry was a useless protocol. in a strictly physical universe, an apology didn't alter entropy, reverse a reaction, or repair broken thermal friction. words carried zero kinetic energy.
yet, for the first time in months, Senku stopped trying to force the calculation into a neat box.
he dug a pinky into his ear, letting out a long, quiet exhale that lacked his usual sharp edge. fine. he would yield to the empirical data.
the three-point-four percent drop in task efficiency wasn't a minor system lag or a temporary neural calibration error. his brain wasn't malfunctioning; it was simply recording an absolute, undeniable fact: the lab was inefficient without you. the silence wasn't a peaceful constant— it was an empty space where an essential component belonged. he missed you. not in some grand, poetic sense, but in the cold, objective reality that your absence altered the entire fundamental state of his daily existence.
he stared out at the sheets of grey rain.
at terminal velocity, the rainfall would saturate his clothes within four point two seconds. standing out in a downpour to deliver emotional vocalizations was an inefficient waste of caloric energy.
a small, genuine smirk finally tugged at the corner of his mouth— not the sharp, arrogant mask he put on for the empty room, but a dry, practical realization.
“ Ten billion percent irrational, ” he muttered into the steady hum of the rain.
he turned his back on the open doorway, walked squarely back to the workbench, and picked up the piece of chalk. he didn't erase the missing element from his mind, but he set his shoulders and got back to work. the math still needed solving.
—
the storm had settled into a low, relentless hum by the time Senku made it back to his quarters. rain continued to drum against the roof in a steady, monotonous rhythm— a atmospheric constant that should have been the ultimate acoustic sleep aid.
instead, Senku lay flat on his back, staring upwards. his hands were tucked behind his head, arms acting as a makeshift pillow while his brain stubbornly refused to initiate its standard sleep sequence.
idle processing power was a curse. without the immediate physical inputs of the lab— the bubbling of glass retorts, the smell of sulfur, the friction of chalk—his mind simply redirected its bandwidth back to the unresolved anomaly.
You don't know how lovely you are.
Lovely was an abstract, subjective label. it couldn't be measured on a scale, titrated in a beaker, or cataloged into a periodic table.
yet, when Senku’s brain ran through its historical data, the word kept attaching itself to the smallest, most illogical details.
it wasn't about aesthetics or grand romantic ideals. it was the quiet, undeniable precision of how you moved through his world. the way your eyes lit up with genuine, unforced curiosity whenever he rambled about molecular structures. the understated warmth you brought into a cold, clinical workspace just by sitting nearby. the completely unscientific, endearingly absurd way you existed—unbothered by the brutal demands of rebuilding a world from scratch, yet somehow essential to keeping the human element of it intact.
you had no idea how much weight you carried in the equation. you probably thought you were just another bystander in his grand scientific timeline.
Senku shifted, rolling onto his side and letting out a dry, exasperated huff into the dim room.
“ Irrationally high value, ” he muttered softly to the dark, resting his chin against his forearm.
he didn't try to shut the thought down this time, nor did he bother trying to analyze it away with physics formulas.
Senku dragged an arm over his eyes, staring up as the rain continued its endless, rhythmic assault on the roof.
sleep was a biological necessity— an essential eight-hour maintenance cycle to purge metabolic waste from the brain.
depriving himself of it over a single unresolved variable was illogical.
unacceptable.
so, if his brain refused to power down, he would do what he always did: turn it into a problem to be solved.
I had to find you, tell ya I need you,
Tell you I set you apart
need was a word he rarely permitted in his vocabulary. tools were useful; resources were required; principles were absolute. but need implied a structural reliance on a single point of failure. it went against every engineering rule he had ever lived by.
yet, looking at the raw data, the conclusion was inescapable. you weren't a interchangeable component in the grand machine of the Stone World. you weren't just another set of hands to haul ore or stir chemicals. out of seven billion people— past, present, and future— his brain had systematically categorized you into a class of your own. you were isolated from the rest of the dataset. set apart.
if a system was broken, you didn't abandon the project. you gathered data, isolated the root cause, and engineered a solution.
his eyes opened in the dark. the faint, familiar spark of determination began to overwrite the restless exhaustion in his chest.
going to you right now in the middle of a downpour was still a zero-percent logical move— the thermal loss alone was an absurd risk. but tomorrow? once the sun was up and the immediate lab tasks were structured? he would walk up to you, lay out the facts with absolute clarity, and present the raw, indisputable evidence that the workspace was flawed without you in it.
he dragged a palm down his face, letting out a sharp, dry huff into the quiet room. enough. allowing his brain to idle on soft, unquantifiable variables was an inefficient misuse of energy. if he couldn't sleep, he would simply force his mind back onto something stable, cold, and absolute.
focus. molar mass of titanium dioxide. 79.866 g/mol. synthesis requires high-temperature hydrolysis of titanium tetrachloride...
he closed his eyes, visualizing the precise molecular bonds, forcing his mental processor to run through the chemical reaction step-by-step. standard procedure. pure, unadulterated science.
...which requires a heat-resistant ceramic crucible. high-silica clay. sifted to a particle size under two hundred microns.
his mind stalled. two hundred microns.
that was the exact mesh size you had spent four hours hand-sifting months ago, sitting on the lab floor with clay dust smudged across your cheek, humming some nameless, unscientific tune under your breath while he titrated nitric acid.
Senku’s eyes snapped open in the dark.
“ Dammit. ” he muttered to the empty ceiling.
he pivoted immediately, abandoning chemistry for physics. fine. atmospheric thermodynamics. calculate the condensation rate of the current downpour based on ambient pressure and humidity.
he tracked the water droplets hitting the roof, converting the acoustic frequency into estimated rainfall volume per square meter. 40 millimeters per hour. standard localized storm front. the runoff would hit the eastern drainage ditch in approximately twenty minutes—the exact ditch you had helped him dig to keep the gunpowder supplies from getting damp.
every single scientific pathway his brain tried to take simply looped right back to the exact same variable. it was like trying to run a simulation on a hard drive that had been entirely overwritten with your data.
a dry, exasperated scoff escaped his throat, and he threw an arm over his eyes, surrendering to the dark.
“ Completely compromised, ” he whispered to the quiet room, a faint, reluctant smirk catching the corner of his lip.
the science wasn't failing him— his own brain was just proving, with absolute mathematical certainty, that trying to erase you from the equation was a zero-percent achievable goal.
the rain continued to drum against the roof, steady and relentless.
he didn't run the periodic table backward. he didn't force his mind into thermodynamics or molar masses. for a guy who lived by the clock, he just lay there in the quiet, letting the internal processor idle.
Tell me your secrets and ask me your questions,
a memory flickered in the background thread of his mind— uninvited, unprompted, and completely outside his current operational parameters.
back in high school, long before the green light, long before the world was turned to dust and stone. the sun had been setting, casting long orange shadows across the linoleum floor of the science room. you had sat on the edge of his lab bench, swinging your legs, watching him scrub a set of test tubes with meticulous precision.
you had asked him something— not about chemistry, or physics, or his latest rocket prototype. something simple. something completely human. you had offered your own secrets in exchange for his, entirely unbothered by his sharp tongue or his hyper-fixation on numbers.
back then, he had brushed it off with a dry huff and some sarcastic remark about energy efficiency, but you had just laughed, completely unfazed.
you had always accepted his weird, indirect language. you understood that to Senku, sitting in the same room for six hours without saying a word was spending quality time together.
and now his own inability to communicate had created a major system breakdown.
a sharp, familiar tightness pulled in his chest. it wasn't a processing lag. it wasn't a neural calibration error. it was just the plain, annoying truth of a bad miscalculation.
Senku rolled onto his side with a dry, exasperated huff, resting his chin against his forearm. he stared at the dark wall of his quarters, his calloused thumb tracing the rough weave of the futon.
he had figured out how to extract nitric acid from bat shit. he had built a power grid from copper wire and wine. he could calculate the trajectory of a rocket in his sleep. yet, when it came to the basic, low-level mechanics of human communication, he had managed to score a absolute zero.
“ Ten billion percent an idiot, ” he muttered softly into the dark.
the rain outside finally settled into a low, relentless drone, steady and cold against the timber walls.
Senku lay flat on his back in the dark, staring up at the shadow of the ceiling. his hands were locked behind his head, his knuckles white against the dark wood.
Oh, let's go back to the start
the phrase drifted through his mind, uninvited and completely unscientific. it was an irrational wish— a quiet, fleeting desire to violate the second law of thermodynamics. time only moves in one direction. entropy is irreversible. you can't un-mix a solution once the solute has dissolved, and you certainly can't recall soundwaves once they've bounced off the walls and hit their target.
he remembered the argument. his brain, irritatingly precise, replayed the exact sequence.
he had done what he always did: treated a sensitive human interaction like a logical optimization problem. he had prioritized the immediate objective, cutting through your concerns with cold, clinical efficiency, operating under the arrogant assumption that facts alone were enough to stabilize the situation.
he had miscalculated the human element. completely and utterly.
Senku dragged the back of his hand over his eyes, letting out a sharp, dry huff into the quiet room.
he was the guy who had calculated the Earth's axial precession across thirty-seven centuries of stone confinement. he was the guy who could build a radio from scratch in the dirt. yet, when presented with a simple, high-priority relationship, he had managed to run the entire system straight into a brick wall.
no chemical compound could neutralize his sharp tongue. no engineering blueprint could automatically patch up fractured trust. if he wanted to reset the baseline, he couldn't rely on a quick formula— he was actually going to have to do the hard, awkward work of swallowing his pride.
the steady, low drone of rain outside filled the silence of his quarters—a constant, flat frequency that his brain refused to tune out.
Runnin' in circles, comin' up tails
his mind was operating in a tight, recursive loop. a mental coin flip where every single theoretical outcome slammed shut as a failure.
in basic probability, a standard coin toss yields a balanced binary—50/50. heads or tails, predictable data. but as he ran simulation after simulation in the dark, every single scenario he built to fix the rift between you kept coming up tails. a complete statistical dead end.
If he tried to solve this the way he solved everything else, he would fail.
he could synthesize a flawless chemical gift. he could engineer some hyper-convenient apparatus for your quarters to make your daily tasks effortless. he could optimize your entire living environment down to the thermal efficiency of your room.
and it would accomplish zero.
Heads on a science apart
the thought hit his mental processor with the cold, hard weight of a physical law.
that was the exact glitch. he was standing on one side of a massive chasm built entirely of cold logic, trying to bridge a human variable with chemistry and engineering. he was using the very thing that had created the rift—his clinical, outcome-focused detachment— as a tool to fix it. he was trying to solve you like a system error instead of listening to you like a person.
science was the language he spoke to the entire universe, but right now, it was keeping you a world away.
Senku dragged his calloused hands down his face, letting out a long, dry exhale into the dark.
he didn't get up. he didn't reach for a slate, or start mapping out a blueprint. he just lay there on his futon, the rest of his usual arrogance completely stripped away by the quiet math of his own mistake.
for a guy who could calculate the precession of earth's axis over thousands of years, sitting in the dark with no quick equation, no shortcut, and no scientific shield was the most uncomfortable state of existence he had ever encountered.
he was seventeen years old when the light turned humanity to stone, and every waking second of his life before and after had been strictly dedicated to rocketry, physics, and organic chemistry. he had never held someone’s hand with the intent of keeping it. he had never structured his daily laboratory routines around another person’s sleep cycle, nor had he ever factored the warm, unpredictable variable of genuine romance into his long-term survival calculus. you had been his first relationship. the single, unprecedented anomaly in an otherwise strictly empirical existence.
and now, you were his ex.
the word itself sounded stupidly inefficient. a lingering fragment of pre-petrification vocabulary that felt completely ill-fitted to describe the persistent, irrational spike of cortisol currently wrecking his focus. was this what the old world’s literature dramatically cataloged as grief? If so, it was an extraordinarily stupid design— a complete waste of physiological energy that offered zero adaptive survival advantage.
he caught his brain instinctively trying to map out the exact elapsed time since the argument, attempting to plot the decay rate of his emotional attachment as if it were a batch of half-decayed radioisotopes.
a soft, short laugh bubbled up from his throat— dry, sudden, and completely devoid of his usual boastful flair.
I was just guessing at numbers and figures
it was a total bluff. a desperate, mathematical smoke screen. he was forcing heartbreak into the box of an unsolved physics problem because the alternative— admitting that he simply missed you, that his brilliant brain had zero pre-built countermeasures for the silence left in his workspace— was a variable he didn't know how to run. he had spent his entire life using science to explain every corner of the universe, yet he had no equation for the raw, uncalculated void sitting right in the center of his chest.
Pulling the puzzles apart
that was all he had ever done. from the moment he learned to read, his brain had functioned as a relentless engine for deconstruction. you hand him a watch, he strips the balance wheel and mainspring to map the transfer of mechanical energy. you hand him the post-apocalyptic stone world, he tears apart the raw minerals—sulfur, iron sand, salt— and reorganizes them into a linear ladder of technological advancement. every complex problem in existence was just a collection of smaller, manageable puzzles waiting to be unraveled, measured, and solved.
except for this.
he uncrossed his arms, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the rough wood, his knuckles pressed hard against his temple.
when you strip down a physical puzzle, you are left with foundational facts. you isolate the variables, throw out the noise, and arrive at an absolute truth. but as he systematically dismantled every single moment of his time with you— analyzing the sequence of your voice, the exact pitch of your laughter, the gradual shift from routine laboratory partners to something entirely unmapped— the remaining elements didn't resolve into a neat, elegant formula.
the pieces just lay there, raw and jagged, refusing to assemble into anything that made logical sense.
Questions of science, science and progress do not speak as loud as my heart
it was an astounding, almost absurd realization for someone like him. his entire identity, his purpose, the very reason his pulse had kept beating through three thousand seven hundred years of silent, conscious stone was built on the unshakeable foundation of scientific progress. science was the absolute truth. It was the loudest, most constant signal in the universe, cutting through superstition and chaos with unyielding precision.
yet sitting here in the heavy, oppressive quiet of his room, the steady, cold drumbeat of scientific progress felt distantly muted— like trying to listen to a radio transmitter drowning in atmospheric static.
the noise in his chest was simply too loud.
it wasn't a logical signal. it had no clean frequency, no measurable amplitude, and zero practical application to the restoration of civilization. it was just a heavy, persistent ache— a biological anomaly that rendered all his precise data points completely useless. what good was knowing the exact chemical composition of the stars if his mind kept looping back to the simple, stupid memory of your breath against his shoulder while you watched a simple chemical reaction? what was the point of planning three steps ahead to rebuild a global power grid when his brain couldn't even calculate a way to navigate the empty three feet of space between his workbench and his door?
he closed his eyes, letting out a breath that was far too long, far too quiet, and completely stripped of his signature confidence.
the silence of the room was absolute, pressing against his eardrums with the weight of an uncalibrated pressure chamber.
But tell me you love me, come back and haunt me
it was a ridiculous, statistically absurd wish—a ghost story for a guy who didn't believe in the supernatural. he didn't want a literal apparition. he just wanted the ghost of your presence to stop lingering over every single piece of equipment in his workshop, or, better yet, for you to walk back through that heavy wooden door and render the spectral ache entirely obsolete.
he shifted on the futon, starlight catching the sharp line of his jaw as he stared at the ceiling. his brain, unable to shut down, began doing what it always did: running predictive models. building a decision tree for a scenario he had zero practical protocol for.
what actually happens if he walks over to your quarters tomorrow? what happens if he drops the clinical armor, sets aside the empirical shield, and simply asks?
if you said yes—if you accepted him back—the math immediately became terrifyingly complex.
rebuilding civilization was a linear problem. you collect materials, construct the technology tree, and move to the next milestone. but a relationship wasn't a static project you could declare completed. if you took him back, he couldn't just revert to the old baseline. he would have to actively integrate your emotional parameters into his daily operating system. he would have to learn how to communicate without hiding behind chemical nomenclature, how to pause a high-priority experiment just to check your emotional state, and how to balance the weight of the entire human race with the quiet, fragile weight of one person's trust.
it would be thoroughly inefficient. it would introduce endless, unpredictable variables into his life. it would require a total recalibration of his habits.
and yet, as he mapped out the theoretical yield of that scenario, his pulse spiked—not with the cold stress of a system error, but with something dangerously close to hope.
then came the inverse branch of the probability tree.
what if you said no?
what if the damage was irreversible? what if the solute had permanently dissolved, the chemical reaction had hit its final equilibrium, and no amount of humble, awkward honesty could undo the rift he'd created?
the thought sent a cold, sharp pang straight through his ribs. if you turned him away, the hypothesis was proven: he had broken something that science couldn't fix. he would have to return to this empty room, pick up his chalk, and continue building the future with a permanent 3.4 percent efficiency drop, carrying the quiet, haunting ghost of your absence through every single breakthrough to come.
Senku closed his eyes, taking a slow, deep breath that expanded his chest against the dark.
he opened his eyes.
the transition was seamless, instantaneous, and entirely impossible.
one microsecond, the dark grain of the timber ceiling was the only thing in his field of vision. the next, the light in the room shifted— softening into a warm, low amber that didn't match the angle of the moon.
you were there.
sheer, unadulterated cognitive overload hit his processor all at once. time didn't just slow down; it ground to a violent, near-zero crawl, stretching a single fraction of a second into an agonizingly detailed epoch.
his brain, wired for extreme empirical observation, went into overdrive, cataloging every single physical anomaly in hyper-photographic resolution. he could see the individual, microscopic fibers of your linen tunic catching the faint golden light. he could trace the exact fluid-dynamic curve of your smile— an expression so familiar it sent an immediate, involuntary spike of adrenaline straight through his central nervous system.
he was hyperaware of everything. the ambient temperature of the room felt like it had risen by precisely one point two degrees Celsius. the quiet, rhythmic sound of your breathing—a soft, low-decibel frequency he had spent days trying to erase from his memory—was suddenly vibrating against his eardrums with absolute, suffocating clarity. he could see the tiny, erratic movement of your pupils as you looked down at him, the subtle rise and fall of your shoulders, the faint scent of rain clinging to your hair.
the air in his lungs felt completely stagnant, trapped in his chest. velocity: zero. kinetic transfer: halted. the entire physical world had frozen around the two of you, suspending the universe in a static, glowing amber chamber.
“ What are you thinking of? ~ ”
your voice hit him not as sound, but as a physical impact. it was light, teasing, and entirely real— so real that his hand twitched against the futon, his fingers instinctively flexing to reach up, to touch your cheek, to run a test on the density and warmth of your skin to confirm the physical data.
he blinked.
the amber light shattered. the air temperature dropped instantly back to cold, damp timber. the soft, golden outline of your frame dissolved into thin, empty air, leaving behind only the stark, pitch-black shadows of his empty quarters.
the sudden absence was like a physical drop in atmospheric pressure.
Senku lay completely motionless, his hand still frozen halfway in the air where you had been sitting just a fraction of a second prior. his fingers closed on nothing, gathering only the cold, humid night air. he slowly let his hand drop back down to his chest, the heavy thud of his own pulse hammering against his ribs.
he didn't move. he checked the window. the subtle shift in the star patterns through the bamboo slats— the rotation of the Big Dipper relative to the horizon—told him everything he needed to know. it wasn't a microsecond glitch. hours had passed while he lay there, locked in the recursive, exhausting loop of his own head.
sleep deprivation. that was the rational, cold-hard explanation. extended periods of intense cognitive stress combined with a severe drop in REM sleep cycles were known to cause vivid auditory and visual hallucinations in human subjects. his brain had simply short-circuited, projecting a high-resolution memory onto the canvas of his dark room. basic neurobiology. a glitch in the hardware, nothing more.
Oh, and I rush to the start
the thought echoed back through his mind, dry and mocking.
rush to the start? how? what an utterly useless, unscientific impulse. you couldn't run backward along a timeline. you couldn't reverse the expansion of a system, and you certainly couldn't sprint back to a beginning that no longer existed in physical reality.
Runnin' in circles, chasin' our tails
his eyes remained fixed on the ceiling, but his mind involuntarily began scanning backward through the archive, retrieving data points he had explicitly tried to file away under non-essential memory.
he remembered the early days—the chaotic, trial-and-error phase before the routines had settled. he recalled you standing over a sputtering clay furnace, face smudged with charcoal, arguing stubbornly with him about the structural layout of a crude bamboo water wheel. you hadn't known a single thing about fluid dynamics or torque conversion, yet you had refused to back down, firing back at his clinical rapid-fire explanations with an infuriating, unyielding warmth that had completely derailed his train of thought.
he remembered the late nights in the storehouse, the quiet moments when the rest of the village was asleep. you would sit on a crate nearby, quietly repairing leather straps or sorting dried herbs, providing an ambient, grounding presence while he calculated chemical proportions by flickering torchlight. you had learned his rhythm without him ever having to teach it to you— knowing exactly when to hand him a tool, when to leave a cup of boiled water on his desk, and when to completely ignore his sharp, dismissive huffs when an experiment went sideways.
they had run those circles for months—clashing, adjusting, aligning, only to tear the whole structure down in a single, stupid argument over priorities.
Coming back as we are
the thought settled over him with the weight of an unyielding physical constant.
that was the core flaw in any foolish daydream of a fresh start. even if he walked over to your door right now, even if you miraculously opened it and stood before him, they wouldn't be blank slates. they couldn't magically reset the system to baseline zero. you would still be you—he would still be Senku Ishigami—hyper-analytical, emotionally blunt, and wired to prioritize the macro-survival of humanity over individual feelings.
they would simply return as they were: two fundamental elements with the exact same chemical properties, carrying the exact same potential for volatile reaction.
Senku turned his head slightly toward the dark bamboo window, watching the faint, grey hue of early pre-dawn light begin to filter through the cracks. the rain had finally tapered off into a quiet, steady drip against the eaves.
he didn't move to get up. he didn't construct a grand speech or formulate a foolproof strategic plan to win back your trust. he simply lay there in the cold quiet, staring at the growing light, staring directly into the terrifyingly unalterable truth of who you both were.
Nobody said it was easy
Science was easy.
rebuilding a world of eight billion people from absolute zero was straightforward. it was a matter of linear steps: harvest the raw material, refine the compounds, construct the infrastructure, repeat. if a reaction failed, you checked the purity of your reagents. if a calculation broke, you located the misplaced decimal point.
Science obeyed laws. it was fair, consistent, and predictable.
human relationships were none of those things. they were chaotic, non-linear systems driven by pride, miscommunication, and fragile pride—and he had treated yours like a simple arithmetic equation.
Oh, it's such a shame for us to part
a sharp, hollow pang tightened in his chest, pulling a slow, heavy breath from his lungs.
it was a shame. a profound, statistical tragedy. out of all the billions of variables in the universe, out of three thousand seven hundred years of cold, conscious stone, the odds of the two of you aligning—of finding a shared frequency in this primitive world—had been infinitesimally small. it was a rare, precious anomaly. and he, in his clinical, arrogant detachment, had let it fracture over something as utterly meaningless as winning an argument.
regret was an entirely useless emotion. he knew that. it generated no power, synthesized no medicine, and moved no levers. it was pure, unadulterated system drag—a metabolic drain that served zero purpose in the survival of civilization.
yet, for the first time in his life, Senku couldn't simply calculate his way out of the feeling.
the pale, watery grey of pre-dawn surrendered to a thin, fragile streak of low amber creeping over the eastern horizon, bleeding slowly through the bamboo slats and painting long, sharp shadows across the timber floor. outside, the world was beginning its quiet, mechanical awakening. the rain had ceased entirely, leaving behind the crisp, distinct scent of wet clay, pine resin, and crushed leaves, while the morning air settled heavy and dense over the room. it carried a sharp, sudden draft that penetrated the thin canvas of his clothing, making the timber walls creak and groan as the wood contracted in the damp morning air.
Senku didn't shift a single inch. he lay completely motionless on his back, his hands unmoving at his sides, watching the faint beam of morning light slowly crawl upward across the wooden rafters. the beam illuminated tiny, microscopic specks of slate dust suspended in the air—floating in slow, unpredictable brownian motion, colliding without purpose, entirely governed by the cold laws of fluid dynamics. the sun rose higher past the treeline, casting a bright, golden hue across the room, but the warmth was a total illusion. the atmosphere in his quarters only grew colder, the frigid morning air biting at his exposed skin like a sharp, physical reminder of the drop in ambient temperature.
No one ever said it would be so hard
he stared blankly at the empty space beside his workbench where his brass tools and glass retorts sat precisely arranged— untouched, unmoving, and perfectly organized. the silence in the room was absolute, settled into a flat, unbroken frequency that no amount of internal mental processing could filter out. on the slate board nearby, his logarithmic curves, chemical proportions, and thermodynamic balances remained frozen mid-proof. the white chalk lines looked stark, brittle, and cold against the dark, damp stone. the figures weren't going anywhere. the numbers were fixed, permanent, and completely indifferent to the quiet, heavy atmosphere hanging over his quarters.
his eyelids felt impossibly heavy, weighted down by hours of endless, circular calculations that had yielded zero actionable results. the sheer physical tax of the night—the relentless, metabolic drain of running simulations that only ever returned errors—had finally exhausted his central nervous system, forcing his racing pulse back down into a slow, rhythmic, and dull baseline.
his fingers didn't flex toward his leather vest. he didn't reach for his chalk or glance at his slate. he didn't adjust his posture to sit up, nor did his eyes track toward the wooden door leading out into the cold, silent village paths. the room remained completely static, locked in a state of perfect, unyielding inertia. he simply lay flat on his futon, letting the bitter chill of the morning wash over his skin, staring up as the bright golden light slowly swept across the quiet, unmoving room, illuminating the precise boundaries of his isolation.
Senku finally closed his eyes, letting the heavy darkness take over, letting the deafening noise of the universe fade into a flat, quiet zero.
this is a work of fiction. any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or real events is purely coincidental and not intended. all characters and songs depicted are not owned by me and belong to their respective creators. this work is purely fictional and for illustrative purposes only.
I have never been inlove and grieved, additionally I also hate science and math but
I really love Senku's character soo much. My vision saw that this song was made for senku inlove LOL ugh just felt right for him. also believe that Senku ASSUMEDLY won't have time to love someone romantically. he'd be too busy thinking about science and shit. at the same time, assumedly is a word which defines to what is generally believed, not full certainty. I'm not saying Senku does not have the capacity to love someone, ( I'm literally willing to write him Inlove ) I just believe it is unlikely. Don't attack me for my opinion please
also the amount of time I had to research science stuff and math shit. really had no choice because who is Senku without science? and I also don't listen in science class ever since I have gained conciousness. Idk just never wanted to. I'm interested in science though! I believe it is amazing, just tiring... maybe I'll listen in the future...
I found it really hard to write angst for Senku since he thinks logically and scientifically 😭😭 I did try my best to make it long aswell ( this was much longer in my head okay. )
had this idea for a while now, just couldn't get to do it! I'm glad I did now thoo :3
SYNOPSIS: locked behind the closed doors of a sterile suite and a private dinner night, a single inadvertent gesture ignites a catastrophic public frenzy. caught between the clinical, freezing distance of an unwanted arrangement and the hyper-fixated side of the media, the fragile boundary between performance and reality completely fractures.
CONTAINS: angst, not the usual romance. still romance though. slowburn. life of luxury and fame, public figures and exposure, past relationship with Rin, slight family pressure. ridicilous amount of foreshadowing and coincedences, agressive physical restraint and possesion, boundary crossing, disordered eating, and something unexpected. added some of my favorite blue lock characters because I have free will ( list will change as more verses will be released. this story evolves per verse )
BLUE LOCK: Aged up! Famous Athlete Rin Itoshi x Famous Model & Actress Reader
Word Count: 9097 words and 52,176 characters
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Verse l. Verse ll. Verse lll. Verse IV. Invités d’Honneur
two weeks. two agonizing, exhausting weeks since this nightmare of a mission officially locked you into a room with your ex.
in that time, the counselor’s relentless, clinical conditioning has forced you and Rin to cross the initial hurdles. you can do the basic physical touch now without short-circuiting or pulling away. you can hold his hand when required, you can tolerate the heavy weight of his arm draped casually over your shoulders. you can even lean against his side to pass her arbitrary " proximity quotas. " but beneath the practiced compliance, the air between you is still thick with glass. the armor hasn't truly shattered. there are still sudden, suffocating moments where a lingering look lasts a second too long, or his thumb accidentally brushes your bare skin, and the raw, breakup awkwardness hits like a physical blow.
but today, the counselor is done playing games in the isolated safety of the hotel suite.
“ A private test is one thing, ” she had announced that morning, her eyes gleaming with that terrifying, bright corporate energy. “ But the real world doesn't have training wheels. It’s time for a soft launch! ”
the assignment? a high-profile, exclusive VIP gala swarming with public figures, internet influencers, and A-list celebrities. the agency has orchestrated it perfectly: you two are to attend as a couple, intentionally letting yourselves be caught in the background of photos, videos, and stories to let the public— and the internet— finally start connecting the dots.
on paper, it's a chemistry check. but you know the hidden truth behind her bright smile. this is a loyalty test. the counselor is throwing you straight into a den of wolves, forcing you to act under the blinding glare of high-resolution cameras and paparazzi flashes. in front of a crowd like this, a single stiff posture, a momentary flash of disgust from Rin, or a panicked flinch from you will be caught on camera, archived forever, and analyzed by millions of internet sleuths.
one single mistake, and the cover blows. one wrong move, and the agency pulls the plug— destroying both of your careers in an instant.
the heavy leather door of the sleek agency car clicks open, and the sheer volume of the outside world hits you like a physical wave.
the venue is an architectural masterpiece— a sprawling, ultra-modern glass pavilion perched high above the city skyline, lit from within by cascading crystal chandeliers and ambient violet neon. the atmosphere is thick with the intoxicating hum of high society: the synchronized, blinding clack-clack-clack of paparazzi cameras, the rhythmic bass of a live jazz-fusion ensemble, the clinking of crystal champagne flutes, and a suffocating cloud of expensive designer perfumes.
every surface is polished to a mirror shine, reflecting the glittering sea of A-list public figures, athletes, and internet elite currently mingling across the velvet lounges.
as you step out onto the red carpet, the crisp night air brushes against your bare shoulders. your black sleeveless dress fits like a second skin, elegantly tracing every curve of your figure and pooling slightly at your ankles. it is sophisticated, sharp, and undeniable.
then, Rin steps out behind you.
he looks absolutely devastating. the agency spared no expense, dressing him in an impeccably tailored, fabulous dark suit layered with a subtle, structured silk sheet overlay that drapes over his broad shoulders with a sharp, fluid elegance. it emphasizes his towering height and lethal frame, making him look less like a guest and more like a dark monarch reclaiming a throne.
the moment his hand slides onto the bare skin of your upper back to guide you forward, the atmosphere in the entrance pavilion noticeably shifts. it isn't a gentle gesture— it is a calculated display of possession and control.
the initial ripples of shock break out instantly. a prominent fashion influencer pauses mid-sentence, her champagne glass tilting dangerously as her eyes lock onto the two of you. nearby, a group of famous actors and high-profile models completely stop their conversation, their heads turning in unison as a collective, hushed whisper begins to spread through the crowd like wildfire.
" Wait... is that Rin? "
" Who is he with? Look at his hand— "
" Are they... back together? Oh my god, get a picture, look at them. "
the sight of the notoriously cold, untouchable Rin acting as a protective, attentive partner is a total system shock to the public figures around you. phones are already being subtly lifted, cameras are angling in your direction, and the first crumbs of the internet's biggest meltdown are being captured in real-time.
next to you, Rin’s jaw clenches just a fraction, the fabric of his immaculate suit shifting as his shoulders tense under the sudden scrutiny. he doesn't look at the crowd, keeping his dark, intense gaze fixed straight ahead.
as you and Rin move further into the glittering heart of the pavilion, navigating the maze of velvet ropes and low-lit lounges, his hand slides firmly down from your upper back, his large palm securely anchoring to your waist to steer you through the place.
a familiar group breaks away from the vip circle. it’s a handful of your high-profile co-workers— a couple of the industry's top actresses and a striking runway model you’ve shared the spotlight with before. they are dressed to the nines, holding their cocktails, but the moment they catch sight of Rin’s hand possessively locking you to his side, their eyes light up with pure mischief.
they descend on you two instantly, completely ignoring Rin’s naturally terrifying aura in favor of the juicy gossip unfolding right in front of them.
“ Oh my god, I knew it! ” one of the actresses giggles, leaning in close, her eyes darting pointedly between your matching dark aesthetics and the sheer proximity of your bodies.
the runway model fans her face dramatically with a manicured hand, letting out a loud, delighted gasp that draws even more eyes from the surrounding tables. “ I knew you both still loved each other! ” she teases, her voice dripping with playful triumph. “ The whole industry was mourning when you two split, but look at this! You can't keep a power couple apart for long. ”
the words hit you like a physical slap to the chest.
if only they knew.
inside, you are completely mortified, your heart doing a frantic, anxious tap-dance against your ribs. but the camera lenses are everywhere, and the counselor is undoubtedly watching from the shadows.
you force a soft, practiced laugh to bubble up from your throat, leaning just a fraction closer into Rin's side to sell the lie. “ You guys are terrible! ” you play along smoothly, though your fingers are practically burning where they press against his suit fabric.
next to you, Rin doesn't break character, but you can feel the sudden, rigid spike of tension vibrating through his powerful frame. his jaw is locked tight. to the actresses, his dark, unreadable expression just looks like his usual mysterious, brooding self.
“ Eeeeh?! No way! It is you! ”
a wildly energetic, overly familiar voice cuts through the sophisticated hum of the jazz music. you turn your head just in time to see a mop of messy dark hair with bright yellow highlights bouncing toward you. it’s Bachira, holding a brightly colored cocktail in one hand and completely ignoring the VIP etiquette as he bounds over, his wide, golden eyes locked onto the two of you.
right behind him, looking sharp but slightly overwhelmed in a sleek, tailored suit, is Isagi. he zeroes in on you first, his eyes softening with instant recognition, before his gaze drops straight to where Rin’s massive hand is firmly wrapped around your waist. Isagi’s entire face freezes, his brain visibly short-circuiting as he tries to process the sight.
“ I knew I recognized that dress from the back! ” Bachira cheers, completely invading your personal space. he leans in, his eyes darting from your face to Rin’s icy expression, a massive, mischievous grin spreading across his face. “ Rin-rin! Look at you! Since when do you let anyone touch you without trying to murder them? And here I thought you only cared about soccer and lukewarm crowds! ”
Rin doesn't pull his hand away from your skin. instead, his grip on your back tightens just a fraction, a possessive, unyielding claim as he glares at them, his voice dropping into a low, dangerously flat murmur that could cut glass.
“ Lukewarm pieces of trash. ” Rin draws out, the words vibrating sharply against your own chest. “ Step back before I make you. ”
“ Aww, so scary! ” Bachira laughs, completely unfazed by the threat, though he takes a half-step back to sling an arm around a mortified Isagi's shoulder. “ But seriously, you guys look crazy good together. Isagi, look! Rin-rin actually looks like a human being right now! ”
Isagi clears his throat nervously, adjusting his collar as he looks between you and Rin. he can clearly feel the bizarre, heavy tension vibrating between you two, but given the cameras flashing in the background, he tries to keep it casual.
“ Hey, ” Isagi says, giving you a warm, genuine smile before casting a wary glance at Rin. “ It’s really good to see you. We didn't know you'd be here tonight... let alone together. ”
the sheer awkwardness of the situation makes your stomach do a violent flip. they actually know you— they aren't just random paparazzi. having people who actually know your history stare at this forced, clinical setup makes the post-breakup flare up ten times worse.
to keep the cover from blowing, you force yourself to stay anchored to Rin's side, your fingers tightening against the fabric of his suit jacket. Rin feels your subtle panic, and in response, his large hand grips your waist even tighter, pulling you flush against his side with an aggressive, possessive finality that leaves absolutely no room for questions.
“ Isagi! Bachira! ” you force a bright, effortless smile to your face, desperate to swallow down the sudden lump of anxiety in your throat. you step slightly forward, though Rin’s heavy hand remains firmly anchored to your waist that he moves with you. “ It’s so good to see you guys! You both look amazing in suits— I almost didn't recognize you without the jerseys. ”
“ Right?! ” Bachira beams, bouncing on his heels as he gestures to his collar. “ Isagi complained the whole ride here that his tie was too tight, but I think we clean up pretty well! ”
“ I did not complain that much, ” Isagi mutters, a faint blush creeping up his neck as he scratches his cheek. he shifts his gaze back to you, his blue eyes softening with genuine warmth. “ We've just been wandering around trying to dodge the influencers, so seeing a familiar face is a huge relief. ”
every flash of a camera in the background feels like a countdown. you glance between the two of them, trying to keep the conversation flowing naturally so it looks like a casual catch-up to anyone watching. “ Are the rest of the guys here tonight too? I thought I saw a glimpse of pink hair near the entrance earlier. ”
“ Yeah, Chigiri and Kunigami are around here somewhere, ” Isagi nods, though his eyes subtly drift back down to Rin's hand, which hasn't budged an inch from your bare skin.
you can feel the absolute wall of ice radiating off Rin next to you. he is completely silent, his chest rising and falling in a slow, controlled rhythm as he glares at the space right between Isagi’s eyes, practically daring him to say another word. the sheer awkwardness of holding a normal, friendly conversation while the man from your complicated past is physically marking his territory with a lethal grip is pure emotional whiplash.
“ Well, you better keep Rin-rin company! ” Bachira teases, winking at you playfully. “ He looks like he’s gonna explode if we stay too long anyway. Let's go find the chocolate fountain, Isagi! ”
“ Ah—wait, Bachira! ” Isagi stumbles as he's dragged away, but he manages to throw one last polite nod over his shoulder. “ Great seeing you! Take care! ”
as they disappear into the crowded VIP lounge, the sudden lack of their chaotic energy leaves a heavy, suffocating silence in its wake. you let out a quiet breath, your shoulders dropping just a fraction, but Rin's fingers flex sharply against your waist, a cold, silent warning that forces you right back into posture.
the elite operative instincts you both share instantly kick in.
it’s an invisible, prickling sensation on the back of your neck. from a balcony across the pavilion, a high-end telephoto lens has just zeroed in on you two. it isn't a casual smartphone— it’s a professional press camera, positioned perfectly to capture an intimate, candid moment between the " it-couple " of the night.
there is no time to verbalize it.
Rin removes his heavy hand from your waist, the sudden absence of his warmth leaving a chilling draft against your bare skin. in one fluid motion, you pivot on your heels to face him fully, stepping directly into his personal space until your figures are practically casting a single shadow.
you raise your hands, your fingers lightly catching the silk fabric of his tie. to the camera far away, it looks like a breathtakingly tender, domestic gesture— the devoted partner meticulously adjusting her man’s suit in the middle of a crowded gala.
Rin plays his part flawlessly. he doesn't flinch away. instead, he leans down slightly, obliging your shorter height, and fixes his dark, intense gaze entirely on your face.
your fingers tremble slightly as you mimic the motions of straightening the knot of his tie, your racing thoughts looping right back to the suffocating feeling of the past two weeks. holding his gaze this close feels like staring directly into a sun that used to burn for you, and your chest aches with the sheer weight of the lie.
Rin’s eyes track the slight tremor in your hands. he doesn't break the illusion of his focused, intense expression for the camera, but his voice drops to a dangerously quiet, freezing murmur that only you can hear.
“ You’re shaking. ” he drawls, his tone flat and entirely devoid of warmth. “ Your acting is lukewarm. ”
you don't let your hands drop. keeping your fingers resting delicately against the silk of his tie, you tilt your head back, letting a soft, breathtaking smile bloom across your face. to anyone watching from a distance— and to the lens clicking away across the room— you look like a girl completely, helplessly in love.
but as you look up into his dark, intense eyes, the contrast between your radiant smile and the raw ache in your chest is pure whiplash.
you gently smooth down the lapel of his jacket, your touch light as a feather. “ I'm shaking because you're standing entirely too close. ”
Rin’s pupils dilate just a fraction, a sudden, sharp flicker breaking through his icy, calculated mask. for a split second, his gaze drops to your lips before snapping right back to your eyes, his chest rising in a slow, heavy breath.
even with the cameras watching and the counselor looming, the sheer weight of your words hangs in the tiny space between you, a reminder that no matter how much you practice this game, neither of you is immune to the wreckage you left behind.
“ Let’s walk now? ” you ask, keeping that radiant, flawless smile plastered on your face as your hands finally drop from his tie.
“ Yeah. ” he murmurs, his voice a low, clinical drawl as his expression instantly smooths back out into his signature, aloof coolness.
the moment you pivot to stand side-by-side again, his hand slides effortlessly onto your bare lower back. the direct contact of his palm against your skin sends a sharp, familiar jolt straight up your spine, but this time, you don't stiffen. instead, playing the part to absolute perfection for any lingering lenses, you seamlessly lean your weight closer into his side, letting your shoulder brush against the silk overlay of his suit.
to the high-society crowd watching the power couple walk away, you look completely synchronized, tilting your head up to smile at him playfully as you walk.
but as you look up at his sharp profile, your lips curve into a brilliant, teasing smirk, and your voice drops into a quiet, wicked whisper meant strictly for his ears.
“ If you grip my back any tighter, people are going to think you actually missed me. ”
next to you, Rin’s eyes snap toward you, his icy mask completely slipping for a fraction of a second as his jaw clenches. a vein practically throb in his temple, his dark eyes flashing with pure, irritated fire at your provocation. he doesn't break stride, but his fingers flex aggressively against your back, intentionally pulling you a millimeter closer just to prove a point.
“ Shut up. You're delusional. ”
“ Ah... Stylish. ”
a deep, dramatic voice echoes over the jazz music, dripping with an almost theatrical elegance. you look up to see none other than Aryu standing perfectly poised, flicking a strand of his impossibly silky, long hair over his shoulder. right next to him, looking completely out of place in a high-end luxury suit, is Tokimitsu, who is currently clutching a tiny cocktail glass with both hands, sweating bullets and muttering anxiously under his breath.
Aryu zeroes in on the two of you immediately. his eyes scan your sleek black sleeveless dress, then slide over to Rin’s tailored suit and immaculate silk overlay. finally, his gaze drops to Rin’s large hand, which is still firmly anchored to your bare lower back.
Aryu covers his mouth dramatically, his eyes widening with pure aesthetic approval.
“ To think the absolute peak of unstylish, lukewarm energy would display such an incredibly stylish development, ” Aryu teases, a grand, knowing smirk spreading across his face as he flicks his hair again. “ Rin... I never imagined your dark aura could ever harmonize with something so elegant. Letting a woman guide your heart? It’s completely... glamorous. ”
“ A-Ah! Aryu, wait, don't say that so loudly! ” Tokimitsu squeaks, his shoulders violently hitching as he glances at Rin's instantly darkening expression. he begins frantically wringing his hands, looking like he's about to cry right into his expensive suit jacket. “ Oh my god, Rin looks like he's going to tear the pavilion apart... I'm sorry! We shouldn't have intruded! Please don't murder us in the VIP lounge! ”
Rin stops dead in his tracks. the hand on your back turns into a literal vice grip, his fingers digging in as his entire body radiates a terrifying, suffocating pressure.
he glares at Aryu with a gaze so lethal it could stop a man's heart.
“ Get out of my sight before I rip your hair out from the roots, you freak. ” Rin draws out, his voice dropping into a dangerous, razor-sharp murmur that cuts right through the ambient noise of the pavilion.
Aryu merely lets out a dramatic sigh, entirely unfazed. “ Hm. Still completely lacking in emotional styling, I see. ”
FLASH!
the blinding white light of a professional camera bursts right in front of your faces, slicing through the dim, violet ambiance of the VIP lounge.
before you or Rin can even blink to clear the spots from your eyes, you glance over at Aryu— and your jaw almost drops.
he didn't even hesitate. the absolute millisecond the camera flash went off, Aryu’s model instincts overrode everything else. he is already frozen in a flawless, high-fashion pose. one hand is elegantly tucked into his suit pocket, his head is tilted at a perfect forty-five-degree angle to catch the neon downlighting, and his other hand is delicately framing his jawline while his impossibly silky hair magically seems to float behind him. he looks like he just stepped off a Parisian runway, completely unbothered by the fact that Rin was literally threatening to bald him two seconds ago.
next to him, Tokimitsu lets out a tiny, high-pitched squeak, his hands flying up to cover his face in pure panic, which honestly just makes the candid photo look like a chaotic masterpiece.
the unexpected flash forces you and Rin right back into survival mode. you instantly lock that stunning, radiant smile back onto your face, leaning your head just a bit closer to Rin's shoulder to look like you're completely amused by his former teammates.
Rin, caught completely off-guard by the sudden light and Aryu’s immediate, ridiculous posing, lets out a sharp, irritated click of his tongue. but because he knows the counselor will skin them alive if he looks like a monster in a group photo, he forces his features into a rigid, brooding smolder, his hand on your back tightening to pull you securely against his side.
“ Magnificent, ” Aryu purrs, breaking his pose the moment the camera lens clicks shut, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. “ A truly stylish snapshot for the masses. ”
“ Oh my god, oh my god, we're going to be trending for the wrong reasons.. ” Tokimitsu whimpers, hyperventilating into his collar.
before Aryu turns to glide away into the crowd, dragging a still-hyperventilating Tokimitsu by the sleeve, he pauses. he looks you up and down one last time, his eyes sweeping over the clean, elegant lines of your black sleeveless dress.
he flicks his long hair over his shoulder, giving you a deeply respectful, dramatic nod.
“ But truly, ” Aryu murmurs, his voice softening into something genuinely appreciative, “ your styling tonight is immaculate. The silhouette, the poise... you are the absolute saving grace of this dynamic. To look that radiant while tethered to such a gloomy, lukewarm creature? Truly, a masterpiece of patience and glamour. ”
“ A-Aryu, please, let's just go before he kills us! ” Tokimitsu wails, practically pulling Aryu's arm out of its socket as he scrambles toward the exit.
“ Farewell, stylish one. ” Aryu calls out with a final, elegant wave of his hand as they finally disappear into the swirling sea of celebrities.
the compliment leaves a soft, genuine laugh bubbling up from your chest, the tension in your shoulders dropping for just a fraction of a second.
next to you, Rin doesn't explode. instead, a heavy, suffocating silence bleeds off his frame. his hand on your bare back turns completely rigid, his fingers pressing into your skin with a flat, icy tension. he doesn't even look in the direction Aryu went, his eyes fixed straight ahead with pure, unadulterated disgust.
“ Disgusting freaks. ” Rin rasps, his voice dropping into a dangerously quiet, flat hiss that vibrates right against your shoulder.
you tilt your head up to look at his sharp profile, your brilliant, camera-ready smile slipping right back into place as you catch another flash going off in the distance.
“ He was just stating the obvious. I am the glamorous one here. ”
Rin’s jaw tightens so hard the muscle feather-clicks. he doesn't break stride, but his eyes slide down to meet yours, flat and fiercely intense. “ Keep dreaming. ”
the moment you and Rin try to steer clear of the main floor, navigating toward a slightly quieter VIP lounge, a smooth, wealthy voice cuts through the ambient chatter, instantly halting your escape.
“ Well, well. Look who finally decided to step out into the light. ”
you look up to see Reo leaning casually against a sleek marble pillar, looking effortlessly sharp in a designer suit that probably costs more than a sports car. hanging right next to him, slumped half-asleep on a plush sofa with a smartphone loosely gripped in his hand, is Nagi.
Reo’s sharp eyes instantly lock onto the two of you. as a billionaire heir who has been handled by PR teams since birth, he knows exactly how the media operates— and he immediately notices the faint, microscopic stiffness in your posture and the rigid line of Rin’s shoulders. he smirks, a knowing, calculating gleam in his eyes as he steps forward, smoothly roping you into his space.
but Reo doesn't just come over to chat. right behind him is a group of high-profile lifestyle influencers and models, their smartphones raised high as they live-stream the party to millions of viewers.
“ We were just talking about you, Rin. ” Reo says smoothly, his voice easily carrying over the audio of the live streams. he gives you a polite, charming nod before looking back at Rin.
“ Wow, Rin really is holding someone's hand, ” Nagi mumbles from the couch, not even looking up from his phone screen, though his lazy voice perfectly catches the attention of the influencers nearby. “ So troublesome. I thought you hated crowds, Rin. ”
the stakes instantly hit absolute maximum. you are no longer dealing with a distant camera lens— you are currently in high-definition, live-streaming directly to millions of internet sleuths.
Rin doesn't even stop walking. he doesn't play Reo's game, and he doesn't grace them with an argument.
instead, his hand on your bare lower back simply turns to iron. his fingers grip your waist with a heavy, sudden force, physically locking you flush against his side so you are entirely shielded by his massive frame as he cuts right past them.
he casts one single, lethal glance toward Reo and Nagi. his dark eyes are dead, filled with a flat, crushing disgust that could freeze water.
“ Lukewarm. ” Rin rasps.
it’s a single, quiet word spat through his teeth— low, dangerous, and completely dismissive. without pausing for even half a second to let the influencers get a clear shot, he uses his height and his iron grip on your waist to guide you straight through the gap, leaving his former teammates in the dust.
to the millions of people watching the live stream, the sheer, icy dismissiveness of his exit— and the way he aggressively kept you against him the entire time— is the ultimate, terrifying confirmation of how protective he is.
Nagi lets out a slow sigh, slouching even deeper into the velvet sofa.
Reo just smirks, watching your retreating figures with amusement. “ Still completely unreadable. ”
as you both finally break away into a darker, much quieter corridor of the pavilion, your heart is hammering against your ribs from the sheer force of his grip.
you turn back to the beautifully arranged catering table, prioritizing your own needs. your stomach lets out a quiet, demanding rumble, reminding you that you've been running on pure adrenaline and acting all night.
you pick up a small, elegant plate, your fingers steady as you scan the options. even though you're starving, you keep your portions strictly managed— selecting just a few small, high-protein bites and a single miniature savory tart.
Rin stands right beside you, completely silent as you make your selections. he doesn't comment on what you're picking, nor does he offer to help. he just stands there like a dark, towering wall, his arms crossed tightly over his chest as his sharp eyes keep watch over the empty corridor leading to the balcony.
the only sound in the secluded corner is the distant, muffled bass of the jazz band from the main pavilion and the quiet clink of your utensil against the porcelain plate.
you take a small, delicate bite of the savory tart, the rich flavor finally hitting your tongue and offering some much-needed relief. next to you, Rin lets out a barely audible breath through his nose. he still looks thoroughly irritated to be here, his jaw set in that signature, rigid line, but the aggressive, suffocating pressure he was radiating in front of Reo and Nagi has dialed back to a low, heavy simmer.
left alone in the shadows without a single camera lens currently tracked on you, the silence between you two changes. it’s no longer about keeping up a frantic, breathless performance for the media— it’s just the raw, cold reality of standing next to your ex in the dark, the space between you heavy with everything that went unsaid after the breakup.
you quietly finish your small portion of food, setting the empty plate down on the edge of the linen-covered table.
before you can even pick up your purse, a soft, familiar gasp echoes from the entry of the catering alcove.
“ Oh my god... babe?! ”
you snap your head around, and a genuine smile immediately breaks across your face, completely shattering the tense atmosphere. walking toward you is one of your former co-workers from your previous agency. she looks absolutely stunning, wearing a breathtaking gown that catches the low light perfectly, holding an empty plate of her own. you two used to be incredibly close, surviving back-to-back high-stress projects together before your careers took different paths.
“ I knew that was you! ” she squeals softly, stepping right past Rin like he’s a piece of decorative furniture, completely ignoring his towering, intimidating presence to wrap you in a warm, familiar hug. the scent of her expensive perfume fills the air as she pulls back, looking you up and down with pure admiration. “ Look at you! You look absolutely immaculate tonight. How have you been? I feel like it's been an eternity! ”
“ I'm fine! ” you laugh, the relief of seeing a friendly, familiar face making your voice sound lighter than it has all evening. “ Honestly, just taking things day by day. What about you? You look unbelievable. ”
“ Ugh, don't even get me started, ” she chuckles, rolling her eyes playfully as she starts picking out a few small portions of fruit and appetizers for her own plate.
“ The new contract has been a total whirlwind, traveling non-stop, but the exposure has been amazing. I actually just wrapped that big campaign last week— ”
as you and her smoothly launch into exchanging quick, comfortable updates about your lives and careers, the atmosphere in the small corner shifts drastically.
right next to you, Rin has gone completely, utterly rigid.
the moment your stunning friend called you "babe" and swept you into a hug, Rin’s dark eyes narrowed to slits. he stands there with his arms still crossed over his chest, his jaw tightly clenched as he listens to the two of you talk so easily.
he hates the crowd, he hates the event, and now he’s forced to stand by like a brooding statue while you casually catch up with a beautiful woman who clearly holds a comfortable, affectionate place in your life. his intense, burning gaze stays fixed on the side of your face, his irritation practically humming in the silence between your friend's sentences.
your friend smoothly finishes plating her food and glances over at Rin, finally acknowledging the brooding professional athlete standing glued to your side. she gives him a polite, curious look before turning back to you with a playful, knowing spark in her eyes.
“ Oh, Itoshi Rin? ” she jokes, rolling her eyes with a dramatic sigh. “ I told you to break up with him! ”
a genuine, breathless laugh instantly bursts out of you. the sheer absurdity of her saying that right to his face— combined with the fact that you two actually broke up and are currently forcing a massive lie for the media— makes the irony completely hilarious. you lean into her slightly, your shoulders shaking as you both share a private, laughing moment right in front of him.
next to you, Rin’s entire body turns to pure stone.
a sharp, audible click of his tongue cuts through your laughter. his jaw clenches so hard a visible knot forms in his cheek, his dark eyes flashing with a sudden, fiercely irritated heat.
he doesn't yell, and he doesn't throw a tantrum. instead, his breathing grows flat and heavy, his crossed arms tightening against his chest as he glares at your friend like he wants to erase her from the pavilion. he looks completely, utterly miserable, his antisocial energy spiking as he realizes he's the punchline of a joke he can't even argue against without ruining the agency's contract.
the moment the genuine, breathless laugh bursts out of you, your friend seamlessly slides her free arm through yours. she gives Rin one last amused, entirely unfazed look before completely turning her back on his suffocating aura, tugging you gently toward the exit.
“ Alright, enough of this gloomy corner, ” she says, her voice bright and full of easy authority. “ Come inside with me. Everyone from the old team is by the lounge, and they’ve been dying to see you! Let’s go catch up properly. ”
you smoothly, gently move your friend’s hand away from your arm, offering her a quick, apologetic smile before turning to step right back into Rin's space.
as you approach him, your face is filled with a quiet, genuine nervousness that only he can see from his vantage point. because you are a experienced actor, your back remains perfectly poised and natural, completely hiding your inner tension from your friend and anyone else watching from behind.
Rin looks down at you, a sharp crease forming between his brows. his gaze is purely disgusted, eyes tracking your nervous expression with a cold frustration. he doesn't understand what just triggered this sudden shift in you, and the unexpected variable clearly annoys him as he demands for you to explain yourself.
you stop directly in front of him. before he can even utter a word, you reach up, wrapping your arms securely around Rin's neck, and pull him down into a sudden, breathless kiss.
the kiss is slow.
or at least, in the quiet gravity of the shadows, it feels that way for both of you.
the sudden, frantic rushing of the VIP lounge completely fades out, replaced entirely by a heavy, suffocatingly familiar sensation. it is the exact warmth, the exact rhythm you both experienced a while ago— a ghost of the past slamming violently into the present.
for a split second, the messy reality of the breakup and the cold boundaries you drew in the sand completely evaporate under the sheer, unadulterated weight of memory.
even though the counselor's endless, rigid demands for this fake relationship are frustrating, you were never actually told to take it this far. you were never ordered to kiss Rin.
this choice, this sudden, breathless escalation in the dark, is entirely your own.
Rin goes completely rigid under your touch, his body locking into an unyielding freeze. for a split second, his dark eyes widen in sharp, cold surprise— he didn't calculate this move. but he doesn't pull away. instead, a low, sharp hitch catches in his throat, and the sheer force of muscle memory overrides his discipline.
his hand drops from his chest, his large fingers catching the fabric at your waist in a sudden, heavy grip. he kisses you back for one intense, frustrated second— not out of sweetness, but as a sharp, involuntary reflex of pure muscle memory, his jaw tightening with a grim, suppressed heat before his brain can even register the betrayal.
then, reality snaps back. Rin abruptly breaks the contact, pulling his head back just an inch. his breathing is slightly shallow, his eyes burning down into yours with a sharp, dangerous intensity as he forces his composure back into an iron lock.
“ What the hell do you think you're doing? ” he rasps through his teeth, his voice a low, icy blade of pure irritation and demands for answers.
just a few feet away, your friend stands completely frozen, her plate of food nearly slipping from her fingers as she stares at the two of you in absolute shock.
the playful, teasing smirk is entirely wiped from her face, her eyes wide as she watches the sheer, heavy intensity of the kiss. because of the distance and the low, muffled bass of the jazz band echoing from the main pavilion, she can’t hear a single word passing between you two. Rin’s sharp, ragged question and the dangerous, vulnerable rasp in his voice are completely lost to her.
to her eyes, she isn't seeing a calculated PR stunt or a messy, breakup confrontation. she is just witnessing what looks like a fiercely passionate, undeniable moment of raw intimacy between a couple who clearly can't keep their hands off each other.
you don't offer Rin a single answer. you don't explain the impulse, the nervousness, or the sudden break in the script.
instead, you slowly let your arms slip down from his neck, your fingers lingering for a fraction of a second against the sharp fabric of his collar. looking up into his completely disgusted, burning gaze, you force your voice to remain steady, dropping it into a quiet, casual murmur that carries just enough to reach your stunned friend.
“ Call me when something happens. Love you. ”
Rin doesn't say "I love you too" back, he doesn't even move. he never said it back, not even in the past when things were real, and he certainly isn't going to start now. he just stands there like a frozen statue in the shadows, his hand dropping from your waist, his dark eyes fixed entirely on your face with a heavy, unreadable intensity.
the moment the words leave your lips, your stomach drops, twisting violently in response to such a familiar, nostalgic feeling. saying those words to him again— paired with his predictable, heavy silence— hits your system with a wave of raw whiplash, making the ache of the breakup feel incredibly hollow and real all at once.
turning away before the emotion can bleed onto your face, you give your shocked friend a smooth, seamless smile, acting as if nothing out of the ordinary just happened.
the moment you turn your back on him, Rin stands completely frozen in the dim, violet shadows of the balcony. his whole body is wound as tight as a piano wire, the quiet fury radiating off him absolutely suffocating as his hands curl into rigid fists at his sides. he is deeply, thoroughly pissed off and disgusted.
but most of all, he loathes how effortlessly his own muscle memory just answered your familiar touch.
ever since the breakup, he’s thrown every single ounce of his obsessive energy into his discipline, locking those domestic habits away behind a seamless wall of indifference. you didn't shatter that wall, but you forced a glitch in it, and the lingering, familiar warmth of that kiss feels less like nostalgia and more like a direct insult to his self-control. his jaw tightens until it aches, his breathing deliberate and sharp as he glares at the empty place where you just disappeared.
he lets out a single, low hiss through his teeth, his dark eyes burning with pure, unadulterated irritation as he immediately clamps his ironclad guard back down.
as you walk down the carpeted hallway, the muffled sound of your friend's voice bounces off the walls. she’s completely yapping now, her hands gesturing wildly as she recaps her absolute shock, whispering a million questions a minute about how long you and Rin have been like that and how she can't believe she ever doubted the chemistry.
but you aren't listening to a single word. her voice is just white noise.
your entire focus is locked onto what you just did. your heart is still hammering against your ribs, a frantic, heavy rhythm that feels completely mismatched with your poised, elegant outer appearance. your lips still feel warm, tingling with the sharp, residual heat of his mouth, and your skin feels hyper-sensitive where his fingers had violently dug into your waist.
the weight of that familiar, nostalgic act is completely suffocating.
it was a total muscle-memory trigger. the exact way he froze before leaning in, the ragged hitch in his breath, and that predictable, heavy silence when you said love you— it was an exact, haunting replica of how things used to be. for a few seconds back there, the fake relationship, the PR contract, and the frustrating demands of the counselor didn't exist. it was just the raw, bleeding reality of the two of you, playing out a routine you used to know by heart.
your stomach twists into a tight, anxious knot. it’s a bitter, conflicting feeling. you took that step completely on your own, but now the lingering whiplash is settling into your chest. doing something so intensely intimate— and feeling him respond to it with that same familiar intensity— makes the reality of your actual breakup feel ten times heavier.
you find yourself staring straight ahead, your camera-ready smile fixed perfectly on your face as you approach the bright lounge where the rest of your old co-workers are gathered, even though inside, you're completely breathless.
as you and your friend round the corner toward the brighter VIP lounge, you suddenly realize you weren't nearly as hidden as you thought.
standing just past the threshold of the corridor, tucked into a wide alcove near a secondary refreshment station, is a cluster of familiar faces from the Blue Lock project. Isagi, Bachira, Reo, Nagi, Aryu, and Tokimitsu are all gathered there. they had clearly been heading toward the balcony for a quiet break of their own— and they had a front-row seat to the entire, breathless spectacle.
they had all chosen to stay completely quiet, not wanting to disrupt the sheer, heavy intensity of the moment, but the aftermath on their faces is loud.
Bachira and Nagi are currently frozen like statues. Nagi’s fingers are loosely wrapped around a high-end skewer, and Bachira is holding a small pastry— both of their hands are trembling so much from pure shock that the food is literally on the verge of sliding right off and dropping onto the polished floor.
the moment you and your friend pass them, the silence breaks, and they immediately launch into a hurried, hushed conversation.
“ Whoa... ” Bachira gasps, his eyes wide and completely circular as he forces himself to swallow, his hand barely steadying his tilting pastry. “ Rin-rin looked like he was about to swallow her whole. I thought his face was gonna melt off from how hot his aura got! ”
“ Ugh, scary... ” Nagi mumbles, his jaw slightly slack as he blinks slowly, staring down at the skewer that almost slipped from his grip.
Isagi lets out a low, shaky breath, crossing his arms as he looks back toward the dark corridor where Rin is still brooding. “ I didn't think Rin had it in him to look that rattled. He looked completely thrown off his game. Did you see his eyes right after they broke apart? He looked like he didn't know whether to explode or freeze to death. ”
“ It was terribly un-glamorous yet incredibly dramatic! ” Aryu chimes in, tossing his long hair over his shoulder, though his sharp eyes are still wide with genuine surprise. “ The absolute juxtaposition of elegance and raw, unbridled friction... the aesthetic tension was palpable. ”
“ O-Oh my god, do you think we should leave? ” Tokimitsu whimpers, anxiously wringing his hands together as he looks around frantically. “ What if Rin finds out we saw him like that?! He's going to murder us! He’s going to target me in training tomorrow and destroy my legs, I know it, I’m so anxious— ”
Reo just stands there, a calculating, slightly amused smirk playing on his lips as he takes a slow sip from his glass. unlike the others, his sharp mind is already putting the pieces together, his eyes trailing after your retreating back with deep intrigue.
“ Well, well, ” Reo murmurs, his voice smooth and knowing. “ And here I thought they were just putting on a neat little show for the cameras tonight. That didn't look like acting at all. Rin was completely paralyzed. ”
“ Yeah, ” Isagi agrees quietly, his football brain unconsciously analyzing the sheer weight of the history between you two. “ Whatever is going on between them... it's definitely not just for PR. ”
“ Seriously though, ” Bachira whispers, leanings in closer to the center of the huddle, his eyes practically sparkling with gossip. “ Did you guys hear what she said right at the end? I couldn't make out the words over that stupid saxophone player, but she looked so... woooah. Rin looked like he saw a ghost! ”
“ I think she told him she loved him, ” Nagi mutters, finally managing to shove the skewer into his mouth so it stops slipping. he chews lazily, leaning his heavy shoulder against the wall.
“ Wait, really?! ” Tokimitsu gasps, his face flushing bright red as he grips his head in his hands. “ She confessed right there?! Oh no, oh no, that’s so heavy! If Rin is harboring that kind of intense, unrequited emotional baggage while we're trying to focus on world-class training, his destructive output is going to skyrocket! We're all going to die in the next scrimmage! ”
“ Calm down, Tokimitsu, you're hyperventilating over someone else's love life. ” Isagi says, a small, wry smile breaking through his own lingering shock.
he shakes his head, still trying to process the image of the invincible Itoshi Rin looking so completely defenseless. “ But Nagi's right. Rin never says stuff like that. He probably doesn't even know how to process it. Did you see his fists? He looked like he wanted to punch the wall but couldn't because of the cameras. ”
Reo swirls the liquid in his glass, watching the ice cubes clink together with a knowing look. “ Of course he couldn't. Rin prides himself on being absolute, but tonight he completely lost control of the pace. She completely blindsided him. Did you see the way she just walked away afterward? Total power move. She left him standing there in the dark with zero answers. ”
“ A true masterclass in emotional drama, ” Aryu murmurs, nodding with deep, solemn approval. “ To deliver such a devastating, passionate strike and then exit with flawless posture... the stylishness of it is truly magnificent. truly glamorous. ”
“ Man, I almost want to go back out there and poke him with a stick just to see what happens! ” Bachira giggles, though he wisely stays glued to his spot. “ But he'd probably bite my head off. Do you think they're gonna break up for real after tonight, or is Rin just gonna explode? ”
Isagi sighs, glancing one last time toward the hallway where you had vanished into the crowd, “ He's going to run about twenty miles tonight just to try and burn that kiss out of his system. ”
—
your phone gives a sharp, heavy vibration inside your purse.
you smoothly excuse yourself from the middle of your old co-workers' conversation, stepping slightly to the side near a velvet curtain to pull out your screen. it’s an urgent text from the PR counselor, followed immediately by an attached link to a major high-society entertainment blog.
the headline is already blowing up: "SPOTTED: A Passionate Moment in the Shadows for Blue Lock's Itoshi Rin and His... Old Lover? "
you click the link, your stomach dropping as the page loads. it’s a beautifully shot, high-resolution candid photograph taken by a paparazzi lens from a vantage point across the pavilion. because of the low lighting of the balcony, the shot looks incredibly cinematic.
the picture captures the exact moment before the kiss, right when you stepped back into his space. in the photo, your hands are raised up, delicately fixing Rin's tie, your face tilted up toward his. Rin is towering over you, his sharp profile caught in the dim violet light, and his large hand is flat against your back, his long fingers securely gripping your waist to steady you.
but there is a specific, lethal detail the lens caught that completely changes the entire context of the shot.
Rin isn't looking at your eyes, and he isn't looking at the crowd. his sharp, heavy gaze is directed completely, hungrily downward, locked entirely onto your lips.
with his hand fiercely gripping your waist and his eyes focused on your mouth with that raw, undeniable intensity, it doesn't look like a passive PR stunt at all. it looks like he was completely starved for you. to the public, it looks like he was the one about to lose control and pull you in, cementing the image of a man completely obsessed. the comment section is already melting down over it.
the text from the counselor below the link is cold and demanding:
"The detail of his gaze is driving the engagement numbers through the roof. It looks 100% genuine. Excellent work. Do not let the momentum die. Rin is currently by the main bar. Rejoin him immediately and stay by his side for the rest of the night to solidify the buzz."
you swallow hard, your fingers tightening around your phone. the fact that the entire media world is swooning over a look that was actually born out of raw, post-breakup confusion makes your head spin.
you slip your phone back into your purse, take a deep breath to smooth down your dress, and begin navigating through the glittering crowd of the VIP lounge, walking straight toward the marble bar where the brooding, oblivious monster is waiting.
—
the ice in Rin’s glass clicks loudly against the crystal as he swirls it, his knuckles white around the tumbler. he stands completely alone at the edge of the marble bar, radiating an aura so suffocatingly hostile that even the high-society bartenders actively avoid looking him in the eye. he hadn't touched the liquid; he just needed something freezing to anchor him because his palms still feel entirely too hot.
his jaw aches from how hard he’s been clenching it. every time he looks out into the crowd, his mind aggressively processes those three seconds on the balcony— the sudden, tactical error of letting your arms slip around his neck, the intrusive familiarity of your scent, and the unprompted friction of your lips against his. he had been completely blindsided. left standing in the dark like an amateur while you casually walked away after dropping a flippant “ Love you ” that felt less like an affection and more like a calculated strike to his ribs.
he is so thoroughly consumed by the cold, sharp irritation of having his self-control compromised that he doesn’t even notice the footsteps approaching until a shadow falls over his left shoulder.
“ Wow, Rin, if you glare at that glass any harder, it’s gonna shatter into a million pieces! ”
Rin’s eyes snap sideways, narrowing into lethal, dangerous slits. Bachira is leaning against the marble counter just a couple of feet away, a massive, incredibly wicked grin stretching across his face, while Isagi stands just a half-step behind him, trying and completely failing to look casual.
Rin's body instantly tenses, the muscle along his jaw ticking as he catches the intruder's shadow.
“ Get lost. ” he rasps, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly warning through his teeth.
but Bachira doesn't back down. instead, he leans in closer, his eyes sparkling with pure mischief as he taps his chin thoughtfully. “ Aww, come on! We just came to check on you. You looked a little... overheated out there on the balcony. I didn't know you could make a face like that, Rin-rin! You looked like a big, scary dog who finally got his favorite treat but doesn't know how to chew it! ”
Isagi lets out a sharp, nervous cough, swatting at Bachira’s arm. “ Bachira, chill out— ”
“ What? ” Bachira giggles, completely unfazed as he directly teases the monster. “ Did you guys patch things up or what? Because from where we were standing, it looked like she totally devoured you, and you just stood there like a frozen statue! Did your brain totally melt, Rin? Is that why you didn't say 'I love you' back? ”
the air around the bar instantly drops to absolute zero. Rin slowly turns his entire body toward them, his dark eyes narrowing into deadly, hyper-focused slits. there is no panicked breathing— just a suffocating, lethal aura radiating off him as he stares them down like obstacles on a pitch.
“ Shut your mouths. ” Rin hisses, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that cuts straight through the noise of the room. “ If either of you breathes another word about what happened out there, I will personally destroy you. I'll make sure you never walk onto a pitch again. ”
Bachira doesn’t look even remotely intimidated by the threat. instead, he just lets out a bright, completely unbothered laugh, his eyes crinkling with amusement before they slide past Rin’s shoulder and land directly on you.
the realization clicks instantly in his eyes.
“ Ah, ” Bachira hums, a playful, knowing smirk spreading across his face as he backs away, raising his hands in mock surrender. he nudges Isagi, guiding him away from the bar before Rin actually fulfills his promise to destroy them. but he can't resist leaving a parting gift.
“ Okay, okay, we're leaving! Sorry for interrupting your private moment. ”
the tease hangs heavily in the air as they disappear into the crowd.
beside you, the silence that settles over Rin is instantaneous and deafening. Bachira’s parting shot just poured gasoline right back onto the fire of his frustration.
you look at rin, bracing yourself for the fallout. he slowly turns his head toward you, his dark eyes burning with an intense, suffocating focus. you can see the venom building behind his teeth— he is either about to demand an explanation for the stunt you just pulled on the balcony, or he's going to use that razor-sharp tongue to completely trivialize it. his mouth opens, his voice dropping into a flat, freezing deadpan that carries the absolute weight of his aristocratic disdain.
this is a work of fiction. any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or real events is purely coincidental and not intended. all characters depicted are not owned by me and belong to their respective creators. this work is purely fictional and for illustrative purposes only.
Does anyone still read my works
Been busy lately... realized that I haven't uploaded a new fan fiction for this month... so bear with this dessert series update for now. I also realized I haven't uploaded this part yet, and this has been in my notes for 2 months 😭😭
my orders are always open! feel free to send your thoughts, messages, orders and recommendations! ♡ ( all support given to me makes me motivated and live well )
well... what do you guys want to happen next? I'm open for suggestions ;) no hints for today since I have no idea what to do next... feel free to send your thoughts and everything! I'm open, really. + I reply as soon as I can.
this part focused more on the environment and guests so I was thinking of a one-on-one angst with Rin.
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the silence lingered just long enough to be weird. Leorio opened his mouth to protest, but before he could get a word out, they blinked in unison and went right back to what they were doing, leaving him standing there in a cloud of unresolved indignation.
Leorio does not react, not outwardly.
his posture does not change. his gaze does not sharpen. his breathing remains steady, even, unremarkable.
he looks like he isn’t listening.
but his fingers move. slowly, absently.
the bread rests in his hand now, partially unwrapped, broken apart without much thought. he eats without focus, bites taken mechanically, attention seemingly elsewhere.
it’s convincing. it has to be.
because no one looks at him twice.
not really. not enough.
the map shifts between them. passed from one to another, handled carelessly for something that should matter more. it’s folded, edges worn, creases deep from repeated use. not large. not obvious.
easy to lose, easy to take.
timing. it’s always timing.
he waits. not looking, never looking.
just… aware.
the moment comes quietly, it always does.
the map rests too long in one place— set down, half-forgotten as attention shifts, as voices overlap, as something else becomes briefly more important.
that’s all it takes.
his hand moves.
not quickly, not sharply. just… naturally. as if reaching for something else, as if adjusting his position, as if there was never any intention behind it at all.
fingers brush against the surface first— light, testing, unnoticed.
then—
grip, lift, fold, gone.
the motion ends before it begins.
the map disappears into the loose folds of his clothing, tucked away with the same ease as everything else, concealed not by force but by familiarity.
nothing changes. no one reacts. the conversation continues.
“ …We leave before the sun dips too low. ”
“ …And if it’s wrong? ”
“ …Then we turn back. ”
a pause.
“ …If we can. ”
a faint laugh follows. dry, uncertain.
Leorio takes another bite of bread. slow, unbothered. like he has nowhere else to be, like he has nothing else to think about.
no one notices.
not yet.
and by the time they do— he won’t be there.
—
the city does not try to stop him. it never does. it simply… lets him go.
the streets thin behind him, not all at once, not in any clean or noticeable way— just gradually, subtly, until the constant brush of shoulders becomes space, until the murmur dulls into scattered fragments, until the weight of presence lifts just enough to feel different. the buildings fall back, their uneven shapes giving way to wider gaps, to stretches of land that feel less contained, less watched.
the air changes.
not cooler. not lighter. just… emptier.
like something has been taken out of it.
sand replaces stone.
it spreads outward in uneven layers, swallowing what little structure remains, creeping over paths that might have once been clear but are now softened, blurred, made uncertain. each step sinks slightly, shifting beneath his weight, refusing to stay still.
it is quieter here, too quiet.
Leorio squints against the light, one hand lifted just enough to block the worst of it, his expression already set somewhere between annoyed and deeply unimpressed.
“ …Yeah. Great. Perfect. Love this already. ”
he mutters it like the sand personally offended him.
his foot sinks slightly on his next step.
he pauses.
looks down.
“ …You’ve got to be kidding me. ”
he lifts his foot. sand shifts, resettles.
he stares at it for a second longer than necessary.
“ …So this is how I die. Not even dramatically. just— ” he gestures vaguely at the ground, “ —buried alive by dust. amazing. ”
he keeps walking anyway.
because of course he does.
the map— their map, not his, definitely not his, he just happens to be holding it— crinkles faintly in his hand as he glances down at it for what has to be the fifth time in the last minute.
“ … ‘ Past the outer ridge, ’ ” he reads under his breath, tone flat. “ Yeah. Real Helpful. Really specific. Love the detail. ”
he looks up.
there are ridges.
several.
all equally unhelpful.
“ …Which one? ” he demands, as if the map might answer him.
it does not.
he sighs. loud, dramatic, entirely unnecessary.
“ …Okay. Cool. So it’s either that one, ” he points vaguely to the left, “ or that one, ” now to the right, “ or—oh, wait—maybe it’s the one that looks exactly like the other two. ”
a beat.
“ …Fantastic. "
he folds the map. unfolds it again immediately.
“ …I should’ve just stayed home. ”
he keeps walking.
time stretches.
not in a clear way, not in something he can measure, but in the slow, dragging sense of movement that feels like it should have led somewhere by now.
it hasn’t.
the sun does not shift, the sand does not change, everything looks the same.
“ …This is fake. ” he says it firmly, like he’s finally come to a logical conclusion. “ Yeah. Definitely fake. there’s no cave. there’s no lamp. There’s just me— ” he gestures to himself, “ —walking out here like an idiot because i believed some random guys in an alley. ”
a pause.
“ …Actually, no, that part tracks. That sounds exactly like something i’d do. ”
he kicks lightly at the sand.
it does nothing.
“ …Great. ”
he walks a little more.
just in case.
“ …Okay, now i’m going back. ”
he turns.
takes one step.
stops.
slowly turns back.
“ …But what if it’s, like… just over there? ”
he squints into the distance, as if that might magically reveal something.
it does not.
“ …I hate this. ”
he turns again.
takes two steps.
stops.
“ …NO, because if it is real and i leave now, i’m gonna think about it forever. ” he exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face.
“ …And if it’s not real, then i just wasted my time and almost died of heatstroke for nothing. ”
he adjusts his path slightly this time, angling toward a ridge that looks no different from the others but somehow feels like it might be the right one purely out of spite. the ground shifts more here, the sand uneven, slipping beneath each step in a way that makes the climb feel longer than it is.
he doesn’t like it.
“ …This is a bad idea, ” he mutters. “ this is a really bad idea. . . ”
he keeps going.
and then—
something changes.
not the light.
not the air.
the ground.
subtle.
barely noticeable.
but there—
a break.
not large. not dramatic. just… wrong. a slight disruption in the otherwise endless stretch of sand, where the surface dips inward, where the texture shifts just enough to suggest something beneath it.
he slows.
just a little.
“ …No way. ”
he steps closer.
the sand gives slightly under his foot, sliding away from the edge of something more solid, something hidden just beneath the surface.
his eyes narrow.
“ …No way... " he crouches, brushing at the sand with his hand, pushing it aside, revealing more of it—
stone.
dark.
worn.
and there— an opening.
not wide, not obvious, but there. real.
he stares at it for a long moment, completely still.
“ …You’ve got to be kidding me. ”
his voice is quieter now.
not joking.
not fully.
“ …it’s actually real? ”
he looks around, as if expecting someone to jump out and tell him it’s a trick.
no one does. the air remains still, the silence holds, the cave waits.
he stands there. staring, thinking, overthinking.
“ …Okay. so this is it. ”
he gestures toward the opening.
“ This is the part where i go in, find the lamp, and everything works out. ”
a beat.
“ …Or i go in and die immediately. ”
another.
“ …which, statistically, feels more likely. ”
he sighs. long. tired.
“ …Why do I do this to myself? ”
he steps closer anyway.
of course he does.
he stops at the entrance.
peers inside.
it’s dark. not just shadowed— dark. the kind that doesn’t let the light in, that doesn’t reflect, that simply… exists. waiting.
“ …Yeah. No. This is definitely how people die. ” he nods to himself. very serious. “ …100%. ”
a pause.
“ …but also— ” he looks back once at the endless sand. at the nothing waiting for him out there. then back at the cave. “ …I didn’t come all this way for nothing. ” he exhales. steady.
“ …One quick look. ” he mutters it like he believes it. like he expects it to be true. and then—
he steps inside. the dark does not welcome him, it settles. thick, unmoving, immediate.
it swallows the light behind him in slow, uneven layers, dulling the entrance until it no longer feels like something he can simply turn toward and leave through. the air shifts—cooler, but not in a comforting way. it presses differently here, closer, quieter, as if sound itself has less room to exist.
his steps echo. not loudly, but enough. each one returns to him a fraction too late, a fraction too soft, stretched thin by the space around him until it no longer sounds like it belongs to him at all. he slows. just a little.
" Yeah. no. I hate this. ” Leorio mutters it under his breath, voice flattening as it disappears into the dark, absorbed too quickly to feel real.
he takes another step. the ground is uneven beneath him— stone now, not sand, but worn, sloped in places, smoothed by something that does not feel recent. his foot drags slightly against it, adjusting, testing.
" This is stupid. ” another step. “ …This is actually the dumbest thing i’ve ever done. ”
he pauses.
that’s not true, he’s done worse.
“ …Okay, fine. Top five. ”
a beat.
“ …Top three. ”
silence settles again, thicker this time.
he exhales, sharper than before, dragging a hand through his hair, fingers catching slightly where the strands have clumped from heat, from dust, from everything the outside had pressed into him.
" One quick look, ” he repeats quietly, like he’s reminding himself of something important. “ That’s it. just— quick. in, out. done. ” his voice doesn’t sound convincing. he knows it. he doesn’t acknowledge it.
he takes a few more steps. the darkness deepens, not gradually— not in any way that feels natural— but all at once, like a threshold crossed without warning.
the entrance behind him dims further, reduced now to something distant, something smaller than it should be. he glances back. just once. it’s still there. of course it is. but—
“ …Was it always that far? ” he frowns slightly, squinting as if that might fix the distance, might pull it closer, might make it make sense. it doesn’t. “ …No. no, it wasn’t. ” he turns fully now, facing the entrance, staring at it a little longer than necessary.
a pause.
“ Okay. yeah. no. I'm leaving. ” immediate. decisive. firm. “ This is where i stop being an idiot. ” he nods once, like that settles it. “ …Great. love that for me. ”
he turns around— and starts back.
—
the walk feels shorter. it should...? it doesn’t.
his steps quicken slightly, no longer careful, no longer measured in the same way as before. there’s an edge to them now— not quite panic, not quite urgency, but something close enough to both that it presses against his chest in a way he doesn’t like.
“ …Yeah, this was a bad idea, ” he mutters, louder this time, like filling the space might make it feel less empty. “ Really Bad. Horrible. Worst idea i’ve had all week. ”
a beat.
“ …And that’s saying something. ” he keeps walking. the entrance remains. distant. unchanged.
“ …okay. ” his pace slows. just slightly. “…Why is it not getting closer. ”
he stops, completely. the silence rushes in around him again, heavier now, more noticeable in the absence of movement.
he stares. the entrance is still there. small, too small. too far.
“ No. no, that’s not— ” he takes another step. then another, faster now. the sound of it echoes back to him again, wrong in a way he can’t place, stretching just a second too long, just enough to make it feel like something is following behind him rather than returning from the walls.
“ Okay... i’m not doing this. ” his voice tightens, the humor slipping just slightly at the edges. “ I’m not—no. i’m leaving. that’s it. ”
he keeps walking, faster. the entrance does not change.
his breathing shifts. subtle. barely there. but enough.
“ This isn’t funny. ” he says it like someone should be laughing. like someone is, there is no response. only the echo, only the dark.
he moves again— quicker now, steps uneven against the stone, shoulders tense, eyes fixed on the entrance that refuses to move closer, refuses to respond, refuses to feel real in any way that matters.
“ …No. no, no, no— ” his voice cuts off. sharp, sudden.
something—
the cave does not stay quiet for long. at first, it is subtle enough to ignore. a tremor— not loud, not sudden, just a faint disturbance threading through the stone beneath the surface. the kind of movement that could almost be mistaken for imagination, a shift so small it barely deserves attention.
but the ground feels it, and so does he.
Leorio slows mid-step, his feet pausing halfway through its next movement as the vibration slips through the floor of the cavern and into the bones of his legs. it hums there. low, unsettling.
“ …What. ” the word leaves him automatically, quiet and confused, his voice flattening against the thick air of the cave.
the tremor fades.
for half a second. long enough that the silence tries to convince him nothing happened at all.
he exhales through his nose, irritated. “ …Okay, no. I'm definitely imagining stuff now. ” he mutters it to the darkness like the cave personally owes him an explanation.
his hand drags briefly through his hair before falling back to his side as he resumes walking toward the distant opening behind him— the faint wedge of daylight that had looked so reassuring just moments ago.
one step.
two.
the cave remains still.
his footsteps echo again, hollow and distant, slipping across the stone and disappearing somewhere deeper inside the cavern where the light cannot reach. “ …Yeah, no, this place is cursed, ” he mutters under his breath.
this is a work of fiction. any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or real events is purely coincidental and not intended. all characters depicted are not owned by me and belong to their respective creators. this work is purely fictional and for illustrative purposes only.
⬆️ gold, sunny divider is from @angeliicide. check out their other works !!!
when a guy who liked me before asks if he could have another chance but he's lowkey built like Michael Kaiser so I just close my eye and hope for the best
#unfortunately he loved blue lock as well, and started acting like an " egoist " 😭🙏🏻
#was really cringe, he had the mindset of an anime dude
anyway go read my fanfic of kaiser Treat you better
SYNOPSIS: — the moment holiness forgets its own boundaries; a prayer spoken with stained hands, a vow unraveling in the presence of desire.
deeply inspired by the mini series, Hilda Furacao. also inspired by Lana Del Rey's song, Salvatore and Religion. ordered by @2noraaaa!
HUNTER X HUNTER: Priest Chrollo Lucilfer x Prostitute Reader ( Divine Correspondence Soulmate AU )
CONTAINS: sacrilegious themes, salacious, prostitution, sex work, mature & dark themes, moral ambiguity & eternal conflict, religious themes & imagery ( catholic ) , religious hypocrisy, corruption of authority, violation of religious vows, inappropriate relationship involving clergy, slow burn, moral conflict, alcohol use / intoxication, objectification, psychological tension, manipulation, sexual content ( not that explicit ), dubcon, hints of angel & demon, similar to succubus, blasphemy? existential crisis, dissociation, stalking, voyeurism ( implied ), few orginal characters for plot purposes lol
Word Count: 9,557 words and 52,622 characters
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Verse l. Verse ll. Assumption. ( Tomorrow is never promised )
the club is a riot of bass and neon, exactly where you belong. you’re back in the red. the lipstick is applied with aggressive precision— a sharp, lethal crimson that matches your dress. you look efficient, you look expensive. you look like someone who doesn't remember what the inside of a church smells like.
but the city has started playing tricks on you.
it’s been weeks since that Sunday, and in that time, the color white has started to feel like a haunting. you’ll be mid-conversation with a client, the smell of expensive cologne and sweat filling the air, and suddenly, a flash of white fabric in the VIP lounge will make your breath hitch. you turn, heart hammering, expecting to see a high collar and a serene, unreadable face— but it’s just a waiter with a linen cloth.
it’s the silence that’s the worst. in the loudest parts of the night, when the music is vibrating in your teeth, you’ll hear a phantom echo of a bell. or you'll feel a sudden, cold draft that smells of incense and rain-on-stone, cutting through the heavy perfume of the lounge like a blade.
you’re leaning against the bar, nursing a drink you don't intend to finish, watching the crowd. you’re on, eyes scanning for the next mark, your posture perfect. you are proving to yourself that the man in the white gown was just a fleeting anomaly.
then, you see it.
across the dance floor, near the exit that leads to the alley, a man is standing perfectly still. he isn't dancing, he isn't drinking. he’s wearing a dark, heavy overcoat, the collar turned up against the cold of the night outside. but as the strobe light sweeps past him, it catches the pale, clean line of his profile. he isn't looking at the stage or the lights, he is looking directly at you.
your heart does a jagged, painful roll in your chest. the noise of the club seems to drop away, leaving you in a vacuum.
he wouldn't be here. this is a den of sin; he’s a man of God.
you blink, and a group of rowdy tourists crosses your line of sight. when they pass, the spot by the exit is empty. just a shadow against the brick.
you grip your glass so hard the base clinks against the marble bar. your "efficiency" is fraying. you’re supposed to be working, but you feel like a specimen under a microscope. you head for the restroom to check your reflection— to make sure the red is still perfect, to convince yourself you’re still in control.
the restroom is a sanctuary of cold tile and harsh fluorescent light, a brief reprieve from the thumping bass outside. you lean over the sink, bracing your hands against the porcelain, and stare at your reflection. the red is still there. sharp, perfect.
It wasn’t him, you tell yourself, your breath hitching. It was a shadow. A trick of the strobe lights.
you reach for the paper towel dispenser, but your hand stops mid-air.
there, resting on the edge of the vanity right next to your designer clutch, is a small, discarded item. it’s a plain, white paper napkin— the kind they give out at the cheap cafe down the street from the cathedral. it’s been folded into a perfect, precise square. and resting on top of it is a single, shimmering coin. it’s the exact amount required for a standard offering at the church— the kind people drop into the box before they light a candle for a soul in purgatory.
your stomach drops, anyone could have left a coin. anyone could have a napkin. but the precision of the fold and the way it’s placed exactly where you’d have to see it feels like a silent " hello. "
you pick up the coin. it’s cool to the touch, but the metal feels like it’s burning your palm. you look around the empty restroom, your eyes darting to the stalls, but there’s no sound except the distant, muffled heartbeat of the club.
you stand there for a long time, the coin pressed so hard into your skin that it leaves a circular indent.
—
the bass from the main floor thrums through the walls, but inside the VIP lounge, the air is thick with the scent of expensive bourbon and the heavy, humid heat of bodies too close together.
you’re sitting with someone, a regular who pays well for the privilege of your presence and even more for the illusion of your attention. usually, this is where your efficiency shines. you know exactly how to tilt your head, when to laugh, and how to keep your eyes glazed with just enough feigned interest to keep the tab running.
but tonight, the rhythm is broken. your fingers are curled tightly around your clutch, the hard, cold edge of the coin inside pressing into your palm through the leather.
“ You’re quiet tonight, ” he says, leaning in. his hand moves to the small of your back, a familiar gesture that usually slides off you like water. tonight, it feels like an intrusion.
“ Something on your mind? ”
“ Just the weather, ” you lie, the word feeling like ash on your tongue.
your mind is a frantic loop of whys. why now? why here? why is he wearing— you’ve spent years building this life, a steel-and-silk fortress designed to keep the world at arm's length. you were fine, you were untouchable. but ever since that Sunday, the cracks have started to show.
you find yourself checking the shadows in corners you used to ignore. you find yourself listening for the sound of a bell in the middle of a traffic jam. it’s a strange, invasive habit— this constant, low-level scanning for a ghost in a white gown.
“ You look like you’ve seen a spirit, ” he mutters, his brow furrowing as he realizes your eyes are fixed on the heavy velvet curtains of the exit.
“ I need some air, ” you blur out, cutting him off. you don't wait for his response. you stand, your heels clicking sharply against the floor as you navigate the sea of dancing bodies. the perfume, the sweat, the neon— it’s all too loud. It’s too much.
you push through the heavy alley doors, the cold night air hitting your face like a physical blow. the silence of the backstreet is a shock after the roar of the club, the alley is narrow, lit only by a single, flickering yellow bulb above the service entrance. dumpsters cast long, jagged shadows against the brick. you scan the darkness, your breath hitching in your chest.
“ I know you’re there, ” you whisper, the sound swallowed by the damp brick walls.
at the far end of the alley, where the light fades into the mouth of the main street, a figure stands near a parked car. a tall man in a dark overcoat, his back to you. he’s perfectly still, his silhouette sharp against the distant glow of the city.
you take a step forward, your pulse drumming in your ears. your hand goes to the gold tube of lipstick in your pocket, a reflex you can’t control.
“ Wait!— ”
the figure turns his head just enough for the light to catch the pale line of a jaw—clean, steady, and terrifyingly familiar. but before you can close the distance, he steps around the corner and into the flow of the sidewalk.
you run to the end of the alley, your breath coming in ragged gasps, and burst onto the sidewalk. but the street is a mess of yellow taxis and late-night crowds. the dark coat is gone, the man is gone.
you’re left standing there in your dress, shivering in the wind, clutching a coin and a broken mask, wondering why the only thing you can smell in the middle of a city exhaust is the faint, lingering scent of frankincense.
the silence of the street begins to feel heavy, and with every passing second, the logic of the night starts to claw its way back into your mind.
It was just a man in a coat, you think, your grip on your clutch loosening. Half the city wears dark overcoats in the winter. Besides, would he wear something so contrast to him? And the profile? It was dark. The strobe lights in the club do things to your eyes.
“ There you are. ” his voice breaks through the fog. he’s standing in the doorway of the club, his silhouette framed by the golden light spilling from the interior. he looks concerned, but mostly just confused. “ I thought you'd vanished into thin air. ”
he walks toward you, his shoes crunching on the grit of the sidewalk. “ You're shivering. What's going on out here? ”
“ Nothing, ” you say, and this time, the lie feels a bit more stable. you force a small, practiced smile— the one that doesn't reach your eyes but satisfies the client. “ I just got dizzy. The bass was hitting too hard tonight. ”
he reaches out, taking your hand to lead you back inside. as his warm fingers close over yours, you feel the hard, metallic edge of the coin still pressed against your palm.
you look down at it for a split second. a coin. a common, unremarkable piece of currency. maybe a girl in the previous shift dropped it. maybe it fell out of a janitor’s pocket. the napkin? every coffee shop in a five-block radius uses the same plain white paper. to think it was a message, a summons— was a leap of logic that felt almost embarrassing now that you were standing in the real world again.
You're exhausted, you tell yourself. You're working too many doubles. You're letting a single conversation in a church turn into a haunting because you're bored.
“ Come on, ” he says gently, pulling you toward the heat of the club. “ Let's get you another drink. You're acting like you've seen a ghost. ”
“ I haven't, ” you murmur, slipping the coin into the deep recesses of your bag, burying it under your keys and your phone. “ I was just seeing things. It’s fine. ”
you step back into the roar of the music, the scent of expensive gin and artificial fog rising to meet you. you let the rhythm take over, letting the "efficiency" of your persona snap back into place. you laugh at his jokes. you lean into his space, you do your job.
but as you move through the night, you find yourself doing something you've never done before. every time a new person enters the room, every time the heavy front doors swing open and a draft of cold air hits the back of your neck, you don't just look.
you wait.
and though you’ve convinced yourself the coin was a coincidence, your hand stays draped over your bag, never quite letting it out of your reach.
—
the suite is dim, the city lights outside casting long, skeletal shadows across the floor. you’ve spent the entire elevator ride adjusting your armor, smoothing your dress, and steadying your breath.
you swipe the card, the door clicks open. a man is sitting in the armchair by the window, his silhouette dark against the glass. he’s leaning back, one hand resting on the armrest in a way that feels unnervingly familiar— still, composed, and utterly in control. the hair is different, shorter and messier, but the way he holds himself sends a jolt of pure electricity through your spine.
the scent of the room— cool, crisp, and faintly floral— hits you, and before you can stop yourself, the word is already halfway up your throat.
“ Fa— ”
the syllable dies in a choked gasp as the man turns. the light from the bedside lamp hits his face, and your heart, which had been hammering a frantic rhythm, suddenly drops into your stomach.
it’s not him.
the man is older, his features coarser, his eyes tired and lacking that bottomless, predatory depth. he looks like a businessman who hasn’t slept in forty-eight hours. he looks like a regular client. he looks like... nothing.
“ Hm? ” the man asks, his brow furrowing as he stands up. “ Did you say something? ”
your face burns, the heat radiating beneath your foundation. you feel a wave of intense vertigo, you almost called a john Father in a five-star hotel.
“ Nothing, ” you manage, your voice sounding thin and brittle. “ I… I thought you were someone else. My apologies. ”
“ Right. ” he clears his throat, looking a little unsettled by your wide-eyed stare. “ Well. I’m Mr. Faisse. The, uh, the gentleman who arranged this for me said you were the gold standard of the city. ”
you freeze. your hand is still clutching your bag, the gold coin inside feeling like a hot coal. “ The gentleman? ”
“ Yeah. Strange guy. Met him at a lounge downtown. He had this way of talking—very quiet, very… intense. ” Mr. Faisse gestures to the small table between the chairs. “ He even insisted on the refreshments. Said you had a preference for specifics. ”
you look at the table.
there isn't a bottle of champagne or a tray of fruit. instead, there is a single, porcelain cup of tea, the steam still curling lazily into the air. and resting beside it, tucked under the rim of the saucer, is a plain white napkin. folded into a perfect, precise square.
the businessman is talking, something about the view and the price, but his voice is just a dull hum in the background. your eyes are fixed on that napkin, you realize then that the strange habits didn't start when you met the priest. they started when the priest decided to meet you.
“ Is everything okay? ” Mr. Faisse asks, stepping closer. “ You’ve gone quite pale. ”
you look at him— this stranger who paid for your time but is currently being used as a prop— and you feel a sudden, violent urge to scream. instead, you reach out and pick up the tea cup.
the porcelain felt fragile, almost paper-thin against your fingertips, as if the slightest pressure would shatter the illusion of your composure. Mr. Faisse was still watching you, his expression hovering between concern and a dull, lingering desire.
“ It's fine, ” you said, your voice finally snapping into that smooth, practiced lilt that had earned you your reputation. you forced a smile, the kind that was all teeth and no soul. “ I like tea anyway. ”
it was a lie. you hated it, you preferred the sharp, honest burn of tequila or the numbing chill of gin— something that felt like the life you had chosen. tea was soft, tea was patient, tea was the scent of oak pews and a man who looked at you like you were a riddle he had already solved.
“Good, good, ” Mr. Faisse muttered, seemingly relieved that the 'gold standard' wasn't having a nervous breakdown in his suite. he moved to the mini-bar to pour himself a stiff scotch, his back finally turned to you.
you took a sip. it was warm, flavored with a hint of honey and something herbal— chamomile or linden. it felt like a violation. every swallow was a reminder that someone out there knew your schedule, your clients, and the exact moment you would be standing in this room.
as Mr. Faisse began to talk about his firm, his voice droning on in the way men do when they’ve bought an hour of silence, the room began to shrink.
the heavy curtains felt like they were leaning in. you found your eyes darting to the shadows in the corners, then to the dark reflection of the floor-to-ceiling windows. the city lights twinkled like cold diamonds, but you weren't looking at the view. you were looking for a silhouette. a dark overcoat, a pair of eyes that didn't need a lamp to see you.
“ Are you even listening? ” Mr. Faisse asked, his tone slightly sharper now. he was standing closer, the smell of scotch and expensive wool beginning to crowd your senses.
“ Hm? Of course, ” you purred, stepping into his space. it was a mechanical move, a defensive reflex to reclaim the "efficiency" you were losing. you reached up to adjust his tie, your movements fluid and professional, but as your hand passed near his chest, your eyes snagged on the bedside table again.
the napkin, the white, perfectly folded square.
from this angle, you could see a faint indentation on the paper, as if someone had pressed a finger into it while the paper was still damp. it wasn't a smudge of dirt or ink. it was just a mark of pressure. a signature.
you felt a sudden, cold shiver race down your spine. Mr. Faisse’s hands settled on your waist, but the touch felt distant, like it was happening to someone else. you realized with a jolt of pure dread that you weren't "on a date."
you were being watched. not by the man holding you, whose touch was clumsy and shallow, but by the one who had set the stage. the tea was the audience. the napkin was the program. and Father Chrollo— if that was even his name— was somewhere in the dark, watching the girl who claimed to be "unmasked" put her paint back on for a stranger.
“️ You're very cold, ” Mr. Faisse whispered, his breath warm against your neck.
“️ It's just the AC, ” you lied once more, closing your eyes.
but even behind your lids, all you could see was the dim light of the nave and the ghost of a white gown. you realized then that the stranger habits weren't going away. you were starting to crave the haunting, because at least the ghost saw the person beneath the red silk.
—
the rhythmic, shallow breathing of Mr. Faisse against your collarbone should have been the only thing in your universe. usually, this was the part where you turned off your brain, where the "efficiency" became a vacuum that sucked out any trace of your own thoughts until the hour was up.
but as he pulled you closer toward the edge of the oversized bed, your eyes drifted over his shoulder, fixating one last time on the vanity.
the tea was cold now. the napkin sat there, a sharp, white geometric shape against the dark wood.
It’s just paper, you told yourself, the thought a desperate anchor. It’s just a napkin from a cafe that probably serves five hundred people a day. The tea? The hotel staff probably has a new 'wellness' initiative. Or maybe your regular mentioned you looked tired. People talk. It’s a small city. It’s a coincidence.
the man holding you wasn't a phantom. he was heavy, he smelled of expensive scotch, and his heart was thudding a dull, clumsy beat against your chest. this was reality. the church was just a building; the priest was just a man with a soft voice and a talent for observation.
you felt a sudden, sharp wave of embarrassment. you had spent the last hour spinning a ghost story out of a folded piece of paper and a beverage you didn't even like. you had almost called a paying client Father because you’d let a stranger’s calm eyes rattle your sense of self.
You’re overthinking it, you hissed silently to yourself. You’re stressed, you’re tired, and you’re letting a momentary lapse in your armor turn into a haunting.
you reached up, your fingers trailing along Mr. Faisse’s jaw, forcing your focus back to the friction of skin on skin. you leaned into the kiss, shutting your eyes tight to banish the image of the high stone arches and the smell of incense.
the weight of the gold coin still in your bag, forgotten on the floor, didn't matter. the smudge of ash you thought you saw on the napkin was probably just a shadow.
for a moment, in the quiet of the room, you actually believed it. you were just a girl in a red dress, doing a job, and the world was exactly as mundane as it had been yesterday.
then, Mr. Faisse shifted, his hand brushing against the bedside lamp, and for a split second, the light flared, casting his shadow long and distorted against the far wall.
the silhouette it formed— tall, still, with a collar that looked momentarily like a jagged crown— made your blood turn to ice.
but you didn't pull away. you stayed beneath him, eyes squeezed shut, repeating the lie until it felt like a prayer.
It’s nothing. It’s just the light. I'm overthinking it.
—
the nightclub was a slow-motion blur of violet light and cooling sweat. you had successfully spent the last four hours convincing yourself that your mind was a traitor. every time you felt a pair of eyes on your back, you told yourself it was just a customer. every time you smelled incense, you blamed it on a designer perfume.
you were winning the argument with yourself. you were just a girl working a shift.
you retreated to the back hallway— a narrow, dingy corridor that smelled of industrial cleaner and stale beer— to catch your breath. the silence here was thin, but it was better than the roar of the floor.
“ You look like you're waiting for an execution, ” a voice muttered.
you jumped, your heels clicking sharply against the linoleum. your co-worker was leaning against the vending machine, her shadow long and distorted under the flickering fluorescent light. she wasn't her usual vibrant self; she looked pale, her fingers fumbling as she tried to light a cigarette.
“ ...Just tired, ”️ you said, smoothing your dress. “ It's been a long night. ”
“ It's about to get longer. ” she replied, finally catching a flame. she took a deep drag and pointed a trembling finger toward the service entrance. “ Some guy was asking about you. Not by name. He described your... 'look.' The way you stand. Like you're trying to disappear while standing in a spotlight. ”
your heart skipped a beat, but you kept your face flat. “ A lot of guys ask about the girls. It’s the job. ️”
“ Not like this one, ” she whispered. “ He wasn't looking for a date. He was looking at me like I was an interesting bug he was about to pin to a board. Black coat. High collar. He had another guy with him—short, covered up to his nose in a scarf. Dark hair. He didn't say a word, just stared at the back of my neck until I felt like my skin was going to crawl off. ”
the description hit you like a physical weight. the "priest" hadn't come alone. and the man with him— the one in the scarf— didn't sound like a deacon.
“️ Where are they? ” you asked, your voice barely a thread.
“ Gone. I think, ” your co-worker said, rubbing her arms. “ He left something. He told me to give it to 'the one who forgets her prayers. ”
she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, heavy object. it wasn't a note or a coin.
it was a small, silver crucifix— the kind meant to be worn on a necklace. but the chain was snapped, and the silver was tarnished, almost black. as she handed it to you, your fingers brushed hers, and you realized she was ice cold.
“ He told me, ” she added, her voice shaking, “ that you should be careful where you walk at night. That the city isn't as safe as a sanctuary. ”
you looked down at the broken cross in your palm. it was a physical tether, a bridge between the quiet pews of the cathedral and the grime of this hallway. the strange habits weren't just yours anymore; they were manifesting in the people around you.
the bass from the club thrummed through the wall, rhythmic and steady, but all you could hear was the memory of the rain hitting the stained glass. you weren't overthinking, you were being mapped out.
“️ Who are they? ” she asked, looking at you with a sudden, sharp suspicion.
you didn't answer, you couldn't. you just gripped the broken silver until it bit into your skin, wondering how a man with such gentle hands had such terrifying friends.
the weight of the broken cross in your pocket felt like a lead sinker, dragging your thoughts down into a dark, murky place. as you walked away from her, the thrum of the club’s bass felt like it was mocking the frantic rhythm of your own heart.
Was that really him?
you tried to conjure his face— the steady, calm gaze of the man in the cathedral— and map it onto the predatory shadow she had described. it didn't fit, or rather, you didn't want it to fit.
the Priest Chrollo you knew sat in the quiet of a nave and spoke about the soul with a voice like silk. the man she described— the one who sat in a dark corner like a king of the underworld, flanked by a silent, terrifying "gargoyle"—felt like a different person entirely.
It could be anyone, you told yourself, clutching the strap of your bag. The city is full of men in dark coats. High collars are a fashion choice, not a signature. And your co-worker is high-strung; she probably saw a couple of bored businessmen and let her imagination run wild because you've been acting weird lately.
but then, the description was too specific, too sharp to be a total invention. and then there were the words: “ the one who forgets her prayers. ”
a cold shiver raced down your spine, one that had nothing to do with the air conditioning. If it was a random guy, how did he know about the prayers?
Maybe he followed me, you thought, a flash of anger sparking through the fear. Maybe he’s not a priest at all. Or maybe he’s a priest who spends his nights hunting for the very sins he’s supposed to be absolving.
you wanted to believe it was a coincidence. you wanted to believe that the world was still simple— that priests stayed in churches and shadows stayed in alleys. but as you looked down at the broken silver in your hand, the silver that she said was meant for you, the doubt began to fester.
was Chrollo the man who offered peace in the rain, or was he the man who sent a monster to remind you that you weren't safe?
you realized with a jolt of dread that you didn't actually know which answer was worse. because if it was him, he wasn't just a priest you’d met once. interacted with once. he was something much more dangerous.
he was a man who knew exactly where to find you.
—
the heavy oak doors of the cathedral felt thicker this time, weightier, as if pushing them open required a conscious surrender of your freewill. the cool, cavernous air of the nave rushed out to meet you, carrying the familiar, sharp scent of frankincense and damp stone, but it no longer felt like a sanctuary. it felt like a trap.
you walked in with your head down, your hands shoved deep into the pockets of your coat. inside the left pocket, your fingers curled tightly around the broken silver cross your co-worker had given you. the jagged metal edges bit into your palm, a grounding sting that kept you from turning around and running back to the neon safety of the city blocks.
you didn't wear the red dress. you didn't wear the bold lipstick or the high heels that announced your presence with every sharp click on the pavement. you wore a muted, oversized coat and kept your hair loose, trying desperately to blend into the sparse crowd of Sunday morning churchgoers. you wanted to be invisible, you wanted to be a ghost among ghosts.
but the suspicion in your chest was a living, breathing thing, heavy and suffocating.
with every step you took down the stone aisle, your eyes scanned the shadows beneath the vaulted arches. you looked at the men sitting in the back pews, searching for a high collar, a dark scarf, or a pair of cold, dead eyes that belonged to a "gargoyle." every shift of fabric, every muffled cough from a parishioner made your shoulders tense. you were hyper-aware of the space around you, your mind frantically trying to reconcile the quiet solemnity of this holy building with the predatory darkness of the nightclub.
Was he really a priest? the question repeated in your mind like a broken record, timed to the rhythm of your footsteps.
you chose a pew near the back, tucked against a massive stone pillar that offered a sliver of obscurity. as you slid onto the hard wooden bench, the wood groaning softly under your weight, you kept your gaze fixed on the altar. the altar candles flickered, casting long, dancing shadows across the gold crucifix at the front of the church.
the organ music began to swell, a deep, resonant rumble that vibrated through the floorboards and directly into your bones. it was beautiful, but today, it sounded ominous— like the low growl of a predator waiting for the right moment to strike.
you told yourself you were here to find the truth. you told yourself that you needed to look at his face in the daylight, to see him under the strict discipline of his vestments, and prove to yourself that he was just a man. if he was just a priest, you could leave the cross on the altar and walk away forever, burying the paranoia as a byproduct of an exhausted mind.
but as the altar boys began to process down the center aisle, carrying the heavy brass cross and the smoking thurible, your breath caught in your throat.
your heart hammered a frantic, irregular beat against your ribs, loud enough that you were certain the elderly woman sitting two pews ahead of you could hear it. your fingers tightened so hard around the broken silver in your pocket that it drew blood, the metallic tang of fear rising in the back of your throat.
you knew you shouldn't have come. you knew that walking into his territory with nothing but suspicions and a broken piece of metal was a dangerous, reckless gamble. yet, despite the alarm bells screaming in your head, despite the image of the short man in the scarf burning in your mind, you couldn't look away from the front of the church.
you sat in the dim light, surrounded by strangers who came for grace, while you sat waiting for the man who had promised you a reckoning. you stayed, rooted to the bench by a terrifying, magnetic compulsion, waiting for the white gown to appear from the sacristy doors.
the vestry door opened, and the small procession stepped out into the sanctuary.
there he was.
the white of his liturgical vestments was blinding against the dark, polished wood of the altar. he moved with a quiet, effortless grace, each step measured and deliberate, yet entirely devoid of tension. as he took his place at the front of the altar, bowing his head in a moment of silent, solemn prayer, the frantic noise in your mind suddenly dropped into a dead hum.
you leaned slightly around the stone pillar, your eyes locked onto him, searching with a desperate, clinical intensity for any sign of the monster your co-worker had described. you looked for a hardness in his jaw, a twitch in his fingers, a coldness in his posture.
but there was nothing.
he lifted his head, and the soft amber light from the altar candles caught the smooth line of his face. he looked entirely innocent. there was a serene, almost heartbreaking purity to the way he held himself, his hands folded loosely over the white fabric of his gown. his expression was a portrait of gentle devotion, a man completely surrendered to the quiet sanctity of his calling. he didn't look like a puppet master. he didn't look like a man who kept company with violent, scarred shadows in the dark corners of a nightclub.
he looked perfect. too perfect.
a sudden, sharp wave of doubt washed over you, so intense it made you feel dizzy. You’re wrong, the thought hit you with the force of a physical blow. You have to be wrong.
you let go of the broken silver cross in your pocket, your hand sliding out to rest flat against your thigh. your fingers were still trembling, but the frantic, defensive edge of your panic was beginning to morph into a deep, burning embarrassment.
you were a beautiful woman, you knew this. it wasn't vanity; it was a cold, hard fact of your profession. every single night, men stared at you. they bought your time just to look at you, to be near you, to try and figure out the riddle behind your practiced smiles and your sharp, efficient demeanor. you were used to the attention. you were used to the obsession.
What if the man in the club wasn't Chrollo's associate at all? What if he was just another regular customer? a weird, obsessive stalker who had seen you floating through the neon lights, picked up on your guarded, hyper-vigilant energy, and decided to play a sick, twisted mind game with you? the city was crawling with broken, lonely men who spent their fortunes trying to crack the armor of girls like you. it made a thousand times more sense that a dangerous freak had targeted you at your job than the idea that this graceful, holy priest was leading a double life as a criminal kingpin.
you looked back at Chrollo as he stepped up to the pulpit, his long, pale fingers resting gently on the edges of the heavy lectionary. he opened his mouth, and that smooth, rich baritone drifted over the pews, filling the cavernous space with a warmth that felt like a physical touch.
Look at him, you pleaded with yourself, your eyes tracing the soft curve of his dark hair, the calm, unbothered depth of his eyes. he belonged to the stone, the incense, and the quiet prayers of the old women sitting around you. he didn't belong to the grime of the back alleys or the cheap scent of spilled alcohol.
you had let one strange conversation in a rainstorm rewrite your entire reality. you had taken a coin, a napkin, and a coworker's frightened gossip and spun a grand, delusional conspiracy because you were exhausted, because your life was empty, and because, deep down, a part of you wanted the handsome priest to be looking for you.
the text he began to read was about forgiveness, about the quiet spaces where the soul finds rest, and as the words washed over you, the tension in your shoulders finally began to dissolve.
you leaned back against the hard wooden pew, a small, bitter breath escaping your lips. you felt foolish, you felt exposed. but beneath the embarrassment, a heavy, domestic sense of relief began to settle in. he was just a priest. a beautiful, unattainable priest who had been kind to a crying stranger on a rainy afternoon.
the nightmare was just a shadow in your own head. you were safe, the world was normal.
and yet, even as you told yourself the lie, your eyes never left his face, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he spoke, entirely unaware of the storm he had caused inside you.
—
you slipped out of the pew before the final hymn could even reach its crescendo.
the feeling of foolishness was a hot weight in your chest, and you wanted nothing more than to escape the heavy stone walls before you had to look at him again. you had allowed your mind to warp a simple act of pastoral kindness into a gothic thriller, and the urge to put distance between yourself and your own embarrassment was overwhelming.
but the city had other plans.
when you pushed through the heavy oak exit doors, the roar of a sudden, violent downpour hit you like a physical wall. the grey fog from the morning had collapsed into a torrential sheet of rain, turning the stone steps into slick, shimmering mirrors and blotting out the city skyline across the street. a handful of parishioners were huddled under the grand stone awning, shivering and muttering about the sudden turn in the weather.
you hesitated at the threshold, pulling your oversized coat tighter around your frame. you didn't have an umbrella. if you walked out into that deluge, the rain would wash away whatever composure you had left within seconds.
“ The weather in this part of the city is always temperamental, ” a low, familiar voice murmured from behind you.
your heart gave a sharp, involuntary thud. you turned your head slowly.
Chrollo was standing just a few feet away near the side exit of the porch. he was no longer wearing the blinding white vestments of the altar. he had changed back into his simple, well-fitted black cassock, the heavy fabric absorbing the damp chill of the air. his dark hair was slightly messy, falling naturally into his eyes without the strict styling of the service.
he didn't look like a kingpin, he didn't look like a phantom. he looked like a man who had noticed a girl shivering in the cold.
“ ...Father, ” you managed, the word feeling a little less foreign on your tongue this time, though a faint blush crept up your neck as you remembered how close you had come to shouting it in a hotel room.
he offered a small, remarkably gentle smile, walking over to join you at the edge of the awning. he didn't crowd your space.
he just stood beside you, watching the rain bounce off the stone steps. “ I was glad to see you in the congregation today. Though you chose a rather distant seat. ”
your fingers twitched inside your pockets, instantly tracing the sharp edges of the broken silver cross you still hadn't rid yourself of. “ I didn't want to disturb anyone. I was just... passing through. ”
“ You don't disturb anyone by seeking peace, ” he replied softly. he opened a large, solid black umbrella, the fabric snapping taut with a clean thwack. he stepped out onto the first wet stone step, then turned back to look at you, holding the umbrella out so it shielded the space right next to him. “ There’s a small diner two blocks down. Their coffee is passable, but the shelter is reliable. May I walk you? ”
you stared at the dark fabric of the umbrella, then up at his face. the soft, intellectual warmth in his eyes was completely disarming. there was no malice here, n hidden threats. it was just an innocent, handsome priest offering a polite gesture to a beautiful girl stuck in a downpour.
the suspicions that had consumed your entire morning suddenly felt like a distant, ridiculous fever dream.
“ Thank you, ” you murmured, stepping out into the cold air and positioning yourself beneath the shared canopy of the umbrella.
as you stepped off the church stairs together, the proximity hit you. he was taller than he seemed at the pulpit, and the faint, clean scent of old paper and winter air drifted off his coat. he adjusted his stride seamlessly, slowing his pace to match your shorter steps, keeping the umbrella tilted slightly more toward you to ensure the driving rain didn't catch your shoulders.
“ Do you live nearby? ” he asked as you crossed the first slick intersection, the grey city blurring around the two of you.
“ A few miles out, ” you lied smoothly, keeping the details of your life guarded by instinct. “ Near the commercial district. ”
“ Ah. A very loud part of town, ” Chrollo said, his voice easily cutting through the roar of the downpour without ever being raised. “ I find that people who spend their lives in the loud parts of the city often come to the cathedral just to listen to the silence. It’s a rare commodity these days. ”
you glanced up at him through the curtain of rain. “ And what about you? Why are you here, Father? ”
he kept his eyes on the path ahead, a thoughtful, quiet expression settling over his features. “ I like to observe. A church is a unique place. People only come here when they are searching for something they lost, or when they are trying to hide something they can no longer carry alone. It’s a very honest environment. ”
the words sent a tiny, familiar prickle of awareness down your spine, but looking at his serene profile, you forced it down. he was a priest; of course he talked about burdens and honesty. it was his job to analyze people.
by the time you reached the neon sign of the diner, the bottom of your jeans were damp, but you felt warmer than you had in days. as he held the door open for you, the little brass bell chiming above the threshold, you realized with a sudden, quiet certainty that you didn't want the walk to end. the fear was entirely gone, replaced by a strange, magnetic curiosity that was far more dangerous than any ghost story you could have invented.
the contrast was almost comical. just twenty minutes ago, you were clutching a tarnished silver cross in your pocket, convinced this man was a shadowy orchestrator of a criminal underworld.
now, you were sitting across from him in a vinyl booth that smelled of maple syrup and burnt coffee, the neon diner sign buzzing faintly overhead.
the sudden rain? the shared umbrella? The handsome, unattainable man rescuing you from a downpour? it felt ridiculously like a scene pulled straight out of a cliché romance drama.
beneath the faint amusement, though, a sharp, genuine nervousness was bubbling up in your chest.
this was entirely different from the sanctuary. in the cathedral, he was an institution. he was framed by marble, elevated by a pulpit, and wrapped in the protective authority of his vows. there was a safe distance built into every interaction. but here, stripped of his vestments and sitting in the harsh, unflattering fluorescent light of a cheap diner, he was just a man.
and he was devastatingly close.
he slid his legs under the small table, his knees coming uncomfortably near yours in the cramped booth. he unbuttoned the top collar of his cassock with a casual, practiced flick of his fingers, giving him a relaxed, off-duty look that made your throat feel suddenly dry.
“ The tea here is bag-brewed, I'm afraid, ” Chrollo said, leaning his forearms on the table. he kept his posture easy, his dark eyes crinkling slightly at the corners with amusement as he scanned the laminated menu. “ But I hear the apple pie is a local specialty. Or are you strictly a coffee person when it rains? ”
you shifted in your seat, your hands folded in your lap so he wouldn't see the slight tremor in your fingers. “ Coffee is fine. Black. ”
“ A purist, ” he noted, tilting his head. he closed the menu and set it aside, folding his hands together on the table. he didn't look impatient or hurried; he gave you his absolute, undivided attention, as if the bustling diner around you didn't exist.
“ You know, we never properly introduced ourselves. It feels a bit improper to keep addressing you as a passing stranger, especially since we’ve shared both a confession and an umbrella. ”
your heart did a nervous little flip, is this how priests flirt? your professional brain— the part of you that kept your real name buried under three layers of aliases at the club— screamed at you to lie. to give him a fake name, to keep the wall up.
but looking at his calm, open expression, the lie felt heavy and clumsy on your tongue.
“ It's... ” you swallowed hard, forcing your voice to stay steady. you gave him your real name, the sound of it feeling incredibly vulnerable in the space between you.
Chrollo repeated it softly, testing the syllables as if tasting a new word. a small, genuine smile touched his lips. “ It suits you. I am Chrollo. Chrollo Lucilfer. ”
he didn't add the title Father. he didn't say Pastor. he just gave you his name, plain and human, letting it hang in the air like an invitation to step a little further out of your comfort zone.
“ Chrollo Lucilfer, ” you murmured, leaning your chin into your hand. the nervousness was still there, a tight little knot in your stomach, but the familiar terrain of a one-on-one conversation over a table was starting to wake up your sleeping instincts. “ That's a very dramatic name for a priest. It sounds a bit dangerous. ”
the words slipped out before you could filter them. it was low, a little smoky— the exact tone you used at the club when a client was paying for your undivided attention. it was pure, unadulterated habit. you had spent years cultivating a persona that was charming, a little teasing, and entirely in control. you couldn't just turn off a lifetime of muscle memory because a handsome man happened to be wearing a Roman collar.
you tilted your head, your eyes dropping to the open collar of his cassock for a fraction of a second before meeting his gaze again with a small, knowing smile. “ If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to charm me, Mr. Lucilfer. ”
the moment the words left your mouth, reality snapped back like a rubber band.
Oh my god.
the realization hit you like a bucket of ice water. you had just flirted with a priest. a literal holy man who had given you a handkerchief while you were crying in a church. the heat rushed into your cheeks so fast it felt like a sunburn, the flush spreading down your neck and burning the tips of your ears.
you sat up instantly, tearing your hand away from your chin and dropping your eyes to the Formica tabletop. your fingers frantically began picking at the edge of the paper napkin dispenser, your heart hammering against your ribs for a completely different reason now. you wanted the floor of the diner to crack open and swallow you whole.
a low, soft sound cut through your internal panic.
Chrollo was chuckling.
it wasn't a mocking laugh, or a shocked, judgmental scoff. it was a rich, quiet sound that seemed to rumble from his chest. you forced your eyes up just enough to look at him through your eyelashes.
he had leaned back against the vinyl booth, his arms crossing over his chest. his head was tilted, and a deeply amused, almost wicked little smirk was playing on his lips. his dark eyes were dancing, locked onto your blushing face with a look that wasn't holy at all. it was the look of a man who found you entirely fascinating.
“ Dangerous? ” he repeated, his voice dropping an octave, carrying a smooth, teasing weight that made your stomach do a violent flip. “ Perhaps. But I assure you, my intentions today are entirely standard for a rainy Sunday. ”
he leaned forward again, resting his elbows on the table, cutting the distance between you down to almost nothing. the smirk softened back into that gentle, devastating smile, but the warmth in his eyes had taken on a heavy, intense quality.
“ Though, ” Chrollo murmured, his eyes tracing the bright red flush on your cheeks with deliberate slowness, “ I don't mind the accusation. It's been a very long time since anyone has accused me of being charming. ”
the flush on your cheeks felt like it was radiating actual heat now. seeing him smile like that— not the serene, distant smile he gave from the altar, but a real, human expression that crinkled the corners of his eyes— was entirely unfair. strip away the heavy stone church and the religious gravity, and he was easily the most handsome man you had ever sat across from. he looked so grounded, so utterly genuine, that the lingering remnants of your paranoia felt completely absurd.
still, the awkwardness hung in the air, a thick, heavy cloud that you didn't quite know how to navigate. your fingers kept playing with the napkin dispenser, your mind racing for a way to salvage your dignity.
then, a sudden memory slipped into your thoughts, cutting through the self-conscious panic.
it was a phrase you used to hear years ago, back when going to church was a routine and life felt a little more predictable. an old priest at your childhood parish used to say it at the end of almost every sermon, his voice echoing off the rafters: “Tomorrow is never promised.”
at the time, you had thought it was just a standard, grim reminder to keep your soul clean. but sitting here in this grimy diner, watching the rain wash out the rest of the city while a beautiful man smiled at you, the words took on a completely different meaning.
Life was volatile. your job at the club reminded you of that every single night. you could get hit by a car on the walk home, the city could swallow you whole. you could die tomorrow, or next week, or even later tonight, and you would leave this world having spent your final days running away from ghosts and hiding behind an "efficient" mask.
if tomorrow wasn't promised, why the hell were you playing it so safe?
a sudden, reckless wave of bravery crested over your nervousness. you let go of the napkin dispenser and sat up straight, squaring your shoulders. the professional armor was gone, but the bold, unfiltered version of you was very much awake. you were going to shoot your shot. if you were going to embarrass yourself in front of a priest, you might as well go all the way.
you looked him dead in the eye, a small, slightly nervous but entirely deliberate smirk returning to your own lips.
“ ...They always say tomorrow isn't promised. So I think it's better to just ask the burning questions while we're here. ” you began, your voice steadying as you leaned slightly across the table, cutting down the distance between you.
Chrollo’s eyebrows raised fractionally, his dark eyes locked onto yours, thoroughly intrigued by the sudden shift in your energy. “ Go ahead. I'm listening. ”
you took a small breath, letting the words drop between you like a dare. “ Are you... single? ”
for a split second, the ambient noise of the diner— the clinking of silverware, the low hum of the refrigerator, the heavy drumming of the rain against the glass— seemed to vanish entirely.
Chrollo didn’t blink. his dark eyes remained locked onto yours, freezing you in place. the casual, teasing smirk he had been wearing just a moment before didn't drop; instead, it paused, hovering on his lips as his mind visibly processed the sheer audacity of your question.
then, his shoulders shook.
he didn’t just chuckle this time. he let out a genuine, breathless laugh, leaning back into the vinyl booth. it was a rich, unburdened sound that made a couple of old men at the counter turn around to look. he covered his mouth with the back of his hand for a brief second, trying to compose himself, but the pure, unadulterated amusement in his eyes was impossible to hide.
“ Are you asking, ” Chrollo murmured, lowering his hand, his voice thick with a dangerous amount of charm, “ If a ordained priest is currently on the market? ”
the blush that had finally started to fade from your face flared back up with a vengeance, but you kept your chin up, refusing to back down from the shot you had just taken.
Chrollo leaned forward again, resting his crossed forearms on the table. the distance between you felt smaller now, the air between you suddenly charged with a heavy, magnetic tension. the holy, untouchable boundary of his collar felt like it was wearing thin.
“ To answer your question strictly, ” he said, his eyes tracing the line of your jaw with that familiar, analytical intensity, though it had softened into something much deeper, “ yes. I am single. My vows demand celibacy, not a lack of appreciation for a beautiful woman's company. ”
he paused, tilting his head, his dark eyes holding yours so securely that you couldn't have looked away even if you wanted to.
“ But I have to admit, ” he added softly, the smirk returning to the corner of his lips, “ you are full of surprises. Most people come to me looking for a way out of their sins. You seem entirely intent on creating new ones. ”
the coffee arrived, steaming in heavy ceramic mugs, and the warmth of the diner seemed to shrink the world down until it was just the two of you inside the vinyl booth. Chrollo took a slow sip, his eyes never truly leaving your face, maintaining that effortless, magnetic presence that made your pulse race. the awkwardness had completely melted away, replaced by the thrilling, illicit undercurrent of the game you were both playing.
you were laughing at a dry, witty comment he had made about the diner’s artwork when the vibration started.
it was a low, heavy buzz against the laminated tabletop. Chrollo’s phone, a sleek, unremarkable black device, was sliding fractionally with each pulse.
“ Excuse me, ” he murmured smoothly, his tone still wrapped in that warm, apologetic charm.
he picked up the phone, intending to silence it, but his eyes caught the screen.
in that exact, fleeting fraction of a second, the universe seemed to hitch.
the warmth in his eyes didn't just fade— it vanished. the soft, crinkling lines of amusement around his eyelids flattened instantly, dropping into a terrifyingly perfect symmetry. his jaw went entirely slack, then locked into a rigid, clinical line.
the man who had just been laughing with you, the handsome, charming priest who had confessed his appreciation for your company, was gone.
in his place sat a vacuum.
it was a face of absolute, chilling neutrality. a look of such profound, unbothered detachment that it made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. it wasn't anger, it wasn't panic. it was the face of a man who looked at the world, and everyone in it, as pieces on a board.
the transition was so fast, so utterly total, that you froze with your coffee mug halfway to your lips. a cold drop of dread, a ghost of the terror you had felt back in the club hallway, pierced straight through your chest.
then, he pressed a button, bringing the phone to his ear.
“ Yes, ” Chrollo said into the receiver. his voice hadn't changed— it was still that rich, smooth baritone— but the rhythm was different. it was sharper, a command wrapped in silk. he listened for three seconds, his eyes staring right through you, looking at the brick wall behind your head as if you had suddenly become transparent. “ I understand. I'll be there shortly. ”
he lowered the phone and set back on the table.
as his fingers let go of the device, the mask slid back into place. the warmth rushed back into his eyes, the corners of his mouth curving up into that same gentle, devastating smile that had made you blush just minutes prior. he looked perfectly apologetic, perfectly human once again.
“ I'm terribly sorry, ” he said softly, leaning forward as if nothing had happened, his voice dripping with that familiar, comforting concern. “ An urgent matter at the parish. A family in need of a visit. It seems our afternoon has been cut short. ”
you forced yourself to nod, your throat suddenly tight, your heart hammering a frantic, warning rhythm against your ribs.
you looked at his perfect smile, but all you could see was the absolute blankness that had occupied his face a moment before.
the K-drama was over, the romantic fog had cleared. and as you looked at the ordained priest sitting across from you, the cold weight of the broken silver cross in your pocket suddenly felt very, very real again.
this is a work of fiction. any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or real events is purely coincidental and not intended. all characters depicted are not owned by me and belong to their respective creators. this work is purely fictional and for illustrative purposes only.
Its the start of my 2nd week of school later and I already feel depressed thinking about it 🥹🫰🏻 what do you mean I can't read and write fanfics all day...
want to write so bad omg. angst to be specific. I somehow can't get ideas, and I believe it's because I'm too focused on school... so if anybody out there who has ideas with blue lock angst ( thinking of kaiser 👀 ) I'm open.
oh and to think that I'd still have to study after graduating... 💔
MENU — feel free to check my works. I have some blue lock ones ( peak I promise. ) I'm trying my best to get recognized here 💔
— third of melody specials, song by Shawn Mendes. an anthem of unrequited love and self-worth. listen to the song on loop to feel more broken
BLUE LOCK: Famous Michael Kaiser x Famous Celebrity Reader
CONTAINS: reader don’t gaf. heavy emotional angst, unhealthy obsession / delusional mindset, delusions & self-gaslighting, toxic relationship dynamics, narcissism, arrogant behaviour, co-dependency & manipulation, post / break up angst, king and queen dynamic, high ego and pride
Word Count: 2,665 words and 15,373 characters ( shortest so far )
MENU
a/n; I'm loving this Kaiser x Cold, Nonchalant, Famous Celebrity reader. might do more soon 👀 ( I hate when reader is easily submissive lol )
I won't lie to you.
that was the first sentence you said to him before breaking up, your voice perfectly flat, smooth, and utterly devoid of the usual sharp friction he loved to provoke.
naturally, Kaiser didn't believe you at first.
a low, mocking chuckle left his throat, a sharp, arrogant smirk instantly pulling at the corner of his lips as he leaned back, entirely unbothered. he rolled his eyes, treating your cold demeanor like nothing more than a pathetic, amusing little game you were trying to play to get a rise out of him.
“ Oh? Going for a dramatic opening tonight, mein Schatz? ” he joked, his voice dripping with a smug, condescending amusement as he looked down at your deadpan face. he reached out casually, his tattooed fingers gesturing toward you in a dismissive wave.
“ What's the matter? Did a director reject your little script, or are you just desperate for the King's attention? ”
he really didn’t believe you.
to a narcissistic god like Kaiser, the concept of someone actually leaving him was a literal impossibility. when you took a deliberate step backward, creating a cold, physical gap between you, his smirk only widened. he figured you were just being dramatic— throwing a quiet tantrum over some minor grievance just to see how long it would take for him to come baby you.
standing his ground, he crossed his large arms over his chest with an insufferable, confident grin, completely content to wait for you to drop the act and come crawling right back into his space.
but now, reality is hitting him like a physical wrecking ball.
everywhere Kaiser turns, his sharp blue eyes are assaulted by the brutal, undeniable proof that you weren't playing a game. he can't escape you. your face is plastered across the city, but you aren't alone anymore.
he passes a massive, towering billboard in the center of the district, and his jaw instantly clenches so hard the bone aches. it’s a high-fashion campaign poster, and there you are, looking flawlessly deadpan and ethereal, but another man’s large hands are wrapped firmly around your waist, pulling your back flush against his chest.
when Kaiser turns on the television in the team lounge, a teaser for your highly anticipated new romance drama is playing. he freezes, a sickening, volatile heat rising in his throat as he watches the screen. the camera cuts to a close-up of you in the rain, staring up at your handsome male co-star with that quiet, intense focus you used to give him. the guy reaches out, gently cupping your jaw, and the scene cuts to black right as his lips press into yours in a slow, impossibly close, intimate kiss.
even on social media, the internet is flooded with viral paparazzi photos of you out in the city— walking side-by-side with the same guy, his arm slung casually and possessively over your shoulders while your frame leans into his side.
seeing you with someone else, occupying a space that used to belong entirely to the King, changes everything. the mocking, arrogant disbelief Kaiser hid behind completely evaporates, leaving behind a raw, suffocating vacuum of pure desperation.
it finally clicks in his delusional, narcissistic brain: you were dead serious about the breakup.
you really walked away, and the terrifying realization that he has actually lost his Queen is beginning to tear his pathetic pride to absolute shreds.
he looks at the screen, a dark, manic smirk forcing its way back onto his lips as he completely rewrites reality to protect his bleeding ego. he zooms in on a paparazzi photo of you and this new guy, dissecting every single millimeter of your expression with a hyper-fixated, desperate intensity.
I know he's just not right for you.
right. he’s not right for you, Kaiser tells himself, the thought hardening into absolute, delusional certainty. there's no way. that generic peasant you’re parading around with is nothing but a temporary downgrade. Kaiser knows that man isn't the one for you— he is. he’s the only King fit for a Queen like you, and no amount of high-fashion billboard casting can change that.
And you can tell me if I'm off, but I see it on your face when you say that he's the one that you want.
he convinces himself that he can see right through your cold facade. your signature deadpan expression? that’s not you being your usual cool, unbothered self— no, Kaiser tells himself you’re secretly miserable. he decides that the slight tilt of your head in the photo means you're bored out of your mind, and that you’re only staying with this guy out of spite to punish him.
he gaslights himself into believing that your eyes look completely empty without him, convincing his own desperate mind that you are practically begging for him to come break this up and rescue you.
but what drives him absolutely insane, what Kaiser hates more than anything else— is the sheer, agonizing absurdity of seeing his brilliant, untouchable Queen completely wasting her time on a nobody. time that should be spent revolving around him.
he glares down at his phone, his thumb harshly tracing the edge of your jawline on the screen, his chest heaving with a volatile mix of suffocating possessiveness and pure arrogance.
And you're spending all your time in this wrong situation, he thinks, the realization twisting like a knife in his gut before transforming into a dark, stubborn conviction. every single second of it is a mistake.
it’s a complete farce, a pathetic waste of your days, and he refuses to believe you actually want this. he convinces himself that you’re just trapped in your own stubbornness, playing a part in a script that doesn't belong to you.
his eyes narrow into a dangerous, intensely focused glare as he locks his phone, a delusional smirk finally returning to his lips.
And anytime you want it to stop, he promises silently into the empty room, his voice a low, rough murmur of absolute certainty. all you have to do is say the word, and your King will come tear that little fantasy to shreds.
he paces the length of the empty locker room, his cleats clicking sharply against the concrete floor, a restless, volatile energy vibrating through his entire frame. the thought of you with that other man is a physical sickness in his stomach, but the anger is mutating into something much more dangerous: a desperate, delusional obsession.
Tell me, why are we wasting time on all your wasted crying,
the question burns through his mind, a frantic, bitter demand directed at your absent face. he remembers the silence of your breakup, but his broken mind twists it now, wondering if you’re secretly suffering behind closed doors. he convinces himself that you must be shedding tears over this entire mess, wasting your precious energy on a situation that is completely beneath you.
why are you putting yourself through this? why are you wasting all that time on a generic nobody, when you should be with me instead?
he grips the edge of a bench, his knuckles turning stark white as his sharp blue eyes fixate on the floor. it hits him then— a rare, unsettling flash of genuine worry that he instantly cloaks in his signature, suffocating arrogance.
that guy doesn't know how to handle someone as complex and untouchable as you. he doesn't know your rhythms, your pacing, or how to properly worship a Queen. Kaiser knows, with an absolute, terrifying certainty, that this peasant is going to fail you. you’re going to get hurt, just for the sake of trying to prove a point to him. the mere thought of you being broken by someone else makes his jaw clench until it aches. you're wasting your time, risking your own heart on a fraud, when the only place you belong— the only place you’ve ever belonged— is right back by your King's side.
—
the heavy, rhythmic thud of a football colliding with a concrete wall echoes through the empty training facility. over and over. Kaiser strikes the ball with a violent, reckless force, not even caring about the flawless accuracy of his impact right now— he just needs to drown out the noise in his own head.
but it isn’t working.
he stops the ball dead under his cleat, his chest heaving as a slick layer of sweat glitters against his skin. his blue eyes shift down to the dark reflection on the polished floor, his mind instantly dragging him right back to you. to the intolerable reality that you are still out there, living a life that doesn't revolve around him.
I'll stop time for you.
the thought hits him with the force of an absolute command. it’s not a romantic promise; it’s an exhibition of his own god complex. he doesn't care about your schedule, your high-profile modeling contracts, or the massive film sets you’re currently ruling over. if you wanted him to, he would willingly freeze his entire world. he would put his own skyrocketing career on pause, block out the media, and make the entire universe stand perfectly still just to accommodate your presence again.
The second you say you'd like me too.
he clenches his jaw, a low, dangerous growl vibrating in his throat. that’s the catch. that is the only thing keeping him locked in this agonizing, self-inflicted purgatory. he is a King, and a King does not beg— but he is waiting. he’s waiting for that single, microscopic shift in your deadpan demeanor. the absolute second you drop that stubborn act, the very moment you look at him and give him even a shred of confirmation that you want him back, he will drop everything. he will halt the world in its tracks and reclaim what is his, entirely convinced that you are just one word away from running right back to his throne.
he kicks the ball away, sending it hurtling into the far corner of the facility just to break the suffocating silence.
I just wanna give you the lovin' that you're missing,
the thought is heavy, dark, and thick with an insatiable hunger. he knows exactly what you’re missing out there in the real world. that generic peasant you’re with probably treats you like glass, handling your deadpan demeanor with cautious, polite hesitation. he probably smiles gently, holds your hand softly, and treats you like a standard, fragile trophy.
it makes Kaiser want to vomit.
because you aren't standard, and you certainly aren't fragile. Kaiser knows the real you— the actress who wears a flawless, unbothered mask to the public but craves something entirely different behind closed doors. he knows the intense, friction-filled passion that only he could provide. he remembers the way his tattooed hands used to grip your waist, the bruising intensity of his kisses, and the suffocating, worshipful way he would consume your entire attention until you couldn't think of anything else.
you’re starving in that whatever polite public relationship you have with that guy, and he knows it. he can practically feel the void left in his absence. nobody else can match your frequency. nobody else can give you that volatile, addictive devotion that kept you anchored to him. he stands there in the dim light of the facility, his fingers curling into a tight fist as he glares into the empty space, entirely consumed by the delusional certainty that you are out there freezing to death without his fire.
Baby, just to wake up with you would be everything I need, and this could be so different.
the rare, suffocating wave of genuine vulnerability hits him before he can even block it with his arrogance. Kaiser closes his eyes, his head dropping back against the cold brick wall of the facility. for a single, fleeting second, the grand illusion of the stadium, the flashing cameras, and his desperate need for global dominance completely fades away.
he visualizes it with an agonizing clarity: waking up in the quiet luxury of his apartment, the morning sun filtering through the blinds, and finding your calm, beautiful face resting against his chest. no scripts, no paparazzi, no exhausting masks for either of you to wear. just your smooth, deadpan gaze meeting his before he can even murmur a smug greeting. it would be everything. it’s a reality so vastly different from this pathetic, engineered distance you’ve forced between you. if you were just by his side, he wouldn't have to spend every waking hour fighting the urge to tear the city apart looking for you.
Tell me what you want to do.
he opens his eyes, his sharp blue gaze snapping back into focus, instantly hardening with that familiar, dangerous edge. the moment of softness is gone, cloaked once more in his unyielding hubris. he’s tired of the guessing games. he’s tired of analyzing billboard posters and dissecting television teasers. he stands up straight, a dark, demanding smirk slowly returning to his lips as he issues the silent ultimatum into the empty air.
he’s putting the ball in your court. he’s giving his Queen the floor. all you have to do is make your move, dictate the play, and tell him exactly how you want to end this farce— because the King is losing his patience, and he’s ready to rewrite the script.
'Cause I know I can treat you better than he can,
the absolute certainty of it settles deep into his chest, a dark, immovable anchor. he scoffs, running a sweat-slicked hand through his blue-tipped hair as a mocking laugh leaves his throat. it’s an undeniable fact. that generic placeholder of a man doesn't have the status, the drive, or the sheer brilliance to match you. he’s a nobody playing a part he’s bound to mess up. Kaiser knows exactly how to elevate you, how to challenge your sharp mind, and how to give you a lifestyle that matches your untouchable talent. to him, keeping you by his side isn't just a desire— it's the natural order of things.
And any girl like you deserves a gentleman.
the word feels foreign in his mind, almost amusing, but Kaiser twists it to fit his own twisted, royal standards. a gentleman? no, you don't need some soft, boring guy who treats you like an ordinary porcelain doll. a high-caliber woman like you deserves a King. you deserve someone who will aggressively guard your space, worship your deadpan perfection, and ruthlessly destroy anything that threatens your peace.
I know I can treat you better, better than he can.
the thought repeats in his mind like a final, unyielding verdict. he’s done waiting for real in the shadows of an empty training facility, done watching you pretend to be content with a fraud.
Kaiser lets out a slow, sharp breath, his blue eyes gleaming with a dangerous, calculating light. a dark, predatory smirk settles onto his lips as he grabs his jacket, slinging it casually over one shoulder. the King has sat on his hands for long enough. you wanted to see how far he would let this joke go? well, playtime is officially over.
he doesn't care about your new script, the paparazzi, or the pathetic little barrier you’ve tried to build between you. he knows exactly what you’re missing, he knows your true worth, and he knows that nobody else alive can give you the volatile, addictive devotion that he handles so effortlessly.
as he walks out into the cool night air, his mind is already spinning with a sharp, tactical precision. he isn’t going to just sit back and watch your world revolve around someone else. he’s about to change the game entirely. whether you're ready for it or not, Michael Kaiser is coming to reclaim his Queen— and he’s going to make damn sure you remember exactly who you belong to.
cause he knows he will treat you better. way better than he can.
this is a work of fiction. any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or real events is purely coincidental and not intended. all characters and songs depicted are not owned by me and belong to their respective creators. this work is purely fictional and for illustrative purposes only.
did something so embarrassing in class today infront of MANY STUDENTS and oh god do I want to bury myself in the deepest parts of land that exists here on earth
I did heard that you can distract yourself by being super focused so here's me writing and publishing a Michael Kaiser fanfic angst despite me not reading the manga, and relying on spoilers I have read, tiktoks I have watched and studying on google ( yes I'm an overthinker. and yes I'm quite good at studying people / characters. )
I do love Kaiser tho 😼 also suprising that this is my shortest work so far despite me being obsessed with him... suddenly I'm Ness...
really wanted to do a cheating fiction, and a Kaiser one of course. but this is the best I could do! I wouldn't like to hurt myself intentionally and you readers too... maybe next time :p
7/1/26; just realized now that this is a new writing style 😭 I usually write in a story-way type? and not situational ( if that makes sense.. )
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SYNOPSIS: locked behind the closed doors of a sterile suite and a private dinner night, a single inadvertent gesture ignites a catastrophic public frenzy. caught between the clinical, freezing distance of an unwanted arrangement and the hyper-fixated side of the media, the fragile boundary between performance and reality completely fractures.
CONTAINS: angst, not the usual romance. still romance though. slowburn. life of luxury and fame, public figures and exposure, past relationship with Rin, slight family pressure. ridicilous amount of foreshadowing and coincedences, forced proximity and intimacy while someone's watching, mentions of sex with Rin, third-party manipulation, discussions of personal / sexual boundaries, emotional distress, complicity, sensory overwhelm, voyeurism? full fluff w a hint of angst ( list will change as more verses will be released. this story evolves per verse ) notes; I realized late that Rin is ooc, so I have rewritten it. some parts and details may be wrong as I have changed it, and may not updated it.
BLUE LOCK: Aged up! Famous Athlete Rin Itoshi x Famous Model & Actress Reader
Word Count: 12,267 words and 71,361 characters
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Verse l. Verse ll. Verse lll. Forcé de
the sleek, black town car glides smoothly along the private, cobblestone driveway of the Grand Luminary, an incredibly exclusive, five-star luxury hotel tucked far away from the prying eyes of the paparazzi. the towering architecture of the building exudes quiet wealth, featuring massive, arched glass windows, manicured limestone pillars, and a polished gold-accented canopy that stretches over the private entrance. the entire perimeter is heavily secured, ensuring absolute privacy for the high-profile guests who crawl into its shadows to disappear.
as your driver brings the vehicle to a silent halt directly in front of the grand entrance, a uniformed white-gloved valet immediately steps forward, opening your door with a practiced, deferential bow. stepping out onto the pristine pavement, the sheer scale and oppressive opulence of the hotel hits you all at once. the air smells subtly of expensive cedarwood and fresh linen, a sterile, high-end environment that is meant to feel like a sanctuary, but currently feels more like a beautiful cage.
before you can even take a step toward the glass double doors, the heavy purr of another high-end engine echoes against the limestone walls. you turn your head just in time to see a second private car— a matching, tinted-window luxury sedan—smoothly pull up directly behind yours.
the door clicks open, and Rin steps out onto the pavement. his posture is rigid, his coat perfectly tailored, and his expression completely unreadable as his dark eyes lock onto yours across the short distance.
the grand glass doors of the luxury hotel slide open, and a woman steps out onto the pristine driveway, her bright, energetic presence instantly cutting through the heavy tension hanging between you and Rin. she looks relatively young, dressed in a sharp but comfortable tailored suit, and she carries herself with an easy, approachable warmth that feels entirely welcoming.
“ Ah, you two must be the stars of the hour! ” she calls out, her voice cheerful and light as she walks briskly toward you both. a bright, genuinely friendly smile lights up her face as she stops right between your two cars, looking from you to Rin with an enthusiastic wave.
“ Welcome, welcome! I'm so glad you both made it safely. Traveling in these private cars can be so draining, right? ”
she steps closer, offering a warm, polite nod to each of you in turn. “ It is an absolute pleasure to finally meet you both in person. I've heard so much about you! ”
you stare at her for a long moment, your eyes taking in her bright smile and overly cheerful demeanor. you really don't want to judge someone at first sight— especially not the person holding the keys to your freedom for the next few weeks— but you can't entirely help the skepticism creeping into your mind. she seems almost too bubbly for a situation this heavy.
brushing the thought aside, you decide to think of it as nothing for now, offering her a polite, matching smile as you step forward to greet her back.
“ Well, the drive wasn't too bad, but I'm definitely glad to finally be out of the car. ” you say, offering her a warm, easy smile to match her friendly energy. “ It's great to meet you too. ”
the counselor chuckles softly, her eyes shifting over to Rin. seeing his rigid posture, unreadable expression, and dead silence, she simply gives a knowing, unfazed wave of her hand.
“ Oh, don't worry, I didn't expect any greetings from you, Rin- kun. ” she says with a lighthearted laugh, completely unbothered by his icy silence. she turns back to face both of you, her smile widening. “ To be completely honest, I’ve thoroughly studied both of your files and public profiles before today. But even before this assignment landed on my desk? I actually adored you both from the very start. I've been a huge fan of yours for a long time! ”
she sure talks a lot, you think to yourself, keeping your face completely neutral so your skepticism doesn't show. despite the internal eye-roll, you keep up the polite front, offering her a smooth smile.
“ Good to hear, ” you reply simply.
“ Alright, let's get you two out of the sun! ” she says, gesturing toward the towering glass doors of the lobby. “ We should head inside, get you registered, and check out the room where you'll be staying. ”
Rin doesn't give a single reaction. he just stands there like a statue, his hands shoved into his coat pockets, staring blankly ahead as if the woman infront of you in is entirely beneath his notice.
as the three of you begin to move toward the entrance, two hotel bellhops step forward in perfect sync. they efficiently lift your luggage and Rin's bags from the trunks of the private cars, quietly wheeling them in behind you.
—
the heavy, polished mahogany door clicks shut behind you, sealing the three of you inside the expansive penthouse suite. as you step fully into the room, the sheer scale of the space immediately opens up before you. it is massive, incredibly spacious, and dripping in modern luxury. high ceilings make the room feel endless, and a massive wall of floor-to-ceiling windows bathes the entire balcony area in soft, natural afternoon light, offering a sweeping, uninterrupted view of the city skyline below. the interior design is flawless— plush, cream-colored carpets that sink beneath your shoes, sleek marble surfaces, and high-end, custom-designed furniture arranged perfectly around a sophisticated, minimalist living area.
it is fully equipped with absolutely everything you could possibly need for a long-term stay. a state-of-the-art entertainment system lines one wall, a sleek mini-bar is stocked with premium drinks, and a small, private kitchenette sits quietly in the corner, complete with top-tier appliances. on the surface, it looks like an absolute paradise, designed to cater to your every comfort.
however, as your eyes scan past the gorgeous living space and venture further into the layout of the suite, your gaze lands on the bed— and your breath hitches slightly.
right there, taking up a prominent and undeniable center stage in the room, is just one single, massive king-sized bed.
your eyes immediately dart to the left, scanning the immediate layout for any sign of a second door, but there is only one. a single, grand doorway leads into a massive, opulent bathroom complete with a deep soaking tub.
one bathroom, one bed.
there is no separate room to retreat to, no guest bed hidden away in a corner, and no escaping each other's presence. you look at that single, sprawling mattress, and the reality settles heavily in your chest: from this exact moment on, you are going to be sleeping in the exact same bed.
the counselor claps her hands together softly, breaking the silence as she turns around to face you both with that same bright, easy smile.
“ Alright! I know you both have your own separate personal lives, schedules, and routines out there in the real world, ” she says, gesturing toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. “ But for the duration of this program, you are strictly required to stay right here under this roof. No exceptions, no slip-ups. ”
she walks over to the center of the spacious room, looking between you and Rin with an encouraging nod. “ So, look around and get comfortable, because from this exact moment on, you call this place your 'New Home.' ”
Rin finally speaks up, his voice dropping into a flat, icy drawl that cuts right through the counselor's bubbly enthusiasm. he doesn't even bother looking at the massive bed, keeping his sharp, unamused gaze fixed entirely on her.
“ And you? ” he asks, his tone entirely deadpan and laced with a biting, quiet sarcasm. “ Are you staying in this room to watch us sleep too? ”
the counselor lets out a slightly awkward, nervous laugh, adjusting her posture as Rin’s blunt question catches her briefly off guard. she clears her throat, trying to quickly smooth over the cold sarcasm he just threw her way.
“ ...Of course not, ” she says, waving her hand quickly with a polite, reassuring smile. “ We absolutely respect your privacy and boundaries here. I'm actually staying in the suite right next door to yours! ”
she gestures toward the main hallway outside before looking back at the two of you. “ My job isn't to monitor your every breath. I will just be coming in to counsel both of you every day for about two hours— or even shorter than that, depending on how quickly we progress and how well you cooperate. ”
Rin's jaw tightens slightly, and his eyes narrow as he lets out a quiet, scoffing breath. his entire posture radiates an intense annoyance, his dark eyes cutting over to give the counselor a look of freezing, unamused contempt.
the counselor shifts her weight from one foot to the other, her bright smile faltering for a fraction of a second as she feels the palpable awkwardness radiating off Rin once again. she clears her throat, quickly trying to salvage the cheerful atmosphere she's trying so hard to maintain.
“ ...Well! I'll give you two some time to unpack and settle in, ” she adds, backing toward the mahogany door with a polite, slightly strained nod. “ I'll come back at 6:00 PM tonight for our very first session. Make yourselves comfortable! ”
with that, she swiftly slips out into the hallway, and the heavy door clicks shut behind her, leaving you and Rin in total silence.
the heavy silence that settles over the room the second the door clicks shut is absolute, and it makes the sprawling, luxurious penthouse feel suddenly very, very small.
an intense wave of awkwardness washes over you. standing alone in a massive, five-star hotel suite with Rin feels completely surreal and deeply weird. the sprawling king-sized bed sits in your peripheral vision like an unspoken threat, and you genuinely have no idea what to do with your hands, where to look, or what to say first.
you steal a quick glance at Rin. for all his usual cold confidence, he simply stands immovable by the entrance, his hands still shoved deep into his coat pockets. he stares blankly at the wall, completely barricading himself behind a wall of rigid silence as he flatly refuses to acknowledge the absolute absurdity of the situation.
to break the suffocating silence, you decide to just focus on unpacking your things. thankfully, the suite is equipped with a massive walk-in closet that includes separate, private sections for both of you, giving you at least a little bit of personal boundary. you head over to the grand bathroom, carefully arranging your expensive makeup and skincare products into the sleek drawers under the marble vanity, trying to focus entirely on the mundane task to calm your nerves.
while you're busy organizing your things, Rin finally moves from his spot by the door. true to his quiet, efficient nature, he doesn't waste any time lingering or complaining out loud. he carries his bag over to his side of the private closet and begins to unpack with methodical, military-like precision.
he hangs his tailored coats perfectly straight, places his folded clothes in neat, orderly stacks, and sets his watch and personal items down on the dresser with a sharp, calculated efficiency. every movement is completely silent and deliberate, his face a mask of cold indifference. once everything is put away exactly where it belongs, he zips his empty bag shut and slides it out of sight.
while you are still tucked away in the sprawling marble bathroom, carefully organizing your skincare bottles, arranging your brushes, and setting up the rest of your needs in the vanity drawers, you hear the rustle of fabric from the main room.
Rin has already moved with quiet efficiency. he changes into sleek, dark athletic gear that fits his lean build perfectly, grabbing his water bottle as he prepares to burn off the suffocating tension of the suite.
just as you are finishing up, you step toward the bathroom doorway. Rin is already at the entrance of the penthouse, his hand resting on the sleek brass handle.
for a second, it looks like he’s just going to vanish without a single word. but right before he pulls the door open, he pauses.
he doesn't turn around to look at you, keeping his back entirely turned as he delivers a flat, icy notification.
“ Gym, ” he says simply, his voice low, blunt, and completely devoid of emotion. “ Don't look for me. ”
before you can even offer a reply, the heavy mahogany door clicks open and snaps shut behind him, his sudden departure leaving you completely alone in the quiet luxury of the massive suite.
you stand frozen in the middle of the room for a few moments, staring at the empty space where he just was, before finally letting out a long, heavy breath you didn't realize you were holding.
a quiet, cynical laugh slips past your lips, and you shake your head at the absolute absurdity of it all.
already updating each other? the official fake dating contract hasn't even started yet, and it suddenly, terrifyingly feels like you're both falling right back into an old rhythm. it is a stark, jarring reminder of how easily you used to read each other's movements, a muscle memory of a past you thought you'd buried. despite the walls, the coldness, and the bitter tension between you now, that brief, blunt notification felt entirely too natural— just like before.
whatever, you think, brushing the heavy thought away before it can spiral into something worse. you're too emotionally exhausted to unpack the past right now.
you kick off your shoes, walk over to that massive, intimidating king-sized bed, and deliberately crawl onto your side of the mattress. it is unbelievably soft, practically swallowing you whole, and the crisp, expensive linens feel cool against your skin. you pull the heavy sheets up over your shoulders, closing your eyes and letting the quiet hum of the luxury suite's air conditioning lull you into a deep, dreamless sleep, completely shutting out the reality of the situation for a few hours.
—
a sharp, rhythmic knocking at the heavy mahogany door abruptly pulls you out of your deep sleep. you blink open your eyes, momentarily disoriented by the luxurious surroundings before the reality of the penthouse clicks back into place. your gaze darts to the digital clock on the nightstand— it’s right around 6:00 PM.
the counselor.
you throw off the heavy sheets, quickly smoothing down your clothes and running a hand through your hair to make yourself look presentable. stepping across the plush carpet of the quiet suite, you cross the living room and pull open the massive front door.
it’s not the counselor.
standing on the other side of the threshold is Rin.
he is leaning slightly against the doorframe, a light sheen of sweat glistening on his skin and his dark athletic clothes looking damp from his workout. a gym towel is draped loosely around his neck, and his dark hair is slightly messy, falling across his forehead in damp strands. he looks completely exhausted but still carries that same sharp, unbothered intensity.
he stops knocking the second the door swings open, his cold, unreadable eyes dropping down to look at you. he takes in your disheveled appearance with a look of total, flat indifference— not caring in the slightest that he just dragged you out of a dead sleep. he just stands there, waiting for you to step aside so he can get back into the room.
without a single word, you simply step backward, pulling the heavy door wide open to give him room to pass. no greetings, no polite remarks, no " how was your workout— " absolutely nothing.
Rin doesn't offer anything either. he just pushes past you with a silent, fluid stride, bringing the cool, heavy dampness of the gym air into the warmth of the suite. as he walks straight toward his side of the room without looking back, you let the door click softly shut behind him, the thick silence between you two completely locking back into place.
without saying a word, Rin grabs a fresh set of clothes from his side of the closet and walks straight into the massive marble bathroom, the heavy door clicking shut behind him. a moment later, the muffled, steady hum of the shower starts up, filling the quiet suite with a rhythmic background noise.
left alone in the living area, you sit down on the plush, cream-colored sofa. for a few minutes, you just stare blankly at the floor-to-ceiling windows, letting the exhaustion completely drain from your body. but as the silence of the room settles back in, you realize you can't just sit here in a daze forever.
pulling your phone out of your pocket, you decide to finally update your mother. you open your messages and begin to type, carefully crafting a text that strikes the perfect balance— reassuring her that you've arrived safely and that the accommodations are incredibly luxurious, while entirely omitting the suffocating, awkward tension currently showering in the next room.
a few minutes into your texting, a polite, brisk knock sounds at the front door. you slide your phone into your pocket, stand up, and cross the room to open it.
the counselor is standing on the threshold, sporting a fresh, professional smile and holding a sleek leather folder tightly against her chest.
“ Good evening! Ready for our first session? ” she asks brightly.
“ Good evening. Yes, come on in, ” you reply smoothly, stepping back to let her pass into the lavish living area.
she steps inside, her heels clicking softly against the hardwood before she stops and looks around the empty space. “ Thank you. Now, where is Rin? We're scheduled to start right at six. ”
“ He's in the shower, ” you answer simply, gesturing vaguely toward the closed marble bathroom door, where the muffled sound of running water is still faintly audible.
the counselor nods understandingly and walks over to the plush seating area.
“ That's perfectly fine! ” she says, smoothing down her skirt as she settles into one of the armchairs. “ Since it’s your very first session, I don't mind waiting for quite a while. It gives everyone a chance to settle in. ”
following her lead, you cross the room and sit down on the opposite couch, sinking into the soft leather. the space between you feels formal, a stark contrast to the quiet tension that usually fills the room when it's just you and Rin.
trying to break the ice and get a sense of what you're actually trapped here to do, you look across at her. “ So, what exactly are we going to be doing? For the first sessions and the weeks ahead? ”
the counselor smiles, opening the sleek leather folder on her lap. “ To start, we'll keep things simple. The first week is entirely about establishing a baseline— understanding your communication styles, identifying where the friction lies, and laying down the ground rules for your cooperation. As the weeks progress, we'll move into behavioral exercises, shared problem-solving tasks, and deep-dives into your past dynamics to figure out how to build a functional partnership. ”
she looks up from her notes, her eyes locking onto yours with a keen, observant gaze. “ Essentially, we are going to dismantle the walls you've both built up, piece by piece. ”
a quiet, humorless laugh slips past your lips before you can stop it, and you quickly mask it by shifting slightly on the plush leather cushions.
inside your head, you can’t help but roll your eyes. she did not answer my question, you think dryly.
all that high-sounding corporate jargon—baselines, friction, behavioral exercises, dismantling walls— was just a massive, deeply rehearsed evasion tactic. she used a ton of fancy, therapeutic buzzwords to sound profound, but she didn't actually tell you a single concrete thing about what you’d actually be doing for the next two hours. it was an incredibly polished way of saying absolutely nothing.
the heavy click of the bathroom door unlocks, and the muffled hum of the running water finally cuts out.
a moment later, Rin steps out into the living area. his posture is rigid and sharp once more, a faint cloud of clean-scented steam trailing behind his broad shoulders. he’s changed into a fresh, simple black t-shirt and comfortable dark trousers, his dark hair still damp and slightly messy from the towel as he brings a cold, unbothered stillness back into the room.
the counselor’s face immediately lights up with that professional, expectant smile as she shifts in her seat. “ Ah, Rin! Perfect timing. Please, come join us. ”
both you and the counselor wait for him to cross the room and take a seat on the vacant couch next to you. but Rin doesn't move toward the furniture at all. instead, he walks just far enough into the room to be present, crossing his arms tightly over his chest as he comes to a halt.
he just stands there. he doesn't sit down, he doesn't slide into the empty spot beside you, and he doesn't offer a single word of greeting. he looks entirely like a statue of pure, freezing contempt, his cold gaze fixed on the counselor as if he's just waiting for her to get this pathetic charade over with.
the counselor doesn't seem deterred by Rin's rigid, standing posture. if anything, she takes a slow, deliberate breath, adjusting her glasses as her professional smile sharpens. she looks between you on the couch and Rin standing like an unyielding shadow near the wall.
“ Well, since we're all here, let's begin, ” the counselor says smoothly, clicking her pen. “ We'll start with something brief to gauge your current perspective on one another. I'm going to ask a few introductory questions. ”
she flips to a fresh page in her leather folder, her eyes tracking back to Rin before landing on you.
“ The first one is simple, but it requires absolute honesty, ” she says, her voice echoing slightly in the quiet suite. “ In one word... describe your partner's biggest flaw. ”
the silence in the room instantly turns suffocating.
true to form, Rin doesn’t hesitate for a single second. he doesn't need time to think, and he clearly doesn't care about following her "one word" rule either.
“ Annoying. ” he says bluntly, his voice cutting through the quiet room like a blade.
he doesn’t stop there. his cold eyes lock right onto you, his expression hardening as the words spill out with practiced ease. “ Stubborn. A hidrance . Distraction. ”
every word is delivered with a flat, icy precision, entirely devoid of hesitation. he rattles them off like a checklist he’s had memorized for years.
the counselor’s pen hovers over her notepad, her eyebrows shooting up at the sudden, unfiltered barrage.
you don't even let him breathe after that last word. a sarcastic, bitter smile flashes across your face, and you sit up straighter on the couch, locking your eyes right back onto his cold stare. if he’s going to completely ignore the rules and throw a checklist at you, you’re more than happy to return the favor.
“ Arrogant. ” you fire back instantly, your voice dripping with sharp defiance.
you don't miss a beat, rattling yours off just as quickly as he did. “ Emotionally stunted. Selfish. Impossible. ”
the words hit the air between you like a physical barrier, each one a direct hit from years of knowing exactly how to push his buttons.
the counselor’s gaze darts back and forth between the two of you like she's watching a high-stakes tennis match. the air in the luxury suite is practically vibrating with the sudden spike of mutual irritation, the quiet awkward from earlier completely replaced by a familiar, fiery tension.
a sharp, dark scowl instantly ripples across Rin’s face. he didn't expect you to fire back so quickly— or so accurately—and his pride clearly takes the hit.
he takes a deliberate step closer to the seating area, his posture stiffening as he looks down at you, completely abandoning his detached, quiet routine.
“ Hypocritical, ” he hits back, his voice dropping an octave, becoming dangerous and low.
he locks entirely into the confrontation, his sharp eyes narrowing into slits. “ Vindictive. Childish. Unbearable. ”
he delivers each syllable with a cold, biting emphasis, as if he's trying to physically weight you down with the words. he is completely ignoring the counselor now; his entire focus is narrowed entirely on you, his jaw clenched tightly as he waits to see if you have the nerve to keep this going.
before you can even open your mouth to fire back at his dismissive comment, the crisp click of the counselor's pen against her notepad cuts through the air, shattering the heavy silence.
she looks between the two of you, a dry, highly amused smile playing on her lips as she leans back against the cushions of the couch.
“ Wow, ” she says, her tone dripping with calm, deliberate irony. she glances up at Rin, then cuts her eyes over to you. “ Let's not forget... you two have to sleep in the exact same bed tonight. ”
the implication hangs heavy in the air, a sharp reminder of the forced proximity you're both trapped in. she’s essentially telling you that no matter how much venom you spit at each other during the day, the walls of this penthouse aren't moving, and you're still going to be sharing a mattress at the end of the night.
even with the counselor trying to diffuse the room, the absolute venom in the words Rin just threw at you— hypocritical, vindictive, childish, unbearable— burns right through your composure. a hot surge of anger tightly grips your chest.
you clench your jaw, your fingers digging into the fabric of the couch cushions as you glare at him, a lethal retort practically sitting on the tip of your tongue.
but before you can let the fury spill out, the counselor takes a long, slow breath and shuts her leather folder with a definitive, heavy thud. the sudden sound cuts right through the thick, angry tension vibrating between you and Rin.
“ You know what? Let's entirely throw out the intake questions, ” she says, her tone shifting from corporate and clinical to something far more deliberate. she slides her pen into her pocket and looks between the two of you with a knowing, unyielding expression. “ Verbal communication clearly isn't working for you right now. You're both just using words as weapons to defend yourselves, so we are going to try something completely different. ”
she turns her gaze directly onto Rin, pointing to the empty cushions on the couch right across from you. “ Rin, sit down. Directly across from her. Right now. ”
Rin stiffens, his eyes narrowing in absolute defiance, but the counselor's sharp, expectant stare doesn't waver. with a slow, incredibly tense movement, he finally walks over, sinking into the vacant spot on the couch right across you, his posture rigid and tight as he deliberately presses himself against the furthest edge of the cushions to keep as much distance between you two as possible.
“ Here are the rules, ” the counselor announces, checking the watch on her wrist. “ No talking. No moving. No breaking away. You are going to maintain absolute, uninterrupted eye contact for exactly thirty seconds. Starting... now. ”
suddenly, you have no choice. your furious glare is locked dead onto Rin’s, and his icy, piercing eyes are pinned directly on yours.
the first five seconds are pure defiance.
you glare at him with all the lingering heat from your argument, and he stares back with that same cold, immovable intensity. you’re determined not to be the one to blink first.
but by second ten, the anger starts to drain out of the room, leaving behind something much worse.
oh, this feels incredibly awkward...
without the shield of sharp words or petty insults to hide behind, you are suddenly just... looking at him. really looking at him. because he just got out of the shower, you can smell the faint, clean scent of his soap drifting across the small space between you on the cushions. his damp hair is starting to dry in slightly messy tufts, making him look frustratingly human instead of the untouchable, robotic wall he usually builds around himself.
by second twenty, the silence is so heavy it feels physical. you notice the slight tension in his jaw, the way his dark eyelashes cast long shadows in the dimming light of the suite, and the sheer intensity of his gaze. Rin isn't looking away either. his piercing eyes are locked onto yours, completely unblinking, but his initial detachment seems to crack just a fraction. the coldness morphs into something far heavier— a dark, suffocating gravity hidden beneath his stubbornness, a charged weight of unresolved history that neither of you is allowed to speak out loud.
your heart thumps against your ribs, the rhythm suddenly feeling way too loud in the quiet room. you find yourself focusing on a tiny fleck of color in his iris just to keep from losing your mind. sharing a bed tonight was already going to be a disaster, but sitting this close, forced to hold his gaze, makes the luxury penthouse feel smaller than a cage.
“ Five seconds left, ” the counselor’s voice murmurs quietly from the background, her watch ticking down the final moments of the agonizingly long half-minute.
“ And... time! ”
the counselor suddenly claps her hands together, a bright, booming sound that violently shatters the suffocating silence.
the agonizing tension in the air snaps instantly, and she sits up with a massive, beaming smile, her entire demeanor pivoting back to a burst of pure, high-energy enthusiasm.
“ Oh, look at you two! Brilliant! Absolutely exceptional! ” she chirps loudly, nodding along as if she’s just witnessed a pair of toddlers successfully share a toy box.
a sharp, dark scowl immediately ripples across his face. the lingering, suffocating tension from the eye contact is completely wiped out, replaced by sheer, unadulterated irritation. he looks at the counselor as if she has completely lost her mind, his body stiffening with deep embarrassment at being praised like a schoolchild.
he lets out a harsh, aggressive scoff through his nose and abruptly shifts his weight on the couch, tearing his eyes away from you to glare directly at the floor. his hands clench into tight fists against his knees, his jaw working as he forces himself to swallow down a venomous retort. it’s taking every single ounce of his restraint not to walk out of the room right now.
the counselor’s eyes light up with an entirely too-bright, mischievous spark. she slaps her hands onto her knees and stands up, practically bouncing with newfound energy.
“ Okay, since we conquered the eyes, it's time to bridge the physical gap! ” she announces cheerfully, gesturing between the two of you. “ Words divide you, but actions connect you. So, we are going to try something more physical to get you two back in sync. ”
Rin’s head snaps up, his irritated glare sharpening into pure, freezing disgust.
“ Absolutely not. ” he says, his voice dropping into a flat, dangerous register.
“ Oh, absolutely yes! ” she counters, completely unfazed by his killer aura. she steps closer to the coffee table, waving her hand dismissively. “ Nothing crazy. I just want you two to stand up, face each other, and hold hands. Palm to palm, fingers intertwined. And we're going to hold that connection for a full minute to ground your energies. ”
the silence that hits the room this time is practically radioactive.
Rin looks from the counselor's expectant smile down to your hands, and then slowly up to your face. his entire body is as rigid as a stone wall. the idea of holding your hand— feeling your warmth, letting his fingers slide between yours right after that intense eye contact— is clearly pushing him straight to his limit.
“ He's right, ” you say quickly, shaking your head as you slide your hands safely into your pockets. you look at the counselor, trying to sound like the voice of objective reason. “ I'm not doing that. This is moving a bit too fast. We just got here, and we can barely stand to look at each other without a timer running. Forcing physical contact right now is completely counterproductive. ”
the counselor doesn't skip a beat. her high-energy cheerfulness instantly drops away, replaced by the cool, sharp authority of someone who has diagnosed a hundred couples just like you. she looks you dead in the eye, her voice dropping into a calm, unyielding tone.
“ You think this is fast ? You two lived together. You slept in the same space, breathed the same air, and built an entire life out of relying on one another. ” she says smoothly, her words cutting through your excuses with absolute, clinical precision. “ You aren't strangers on a first date trying to pace yourselves. The intimacy between you isn't new— it's just broken. You aren't afraid of moving too fast. You're afraid of how familiar it's going to feel the second your skin touches his. ”
the truth of her words hits the room like a physical weight, leaving you completely breathless. there is a 100% accurate, undeniable logic to it that leaves you with absolutely nothing left to argue.
you open your mouth to find a loophole, a sarcastic retort, anything— but the words die in your throat. across from you, Rin’s posture turns impossibly rigid, his gaze flickering up to you for a fraction of a second, his cold eyes instantly hardening as the counselor’s dead-on accuracy forces his defensive walls to slam shut completely.
with all your defenses completely dismantled by the counselor’s logic, there is nothing left to do but comply. you rise from the couch first, but Rin remains glued to the cushions, his arms crossed so tightly over his chest his knuckles are white.
“ I’m not doing this, ” he says, his voice a low, vicious hiss directed straight at the counselor. “ pathetic. ”
the counselor doesn’t even blink. she simply crosses her legs, giving him a calm, unyielding look that silently communicates she is entirely willing to sit here in total silence until midnight if that’s what it takes.
seconds tick by, heavy and suffocating.
Rin’s jaw works furiously, a dark, dangerous energy radiating off him as he realizes he’s trapped. he can’t leave, he can’t argue his way out of it, and his stubborn pride refuses to let him lose this pathetic game of chicken.
finally, with a harsh, aggressive scoff, he abruptly forces himself up from the chair. his movements are stiff, every line of his lean frame radiating absolute, unadulterated fury.
but even standing up, the sheer awkwardness and raw intensity of the moment is too much to face head-on. neither of you can bear to look each other in the eye after what was just exposed.
without a word, you both instinctively turn your bodies, standing shoulder-to-shoulder but facing in completely opposite directions.
in the heavy silence, you reluctantly reach your hand back into the small, empty space between you, your fingers searching blindly.
for a terrifying second, nothing happens. Rin just stands there like a statue of ice, his breathing shallow. then, slowly, with an incredibly tense, agonizing reluctance, you feel his heavy, cool hand slowly move back to meet yours, his palm rough and solid as it makes contact with your skin.
internally, Rin’s irritation is a cold, sharp blade. he keeps his gaze locked fixedly on the far wall of the penthouse, his jaw a hard, unyielding line. this is completely ridiculous— an absolute waste of his time. he harbors a deep, quiet resentment toward the counselor for trying to dissect both of you, and a bitter contempt for the agency for orchestrating this entire farce.
but beneath the annoyance, a much more calculating tension is setting in.
the counselor’s parting shot echoes in his mind: you're afraid of how familiar it's going to feel.
when your skin finally makes contact with his, the immediate familiarity of it is a jolt he didn't prepare for. your hand fits against his palm with a ruthless, seamless ease that his muscle memory recognizes instantly. it’s an unwanted reminder of how things used to be— back when touching wasn't a mandated exercise, but a silent, functional reality between you.
he refuses to let the sudden spike in his pulse betray him. controlling his breathing with deliberate precision, Rin locks his fingers completely rigid against yours. his grip is firm, steady, and entirely devoid of warmth. he doesn't squeeze, but he doesn't pull away either; to retreat would be an admission of weakness. he just stands there, facing forward like a statue, counting down the seconds in grim silence while keeping his eyes strictly averted from yours.
you stare resolutely at the opposite wall, your face burning with an awkwardness so intense it makes your skin prickle. your hand feels entirely too small wrapped up in his, and the sheer, solid warmth of his palm is making it impossible to breathe normally.
don't think about it, you tell yourself fiercely. just ignore him. think about something else. anything else.
panicking, you try to completely pull your mind away from the luxury suite, searching for a safe distraction to get you through the remaining seconds. you try to conjure up a good memory— a moment of pure peace from your public life, a time you felt completely happy.
you think of that massive, high-profile movie premiere you had to attend 2 years ago. yes, focus on that. you remember the flashing cameras, the roaring crowd, and the glamorous, overwhelming energy of the red carpet. but as the memory expands, you realize you can't even remember the movie itself. all you can remember is Rin.
because he was your bodyguard, he had been right there, a silent, immovable shadow in a tailored suit. you remember how overwhelmed you had felt by the suffocating crowd and the blinding camera flashes. Rin hadn't said anything comforting— he never did. but he had quietly stepped into your space, using his broad shoulders to block out the aggressive paparazzi, creating a small, impenetrable pocket of breathing room just for you. when a reckless reporter had lunged too close with a microphone, Rin’s hand had firmly gripped your upper arm, using his stride to anchor you and steer you with sharp, clinical precision through the chaos without missing a single beat. his presence had been the only grounding thing in that entire, dizzying night.
a sharp, suffocating frustration tightens in your chest, infuriating you to your core. it’s a bitter, inescapable realization. you’ve spent so much time with him, lived so much of your life wrapped up in his cold protection, that your entire history is completely saturated by his presence. every single memory, even the ones out in the glamorous world, has his fingerprints all over it. there is no "safe place" in your mind where he doesn't exist, no mental sanctuary where you can actually escape him. and standing here, forced to hold his hand in the quiet of the penthouse, that realization feels less like a comfort and more like a beautifully constructed cage.
a shaky breath slips past your lips, and without thinking, your fingers involuntarily tighten just a fraction against his.
Rin doesn’t flinch, but the sudden, tight flex of your fingers causes a distinct, rigid lock to ripple up his forearm. it is a microscopic reaction, but to anyone paying attention, it’s a total shutdown of movement. he remains completely motionless, his hand a solid, immovable weight against yours. he doesn't return the pressure— doing so would acknowledge the sudden break in your composure— but the fact that he doesn't immediately yank his hand away is a statement in itself.
for a second, the heavy silence between you stretches, the quiet penthouse suddenly feeling far too small.
Rin keeps his eyes pinned to the wall, his profile completely unreadable. yet, the tight line of his shoulders betrays the heavy, analytical focus now running through his mind. he knows exactly what that sudden pressure means. he recognizes it as a physical leak of your frustration— a blatant sign that your composure is slipping— and the sheer familiarity of that reaction threatens to disrupt his own calculated focus.
rather than pulling away or giving you the satisfaction of calling you out, he merely hardens his stance. he treats the contact like a test of raw endurance, anchoring himself in place and refusing to let your friction throw him off balance.
caught in the heavy downpour of your own memories, your resolve completely slips. before you can stop yourself, your head turns just a fraction, your eyes involuntarily drifting over your shoulder to look at him.
from this angle, you can only see the sharp, tense line of his profile. he doesn't move his head. he doesn't turn to meet your gaze, keeping his eyes fixed rigidly on the blank wall ahead of him as if he's staring right through it.
but you can see the absolute rigidity in his composure.
the muscle in his jaw tics, clamped tight as he forces his expression into a mask of total indifference. but while his face remains an unreadable blank, his hand betrays the sudden spike in tension. the exact second your eyes land on his profile, his fingers stiffen further inside your grip, locking into place like iron.
he knows you're looking. he can feel the exact weight of your stare, heavy and searching, but he flatly refuses to look back.
turning his head would mean acknowledging the shift between you, giving into the counselor’s trap, and letting the past override his current guard.
to look would be to yield, and Rin doesn't yield. instead, he holds his gaze firmly ahead, his jaw hard and his stance unmoving, silently enduring the scrutiny as he waits for the timer to run out.
“ And that's one minute, ” the counselor's voice breaks through the silence, her tone dropping its previous childish cheer. it feels like it ended way faster than you expected— probably because your mind was so thoroughly trapped in those old red-carpet memories— but the sudden announcement makes you instantly let go of his hand.
you pull your arm back, dropping your hand into your pocket as you step away, the lingering warmth of his palm still burning against your skin. Rin doesn't waste a single second either. he immediately drops his arm, his shoulders relaxing by a fraction as he takes a deliberate step back, his face a perfectly blank, unreadable mask once again.
but as you both turn to face the seating area, you realize the counselor isn't looking at her notepad anymore.
she is sitting forward, her chin resting in her hand, watching the two of you with a terrifyingly sharp, knowing expression. the playful, high-energy facade she used earlier is completely gone. she has been reading every single micro-expression, every shift in weight, and the exact second your fingers tightened against his.
“ Fascinating, ” she murmurs quietly, her eyes sliding from you over to Rin's rigid posture. “ You both put up such a loud, angry front with your words. But the second you're forced to be silent, the truth comes out. ”
she stands up slowly, smoothing down her skirt. “ You didn't look at each other because you hate each other. You looked away because the history between you is so heavy neither of you knows how to carry it alone anymore. You're both terrified of how much you still matter to the other. ”
the absolute accuracy of her words leaves a suffocating silence in the room, cutting straight through the defenses you both spent the last hour building up.
“ I'm going to ask you both a very direct question, and given the forced proximity of this assignment, I need absolute, unvarnished honesty, ” she says, her voice cutting through the heavy silence.
she locks her gaze onto you first, then cuts it sharply over to Rin.
“ Are either of you currently dating anyone else right now? Or, do you have immediate intentions to start dating someone else? ”
the question hangs in the air like a sudden drop in pressure. it’s a completely standard protocol for a forced-cohabitation assignment— the agency needs to know if there are outside complications— but hearing it out loud makes the room feel entirely too small.
Rin doesn't blink. he keeps his face an impenetrable mask, but his shoulders lock into rigid lines. he waits in the heavy silence, eyes fixed forward, refusing to speak first. the only sign of the pressure is the sharp, rhythmic tic of the muscle in his clenched jaw.
the counselor’s eyes lock onto you, heavy and expectant. when neither of you immediately speaks, she raises a single, sharp eyebrow and gestures directly at you with her pen.
“ You first. ” she says, her tone completely unyielding.
a sudden wave of pure irritation flashes through you, hot and sharp. why me first? why do you always have to be the one to lay your cards on the table while Rin gets to stand there like a brick wall, hiding behind his usual stoic silence? it feels entirely unfair, like she’s deliberately putting you on the spot to see if you'll crack.
you glare at her, the retort practically begging to burst out of your mouth. you want to ask her what difference it makes who goes first, or why she isn't grilling the person who just called you unbearable 3 minutes ago.
but you force yourself to swallow the anger down. you bite the inside of your cheek, keeping your lips pressed into a tight, frustrated line, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a reaction just yet.
you force a calm, indifferent shrug, crossing your arms tightly over your chest as you look the counselor dead in the eye.
“ No, ” you say, your voice completely flat and professional. “ I'm not dating anyone, and I don't have any plans to. My focus right now is strictly on the assignment and meeting the agency's expectations. ”
it is the safest, most textbook answer you could possibly give. it completely shuts down any romantic implications, frames your life as purely career-oriented, and gives the counselor absolutely zero personal ammunition to use against you.
you’ve effectively wrapped yourself right back up in your professional armor.
the counselor notes your response, her pen making a tiny, scratchy mark on her ledger, before her sharp gaze slides away from you and lands directly on him.
“ And you, Rin? ” she asks smoothly. “ Same question. ”
Rin doesn’t even hesitate. the second the counselor’s eyes land on him, his expression hardens into a familiar, icy mask of absolute indifference. he slides his hands sharply into his pockets as he looks right past the counselor, staring blankly out the window at the city skyline.
“ No. ” he says, his voice flat, concise, and completely devoid of emotion. “ I don't have time for distractions. ”
it is the most textbook, rigidly professional answer possible. he completely mimics your strategy, hiding behind the agency's protocols to avoid revealing even a microscopic glimpse of his personal life. he makes it sound like a machine answering a prompt, utterly cold and unbothered.
but because he answered so quickly, without a single beat of hesitation, it feels almost too perfectly rehearsed.
the counselor looks at him for a long, quiet moment, her pen hovering over the paper. she doesn't write anything down right away. instead, she just lets the silence stretch out between the three of you, her eyes scanning Rin’s rigid profile, completely aware that his robotic professionalism is just a massive, impenetrable wall to keep either of you from seeing how deeply disrupted his composure actually is.
“ Fascinating choice of words, Rin, ” she says, her voice smooth and entirely too sharp. “ You said you don't have time for distractions, ”
she steps closer, deliberately tilting her head to catch his eye.
“ So let's hypothetically say the agency's parameters change. What if the 'distraction' in question isn't some outside variable? What if the distraction... is her? ”
she gestures directly at you, her gaze cutting between the two of you like a blade. “ If she were the one disrupting your focus under this roof, would you mind? ”
the counselor is clearly trying to bait him, but Rin doesn't even blink. he doesn't look at you, and his composure doesn't crack by even a millimeter.
slowly, his eyes slide over to the counselor, his gaze entirely deadpan and dismissive.
“ She’s a benefit to my reputation, ” Rin says, his voice flat, short, and completely devoid of emotion. “ not a distraction. ”
he shuts his mouth, leaving it at that. It’s a direct, clinical answer that completely neutralizes her trap without giving either of you a single inch of personal drama to parse through.
the counselor lets out a sharp, knowing click of her tongue, completely unfazed by his bluntness. she leans forward, her pen tapping a rhythmic, mocking beat against her notebook.
“ So what you're saying is, ” she begins, her voice dropping into an entirely too-shrewd undertone, “ if it weren't for the rules, the mission, or ' operational efficiency '... you wouldn't mind dating her again? ”
a small, involuntary smile tugs at the corner of your lips. you can't help it. for the past hour, you’ve been the one trapped in the hot seat, squirming under the counselor's psychological microscope while Rin stood by like an unbothered statue. but now? the tables have completely turned. finally, he is the one cornered by her relentless logic, and you are more than happy to sit back and watch him sweat.
you glance over at him, waiting to see how his perfect, impenetrable armor handles this one.
Rin stays absolutely still, but his eyes narrow into a dangerous, icy slit as he glares at the counselor. the short, dismissive answers he used before aren't going to work this time. the silence in the room stretches out, heavy and suffocating, as he bites back whatever harsh retort is resting on his tongue, completely aware that you are standing right there, smiling, waiting to hear his answer.
Rin lets the silence stretch for a long, agonizing beat. he doesn't look at you— he refuses to give you the satisfaction of seeing him rattled by your smile— but the absolute stiffness of his shoulders proves he knows exactly what you're doing.
he locks his eyes onto the counselor, his gaze cold enough to freeze water. he doesn't take the romantic bait, and he doesn't give a long, defensive explanation.
instead, he shuts the entire line of questioning down with a harsh, unyielding finality.
“ The past is irrelevant. ” Rin says, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous growl. “ I don't deal in 'what-ifs'. ”
he crosses his arms over his chest, his jaw clamped tightly shut. It’s the ultimate stonewall. by refusing to answer a hypothetical question, he avoids saying yes and he avoids saying no. he effectively locks the door, throws away the key, and leaves the counselor with absolutely nothing left to twist against him.
the counselor doesn't flinch at his low, dangerous tone. instead, she slowly leans back in her chair, a sharp, knowing smile spreading across her face as she taps her pen against the ledger.
“ An irrelevant past, ” she echoes softly, her voice practically dripping with clinical amusement. “ a very efficient defense mechanism, Rin. But silence and deflection are still answers. They just tell me exactly what you're trying to hide. ”
she leans forward, resting her elbows on her desk, refusing to let him off the hook just yet. “ You can pretend there are no 'what-ifs,' but your body language tells a completely different story. ”
beside you, Rin stays absolutely immobile, his face a flawless mask of stone. he keeps his eyes locked rigidly on the counselor, completely ignoring the provocation.
but beneath his cold exterior, his focus has completely shifted to you. he doesn't turn his head, but his hyper-vigilant awareness tracks your every movement in his periphery. he catches the tiny, lingering trace of your smile, and the muscle in his jaw tics— a sharp, involuntary reaction to the sheer familiarity of it.
his crossed arms tighten against his chest, his grip anchoring hard against his own forearms. it isn't a gesture of defeat, but of absolute self-regulation. he forces his posture into an unyielding lock, deliberately keeping his distance because he knows exactly how easily your presence can disrupt his focus. Rin refuses to give the counselor the satisfaction of seeing a reaction, but the rigid, protective tension in his shoulders tells a different story: he has completely tuned out the rest of the room, entirely dialed into your presence as the only variable that actually commands his attention.
the counselor casually waves a hand, dismissing the tension. as far as she’s concerned, she doesn't need to dig any deeper— the heavy, unspoken awareness between the two of you is loud enough.
“ Alright, ” she says, leaning back with a calm, entirely unbothered smile. “ Consider the ice broken. Now for the final exercise. A two-minute hug. Go ahead. ”
the directive lands like a lead weight in the quiet penthouse.
Rin’s gaze snaps from the counselor to the empty space between you, his eyes narrowing into razor-thin, lethal lines. a two-minute hug isn't a psychological exercise; it’s an interrogation tactic disguised as intimacy, a blatant trap designed to strip away whatever boundaries he has left.
for a second, he doesn't move a single muscle. his entire body locks up in flat, unyielding refusal, his jaw tightening so hard the bone looks sharp under his skin.
he just stands there, his mind clearly racing for a calculated loophole or a cold way out of this command. but the counselor doesn't blink, entirely unmoved by his icy glare. she simply waits, leaving the two of you stranded in the suffocating silence as the seconds begin to tick away.
the counselor lets out a soft, mocking hum, entirely unbothered by his wall. “ You can pretend there are no 'what-ifs,' Rin, but you're both just hiding behind professionalism. What is the actual trajectory here? ”
Rin doesn't flinch, but his eyes narrow into razor-thin, lethal lines. he doesn't look at you, but the absolute, freezing temperature of his voice cuts through the room like a
“ What exactly do you want from this report? ” Rin asks, his tone dropping into a low, dangerously flat drawl. “ You want a timeline? You want to know what’s next on your little checklist? Should we make out right here on the couch? Do we need to have sex in the penthouse to satisfy the agency's parameters? ”
the words are incredibly blunt, crashing into the quiet room like a physical blow. he delivers them without a single shred of heat or passion— just pure, biting sarcasm meant to weaponize the counselor's own invasive boundaries against her.
he uses every ounce of his discipline to look entirely detached, his posture locking into an immovable, rigid stance. his anger isn't a loud outburst; it is a calculated, freezing malice. by reducing the counselor’s psychological probing down to a sterile, ridiculous checklist of physical acts, he completely strips the situation of any emotional weight, leaving her with nothing but her own invasive metrics to look back at.
but his bluntness hits you like a physical jolt. you freeze, your eyes widening slightly as his crude, biting words echo in the quiet penthouse. Rin doesn't break eye contact with the counselor, his face remaining a mask of pure, frigid defiance, but the sheer escalation in the room makes the air feel suddenly thin.
as the shock settles, a strange, uneasy realization begins to creep in.
looking at the counselor’s completely unbothered expression— and remembering the invasive checklist she’s been running you both— you realize Rin might not actually be exaggerating. from the hand-holding to a mandatory two-minute hug, the agency's parameters are clearly moving toward a specific, forced endpoint. by the time the final week rolls around, an order like the one he just sarcastically snapped out might actually be on the table.
a weird, heavy feeling twists in your stomach. it’s a jarring mix of discomfort at the agency's absolute control over your lives, and a sudden, sharp hyper-awareness of Rin standing right across you. the thought of being forced into that level of intimacy under the agency's watchful eye makes your skin prickle.
the train of thought derails instantly though. sex with Rin?
before you can even stop yourself, the mental image flashes behind your eyes. it’s a sudden, intrusive jolt of memory—the heat of it, the absolute familiarity of his weight, the way his composure completely changes when it’s just the two of you behind closed doors. it has been so damn long since—
no. absolutely not.
you violently yank your thoughts back to reality, a sudden flush of heat hitting your face. stop. do not think about that right now.
you force your gaze strictly ahead, praying that neither Rin nor the counselor can read the sudden, panicked chaos behind your eyes.
the counselor doesn’t even blink. instead, a slow, entirely unbothered smile spreads across her face, infuriatingly amused by Rin’s attempt to shock her.
“ Well, ” she says, leaning back in her chair and crossing her legs, her tone casual. “ I’m not so sure about the making out on the couch. That feels a bit rushed for Tuesday. ”
she pauses, her eyes shifting deliberately between the two of you, tracking the rigid tension radiating off Rin and the sudden stillness in your posture.
“ But as for the sex part? ” she lets out a soft, knowing hum. “ I wouldn’t worry about the agency writing that into the parameters. Because I’m entirely confident that by the end of this mission, you two will be doing that completely willingly. ”
the drop of a hairpin would have sounded like a bomb in the silence that follows.
beside you, Rin doesn't move, but the atmosphere around him drops to near freezing. the absolute audacity of her reading right through his defensive armor and turning his own weaponized sarcasm against him has him locking down completely. his jaw tightens to a near-impossible degree, his eyes narrowing into razor-thin, lethal lines as he glares at her, the silence in the penthouse turning thick enough to choke on.
the crude finality of Rin's words echoes in the room, but instead of shocking you, it hits you like a sudden, suffocating wave of heat.
a sharp, dizzying rush of pure shame washes over you, and you immediately look down at the carpet, your arms wrapping tightly around your middle.
because the absolute worst, most horrifying part of this? the counselor is probably 100% right. and you had literally just thought about it.
you had just been standing there, feeling the intense radiant heat of his body next to yours, silently remembering what it felt like to actually be touched by him.
you feel utterly exposed, like a complete fool. here is Rin, treating the mere concept of making out or being intimate with you like an absurd, laughable joke to throw in a counselor's face— while you are secretly suffocating on the fact that your brain actually went there.
the shame burns hot in your cheeks, making you feel incredibly small. you bite the inside of your cheek and fiercely stare at a fixed point on the floor, terrified that if you lift your head even a millimeter, both of them will see the raw, panicked guilt written all over your face.
“ Perfect, ” she says, her voice smooth, calm, and utterly unbothered by the hostility in the room. She taps her pen against the desk with a sharp, definitive click. “ Since you're both so hyper-focused on 'operational efficiency' and handling 'distractions,' let's put it to the test. ”
“ Hug, ” she commands flatly. “ Right now. Stand up, look each other in the eye, and hug for full two minutes. ”
“ Actually, ” she adds, a small, entirely too-merciful smile playing on her lips as she checks her watch. “ Let's make it thirty seconds instead of the usual two minutes. Consider it a favor since I'm feeling nice today. ”
“ Thirty seconds. Close the distance, hold it, and let’s see just how much that 'operational efficiency' you both boast about actually holds up under physical contact. Clock starts when you touch. ”
the concession doesn't make the directive feel any lighter. if anything, her " kindness " just underscores exactly how much power she has over the situation, turning a clinical exercise into a ticking clock of pure, agonizing vulnerability.
Rin doesn't move a single inch. his posture remains locked in a rigid, unyielding line, his jaw clamped shut so tightly that the skin looks pale. he shifts his gaze down to you, his eyes dark and completely unreadable as he calculates his next move.
he isn't panicking; he is assessing the tactical reality of the counselor's trap. the command has been given, and refusing it outright would only give the agency more leverage to use against them. if he has to execute this directive, he is going to do it on his own terms— maintaining absolute control, locking down his personal feelings, and ensuring that not a single trace of his actual attachment slips through his ironclad guard.
whatever, you think to yourself, the burning humiliation finally pushing you past your breaking point. let’s just get this over with.
stepping forward, you close the remaining distance between you on the hotel rug and wrap your arms firmly around his neck.
your body fits against his perfectly. because of the staggering height difference, your face is tucked just under his chin, your forehead brushing the smooth fabric over his collarbone. you lock your hands together behind his neck, resting your weight against him, using him to anchor yourself as you stare blankly over his shoulder at the hotel room wall.
Rin doesn't hug you back.
he doesn't flinch, his breath doesn't hitch, and his composure doesn't crack by even a fraction of a millimeter. his arms remain loose and completely deadweight at his sides, refusing to lift an inch to return the embrace.
the counselor looks down at Rin’s arms, a dry, unimpressed expression settling on her face. she sighs, tapping her pen against her clipboard.
“ Rin, ” she points out flatly, her voice cutting through the quiet room. “ Why aren't you hugging her back? The directive was an embrace, not acting like a coat rack. ”
when he doesn't move a single millimeter, the counselor loses her patience. she steps forward, completely unfazed by his intimidating frame, and reaches out. she physically grabs his heavy, rigid forearms and drags them up, forcing his arms around your waist.
Rin’s jaw clamps shut so hard the muscle leaps in his cheek. he glares down at the counselor with absolute, murderous malice, looking ready to snap her wrist— but he doesn't pull away.
now that his hands have been physically forced against the small of your back, he has no choice but to hold you. his palms flatten against your fabric, his grip turning firm, stiff, and completely unyielding. it’s an incredibly tense, resentful hold— he is entirely furious at the counselor's manipulation, but the sheer, solid weight of his large hands pressing you flush against his chest is suddenly completely undeniable.
Rin’s eyes narrow into razor-thin, lethal lines as he glares down at the counselor, his hands still forced firmly against your lower back.
“ You're incredibly annoying. ” he drawls, his voice dropping into a low, cutting murmur that vibrates directly against your chest. he delivers the words with a flat, absolute certainty, treating her intrusive methods like a pathetic joke.
“ Does the agency actually pay you to play matchmaker, or do you just lack basic boundaries? ”
the counselor merely offers a sharp, clinical smile in response, entirely unfazed by his hostility.
the sharp, biting venom in Rin’s voice shouldn’t be comforting, but it gives you a familiar anchor to hold onto while your senses completely betray you.
because right now, you are too close. far too close.
with your face tucked right under his chin, your nose is practically brushed against the crook of his neck, and you can smell him. it’s the exact same scent that used to fill your bedroom, that used to cling to your sheets. it’s a mix of clean, expensive soap, crisp suit fabric, and that distinct warmth that belongs entirely to him.
a wave of vertigo hits you. you never, ever thought that after a whole year of breaking up with Rin, you would be forced to hug him like this.
the sheer absurdity of it makes your chest ache. one year of agonizing distance, one year of building up high, unyielding walls to forget the feeling of his skin— completely dismantled in a random hotel room because of an agency directive. and the thought that terrifies you the most is the heavy, suffocating realization of what comes next. if the counselor is already forcing this level of intimacy on day one, what happens when this mission evolves? if things get more dangerous, or more desperate... what else are you going to be forced to do with him?
you always thought you were a professional.
you’d convinced yourself that you could handle absolutely anything this agency threw at you for the sake of the mission— any undercover role, any dangerous asset, any absurd parameter.
but as Rin’s large, heavy hands keep you firmly pinned against his chest, the reality of his earlier sarcastic outburst crashes back into your mind, turning your blood to ice.
just not sex. anything else. you could handle the forced proximity, the awkward tension, even this agonizingly familiar hug in a pristine hotel room. but the absolute line in the sand— the one boundary you cannot, will not cross— is that.
the sheer thought of it makes your heart hammer frantically against your ribs, right against his. to be forced into that level of intimacy with him under the clinical, watching eye of the agency? to have the one year of painful distance you built up completely obliterated in the most vulnerable way possible? it would destroy you.
you grip the back of his neck a fraction tighter, your fingers straining against his skin as a silent, desperate panic takes hold. you are ready to endure whatever psychological games this counselor wants to play, but if this assignment actually evolves into what Rin mocked— if the agency dares to push those parameters— you will break.
“ Time’s up! ” the counselor chirps suddenly, clapping her hands together with a sharp, crisp snap that instantly breaks the heavy spell in the hotel room.
just like that, her clinical, interrogative coldness completely vanishes, instantly replaced by that bright, fiercely positive energy from earlier.
“ Oh, absolutely spectacular! ” she praises, her face lighting up with a radiant, beaming smile as she enthusiastically scribbles a flurry of notes onto her clipboard. “ See? I knew you two had it in you! Truly excellent cooperation. ”
she looks up from her board, practically radiating proud, maternal approval, completely ignoring the absolute storm of tension still vibrating between the two of you.
the abrupt shift is dizzying. her cheery voice bounces off the hotel walls, treating the agonizing, suffocating thirty seconds you just survived like nothing more than a highly successful gold-star exercise on a corporate checklist.
“ So, ” the counselor asks, leaning forward with an expectant, bright smile as she taps her pen against her clipboard. “ How did that feel for both of you? Any notable breakthrough in the operational comfort level? ”
neither of you answers.
you don't say a single word, but the look on both of your faces says absolutely everything.
you are standing there with your jaw tight, your cheeks still burning with a raw, fierce flush of humiliation as you stare rigidly at the carpet, refusing to look at either of them.
next to you, Rin looks like he is about to dismantle the entire hotel room. his face has settled into a dangerous, icy mask of absolute disgust, his dark eyes narrowed into thin, lethal slits as he glares at the counselor. his hands are buried deep in his suit pockets now, his shoulders tense and rigid enough to snap.
the silence between you is deafening, heavy with a year's worth of unresolved baggage and the lingering, suffocating ghost of his scent. it is a look of pure, unadulterated misery and profound resentment— proving without a single spoken word that the last thirty seconds didn't fix a damn thing.
the counselor doesn't even mind the toxic silence. she just smiles, completely satisfied with her day’s work, and slides her clipboard into her bag.
“ ...Well, both of you did exceptionally well today, ” she says, her tone light and breezy as she walks toward the exit of the hotel suite. “ That’s all for our initial assessment. I'll see you tomorrow! ”
“ Yeah. Bye, ” you say speedingly.
you don't even wait for her to step fully into the hallway before you are practically shoving the heavy wooden door shut behind her. you slam it into the frame with a loud, definitive thud, instantly turning the lock with a sharp click.
you lean your back against the solid wood, letting out a long, shaky breath you feel like you’ve been holding for the last thirty minutes. finally, she's gone.
but as the echoes of the slammed door fade, the absolute silence of the hotel room rushes back in— and you suddenly remember that you are now completely alone with Rin.
Rin doesn’t give you— or the ghost of the counselor— the satisfaction of a dramatic outburst.
he stands in the center of the hotel room for a beat, his hands still driven deep into his pockets. slowly, the murderous glare fades from his face, replaced by his usual unreadable, icy mask. he treats the entire agonizing ordeal like a minor, irritating glitch in his day.
“ Stupid waste of time. ” he mutters, his voice flat and cuttingly cold.
without looking at you, he steps past you, his shoulder barely brushing yours as he grabs his dark suit jacket from the back of the chair. he doesn't say another word as he strides toward the heavy glass doors of the hotel balcony, sliding them open just enough to slip through before shutting them behind him with a quiet, decisive click.
through the glass, you can see his tall silhouette against the city lights. he simply stands at the railing, bracing hands against the cold metal and staring out at the skyline. his shoulders are rigid, his chest rising and falling in a slow, forced rhythm as he uses the crisp night air to fiercely lock down whatever irritation— or lingering awareness— that hug just stirred up.
and just like that, you are left completely alone in the sudden, deafening quiet of the suite.
—
the hours bleed away in a heavy, fragile silence.
Rin stays out on the balcony for a long time, nothing but a dark silhouette framed against the sprawling grid of the city lights. when he finally slides the glass door open and steps back inside, he doesn't look at you. he doesn't say goodnight. he simply moves with that quiet, lethal efficiency of his, tossing his jacket over a chair before retreating to his side of the suite, shutting the door with a soft, final click.
the separation should make you feel safer, but it doesn't.
as you finally lie down on the bed, the hotel sheets feel entirely too crisp, too cold. you stare up at the shadows dancing across the ceiling, the absolute quiet of the room offering no comfort. every time you close your eyes, your mind traitorously loops back to those thirty seconds— the solid, radiating heat of his chest, the heavy, forced weight of his hands against your back, and that lingering scent of clean soap that you can still faintly detect on your own skin.
but as the clock ticks steadily toward the morning, a deep, unsettling dread sinks into your stomach.
the night is ending, the shadows are beginning to gray at the edges of the heavy curtains, and tomorrow is already here. and with it, the counselor will return to push the boundaries even further.
this is a work of fiction. any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or real events is purely coincidental and not intended. all characters depicted are not owned by me and belong to their respective creators. this work is purely fictional and for illustrative purposes only.
well if it isn't obvious, I am unfortunately tired of editing... I finished writing this on june 7 and tomorrow is my first day in school. freedom no more 💔 gonna be depressed for a whole year ig... I'll try my best to upload new works at least once a month!
hehehe I know I said that dessert series update on this will be early, but I cant help it ! I really love this :3 ( be grateful. I'm losing interest in everything )
I love Rin if it isn't obvious, and hate won't be tolerated in my blog ❤️
next chapter will be fluff! just a small hint of angst... clue: party with many people 👀
SYNOPSIS: locked behind the closed doors of a sterile suite and a private dinner night, a single inadvertent gesture ignites a catastrophic public frenzy. caught between the clinical, freezing distance of an unwanted arrangement and the hyper-fixated side of the media, the fragile boundary between performance and reality completely fractures.
CONTAINS: angst, not the usual romance. still romance though. slowburn. life of luxury and fame, public figures and exposure, past relationship with Rin, slight family pressure. ridicilous amount of foreshadowing and coincedences, psychological thrill, tension, toxic relationship dynamics, unstable mental health / mental illness, overthinking, anxiety / panic attacks, use of drugs ( pills / medicines ), argumentation, trauma response / hyperarousal, fear ( list will change as more verses will be released. this story evolves per verse )
BLUE LOCK: Aged up! Famous Athlete Rin Itoshi x Famous Model & Actress Reader
Word Count: 10,383 words and 60,778 characters
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Verse l. Verse ll. Haine Verse. lll Verse. lV
the heavy door swings inward with a slow, deliberate click, and Rin steps across the threshold, bringing a sudden wave of the hallway's crisp, sterile air with him. he moves with his usual precision, completely untouched by the digital firestorm currently tearing through the outside world.
he is rolled back into his own routine, his focus entirely internal as he lets the door close softly behind him. he doesn't look at you immediately, his fingers casually adjusting the cuff of his sleeve before he reaches up to brush a few stray strands of dark hair away from his forehead. there isn't a single trace of urgency in his posture, no frantic checking of his own phone, no tense line in his shoulders to suggest he has any idea his carefully guarded privacy was just violently dismantled while he was out of the room. he is completely, blissfully oblivious to the absolute chaos vibrating in the palm of your hand, a quiet figure of absolute calm stepping directly into the center of a roaring public execution.
he shifts his weight slightly, his footsteps entirely silent against the thick carpet as he detours past the foot of the bed, his trajectory set toward the far corner of the room. he is only here because of a brief oversight, navigating the space with the single-minded focus of someone merely retrieving an item he inadvertently left behind before his day truly begins. his dark eyes scan the surface of the dresser, zeroing in on the small, forgotten object resting on the dark wood— his smart watch.
he reaches out, his long, pale fingers closing around it with a calm, practiced familiarity that makes your stomach do a violent flip. every single one of his movements is agonizingly slow and measured, agonizingly normal, drawing a sharp, painful contrast against the frantic, breathless panic paralyzing your entire body. he slips the item into his pocket, completely unaware that this mundane little errand has just walked him directly into the line of fire, his quiet, domestic presence completely detached from the hyper-viral nightmare waiting to explode on the screen in your trembling hands.
your gaze locks onto him, your eyes wide with a fragile mix of confusion and pure, startled disbelief. of all the moments for him to materialize, of all the hours in the day he could have chosen to step back through that door, it had to be right now— at the exact, devastating second your life is actively burning to the ground on a five-inch screen. it feels like a cruel, twisted joke orchestrated by the universe, a sudden collision of your public nightmare and your private reality that leaves you completely paralyzed beneath the covers.
you stare at his back, your heart hammering a frantic, erratic rhythm against your ribs as you try to reconcile the absolute, oblivious calm of his posture with the roaring digital avalanche currently vibrating against your palm. the sheer timing of it leaves your mind spinning in circles, a breathless, internal panic screaming in your head because you aren't ready, you don't have a script, and you have absolutely no way to shield him from the fallout of a mistake he doesn't even know has been made yet.
he turns on his heel, his task completed as he begins to track back toward the door, clearly intending to slip out as quietly and efficiently as he had arrived. but before his hand can even reach for the handle, the heavy silence of the suite is violently shattered. your manager’s voice erupts from the receiver, a sharp, frantic volley of words that cuts through the air so loudly it doesn't even need the assistance of a speakerphone to fill the entire room. the raw panic bleeding through the tiny speaker is unmistakable, a frantic, breathless barrage of instructions and damage control that instantly changes the entire atmosphere of the space.
Rin stops dead in his tracks. as someone who navigates the exact same suffocating waters of fame, he recognizes that specific, high-alert frequency instantly; he knows the precise cadence of a career-threatening PR disaster when he hears it. the casual indifference completely vanishes from his posture as he slowly turns his head back toward the bed. his eyes find yours, locking onto your terrified face with a sudden, razor-sharp intensity that makes the breath completely catch in your throat.
“ Are you even listening to me?! ” your manager’s voice blasts through the line again, the sheer volume causing the sound to cut sharply through the heavy air of the suite. “ Your phone has been busy for the last three minutes, and my office is already flooded with press inquiries from outlets we don't even talk to! You need to answer me right now— what is the plan here? What are your plans now that you and Rin have completely blown up the internet?! Do we issue a formal retraction, or are we spinning this into a confirmation? Give me something, because the media is having an absolute field day and your parents' publicists are already drafting a statement! ”
the line crackles with your manager's frantic breathing, the question hanging heavily in the silence of the room like a live wire.
Rin doesn't blink, his gaze remaining absolutely fixed on you as the words echo clearly off the walls. the casual indifference he had carried into the room just moments ago is entirely gone, replaced by a cold, sharp stillness. he knows exactly what he just heard; he recognizes his own name, and he understands the catastrophic weight of the word blown up in their world. he slowly lowers his hand from the door handle, his posture rigid as he stands his ground at the edge of the room. he looks down at you, his voice dropping into a low, flat rasp that completely cuts through the static of the phone, his tone devoid of panic but heavy with a dangerous, quiet irritation.
“ What did they just say? ” he asks, his eyes boring into yours, demanding an immediate answer.
“ Um... well... ”
the words stumble over each other, completely empty and useless as they dry up in your throat. you can barely squeeze them past the sudden knot in your chest, your voice shrinking under the immense weight of Rin’s unblinking, critical stare. your mind is a total blank, completely incapable of formulating a coherent lie or a comforting truth while he stands there like an executioner waiting for an explanation.
before you can even attempt to pull yourself together, the tiny speaker in your hand erupts again, the frantic breathing on the other end dropping into a harsh, furious gasp. your manager has caught the distinct, low vibration of Rin’s voice in the background, and the realization only sends their panic into absolute overdrive.
“ Is that him? Is Itoshi Rin, in the room with you right now?! ” your manager demands, their voice escalating into a sharp, angry bark that slices through the tense quiet of the suite. “ What actually did happen last night? Why are the two of you together this morning? You were supposed to be laying low, not handing the paparazzi a front-page headline on a silver platter! Answer me! ”
the frantic, aggressive shouting becomes too much to contain in your palm, the noise vibrating violently against your skin. realizing you can no longer hide the reality of the situation, your thumb moves across the glass, tapping the screen until the audio abruptly expands. you place the call on speaker, the sudden, loud amplification of your manager's furious breathing filling the entire space, completely stripping away whatever privacy you had left.
“ A post from last night. Someone took a photo of us at dinner.. and I accidentally interacted with a comment. It went viral. The internet thinks it’s a relationship confirmation. ” you whisper, the truth finally forcing its way past your lips as you look up at him, your voice sounding incredibly small against the backdrop of the manager’s amplified breathing. you swallow hard, your fingers tightening around the edge of the phone.
for the first time since he stepped back into the suite, Rin’s face settles into a look of absolute, icy disgust. there is no loud outburst, no panic— just a heavy, suffocating silence as his dark eyes narrow into twin slits of pure contempt. he stays entirely still, looking down at the glowing screen in your hands as if staring at a piece of garbage that just ruined his morning routine.
he doesn't yell. instead, he just stares down at you, his dark eyes narrowing into twin slits of pure contempt.
“ Are you stupid? ” he rasps, his voice dropping into a dangerously quiet, icy tone that completely cuts off the manager's frantic shouting from the speaker. he takes one slow, deliberate step closer to the bed, looming over you with a gaze that feels like a physical threat. “ You couldn't watch where you put your thumb, so now my name is dragged into your circus. ”
he scoffs— a short, bitter sound— and turns his face away, his shoulders rigid with a raw, simmering irritation. he doesn't offer a solution, and he doesn't ask how you're going to fix it. he just stands there, radiating a suffocating, quiet fury that makes it very clear he considers you a massive liability.
right on cue, the sharp, demanding buzz of his own phone slices through the tension, vibrating violently against the fabric of his pocket. he pulls it out with a slow, deliberate movement, his eyes flicking down to the screen. the display flashes aggressively with a caller ID that is undoubtedly his own manager or a frantic PR representative trying to establish a containment zone before the story spirals completely out of control. Rin doesn't even hesitate. with a cold, dismissive flick of his thumb, he hits the silence button, killing the ringtone instantly but leaving the screen to pulse uselessly in his palm, completely ignoring the outside world as if he could simply freeze the crisis by refusing to acknowledge it.
his blatant, arrogant dismissal sets something off inside you, the suffocating guilt you felt just a second ago instantly hardening into a sharp, defensive anger of your own.
“ The comment was my fault, fine! ” you snap, your voice rising as you finally push yourself up against the pillows, refusing to let him just loom over you like an untouchable judge. you glare back at him, the frustration bubbling over as you point a trembling finger toward the glowing screen. “ But the comment wouldn't even matter if those photos didn't exist in the first place! I didn't ask the paparazzi to follow us, and I didn't force you to come to dinner! ”
a harsh, line of irritation digs deep between Rin’s eyebrows, his eyes darkening further as your defiance hits him. he lets out a low, breathy click of his tongue— a sound dripping with pure annoyance that tells you exactly how pathetic he finds your attempt to shift the blame. he opens his mouth, his lips parting to deliver a characteristically blunt, cutting rebuttal that would likely tear your argument to shreds.
but the words never get the chance to leave his throat.
the heavy silence of the room is violently obliterated as the manager’s voice erupts from the speaker again, louder and more abrasive than before, cutting right through the suffocating tension building between the two of you.
“ Oh, great, now you’re screaming at each other! Listen to me, both of you— now is absolutely not the time to be having a pathetic little couples' fight or some dramatic lovers' quarrel! ” the manager barks through the line, their tone an infuriated blend of exhaustion and panic that echoes sharply off the walls of the suite. “ Save the domestic fight for when our phones stop ringing! The entire industry is watching you right now, and I don't give a damn who started what last night. Shut up, put your history aside, and start thinking about damage control! ”
the completely uncalled-for accusation strikes a raw, agonizing nerve. the sheer audacity of the words lovers' quarrel hangs heavily in the air, instantly backfiring and sending a fresh wave of irritation rippling through both of you. you can feel your own blood boiling at the forced assumption, and when you glance back at Rin, his expression has completely frozen into a mask of pure, glacial disgust. being lumped back together into a neat, public narrative of a dysfunctional couple irritates him to his very core, and the collective frustration in the room reaches a dangerous, suffocating peak as you both stare at the blaring phone in mutual, bitter silence.
“ I'm calling Rin's manager right now to hash this out, ” your manager barks through the line, the sound of papers rustling frantically in the background. “ Actually, scratch that— luckily for both of you, you're under the exact same roof. I'm calling a mandatory meeting at the main office. 12:00 PM sharp. No excuses. ”
your manager doesn't even wait for a response, their voice carrying a final, no-nonsense authority that leaves absolutely no room for negotiation. “ That gives you a few hours to pull yourselves together and slip past whatever paparazzi are already gathering outside that hotel. Both of you need to be in that conference room by noon so we can figure out how the hell we're spinning this. Don't be late. ”
with a sharp click, the line goes completely dead, leaving the frantic, demanding tone echoing in the sudden silence of the suite.
the suffocating urge to argue simply drains out of Rin, replaced by a cold, practical indifference. his jaw relaxes slightly, his posture shifting from defensive hostility back into that familiar, unbothered wall of ice.
besides, the manager's irritated reprimand had accidentally struck a terribly accurate chord.
you aren't a couple. you haven't been for a long time, and the ruined remains of your past relationship aren't worth the energy of a screaming match in a hotel room. why waste the breath fighting over a narrative that shouldn't even exist? he glances down at you one last time, his dark eyes completely devoid of the fire from a moment ago, leaving only a hollow, clinical detachment as he mentally closes the door on the argument.
the second the heavy door clicks shut and his presence finally clears from the room, the fragile composure you were white-knuckling completely shatters. you fling the tangled sheets aside and scramble out of bed, your feet barely registering the cold floor as you rush blindly toward the privacy of the adjacent bathroom. you slam the door behind you, turning the lock with a frantic, trembling hand as if you could somehow shut out the entire world— and the crushing weight of Rin's contempt— with a single piece of brass.
leaning heavily against the marble sink, you grip the edges until your knuckles turn stark white, staring into the mirror at your own wide, panicked eyes.
the tears hit you instantly, hot and blurring your vision before you can even catch your breath. you press a trembling palm flat against your mouth, desperately choking back a sob because the last thing you want is for anyone— for him, if he’s somehow still lingering in the hallway— to hear you break down.
before you can even begin to wipe the hot tears from your face or steady your breathing, a firm, distinct knock echoes through the suite, rattling the heavy wooden door of the main room. your heart drops straight into your stomach. you freeze against the marble sink, your breath hitching in your throat as the sound cuts through the quiet bathroom.
“ Dear? Are you in there? ”
the voice is unmistakable— refined, measured, and instantly recognizable. it’s Rin’s mother.
the absolute nightmare of the morning twists into something even more suffocating. you scramble to turn on the faucet, splashing freezing water over your eyes in a desperate attempt to wash away and erase any physical proof of what happened to you. grabbing a towel, you press it roughly against your skin, forcing your expression into a fragile mask of composure before you finally unlock the bathroom door and cross the suite.
when you swing the main door open, she is standing there, looking as impeccably composed as always, though her eyes instantly scan your face with a sharp, discerning curiosity.
“ I saw Rin downstairs, and he looked incredibly tense, ” she begins, her tone a mix of genuine concern and a mother's natural instinct to pry into whatever storm is brewing. “ He wouldn't tell me a thing. What on earth happened between you two? Did something happen last night? ”
before you can even try to fabricate a polite, harmless lie to keep her from digging any deeper, she sighs softly and raises a hand to wave off your immediate answer. “ Well, whatever it is, you two will have to sort it out. I actually came up to let you know that your parents had to leave the hotel early this morning due to an urgent matter. Your mother told me to tell you to check your phone immediately—she sent you a message. ”
“ ...Thank you, ” you manage to say, your voice sounding tighter than you intend as you force a polite, strained smile onto your face. you grip the edge of the door slightly harder, praying she doesn't notice the faint tremor in your fingers or the lingering redness around your eyes. “ I'll look at the message right away. ”
she gives you a slow, perceptive nod, her eyes lingering on you for a fraction of a second longer as if trying to read the unspoken panic written across your features. but, true to her refined nature, she doesn't push any further. with a soft murmur of reassurance, she steps back into the hallway, leaving you free to close the door.
the moment the latch clicks into place, you let out a long, ragged breath you didn't realize you were holding. you lean your back against the heavy wood, staring down at the phone still clutched tightly in your palm, your thumb hovering over the screen as you brace yourself to open your mother's text.
the glowing glass screen of your phone burns into your eyes, the pixels reflecting sharply in the dim, heavy quiet of the bathroom. your thumb hovers, trembling slightly, as you read and reread the message, the stark formatting of your mother’s text cutting through the chaotic noise of the morning like a blade of ice.
We left the hotel to meet with the family trustees. Last night’s photos were a blessing in disguise. The public will call it a PR stunt, and you must play along with Rin. But remember who you are. In our world, a union is absolute. There is no turning back from noon today. Be smart, look beautiful.
the moment the final sentence registers, the air in the room shifts violently. it feels as though the oxygen has suddenly grown thick, heavy, and suffocating, pressing down onto your shoulders with an almost physical, crushing weight. your heart, which had been hammering erratically against your ribs just a second ago, drops into a slow, hollow, resounding thud.
a bizarre, deeply unsettling sensation washes over you from head to toe. it is a creeping, sudden wave of familiarity that you cannot explain— a haunting, primal instinct buried deep in your chest that whispers, with terrifying clarity, that you knew this was coming. it feels less like a sudden crisis and more like the inevitable snapping of a trapdoor you had been standing on your entire life. an ominous, dark milestone has finally arrived, and the sheer weight of it makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.
but then, the rational part of your brain desperately fights to take the wheel. you blink rapidly, forcing a ragged breath back into your lungs as you try to shake the eerie chill from your veins.
no. you are just spiraling. you press the cool palm of your hand firmly against your forehead, trying to ground yourself in reality. you rationalize the suffocating dread away, convincing yourself that this internal panic is nothing more than the raw, exhausting fallout of your emotions.
you are tired and you are emotionally battered from the explosive, venomous fight you just had with Rin. of course everything feels apocalyptic right now.
your mother is simply being her usual, hyper-dramatic, unyielding self. when she types words as severe as “ in our world, a union is absolute, ” she isn't invoking an ancient prophecy— she is just acting like the ruthless, elite matriarch she has always been. to her, this is a business emergency. she is telling you to stop treating your history with Rin like a petty, emotional grievance and start treating it with the absolute seriousness it demands. she is commanding you to grow up, lock your personal feelings in a box, look pristine, and cooperate with him at noon to salvage your public standing. she expects you to play your part for the cameras, fake the relationship to quiet the media storm, and protect the family name.
Fuck.
the single, silent word echoes violently in the hollow chambers of your mind, a sharp, profanity-laced puncture to the suffocating quiet of the room.
your grip tightens on the edges of your phone until your knuckles turn a stark, ghostly white, the cold metal digging into your palm as a deeply unsettling question begins to claw its way to the surface. what is this feeling? it isn't the standard, frantic panic of a public relations disaster, nor is it the familiar, heavy ache of the heartbreak you’ve been nursing. it is something entirely different. something completely weird.
suddenly, a bizarre, heightened sense of self-awareness slams into you, sharpening your senses until the world around you feels terrifyingly vivid. the slow, rhythmic ticking of the clock, the hum of the hotel's ventilation, the hyper-specific way the light reflects off the bathroom tiles—everything lands with an unnatural, heavy significance. your instincts are screaming at you, sending a primal, icy jolt of pure danger straight down your spine. every defensive nerve in your body is suddenly on high alert, firing off a desperate warning that you cannot ignore.
but then, the pendulum swings violently back to the other side.
the rational, defensive walls of your mind slam shut, desperately trying to construct a shield against the creeping dread. at the end of the day, what are you? you're just an overthinker. a textbook, chronic overthinker who specializes in building mountains out of molehills and turning a simple, stern corporate message into a psychological thriller. you force a harsh, jagged breath past your lips, mentally mocking your own intuition. of course your mind is playing cruel tricks on you; you haven't slept, you haven't eaten, and you just went ten rounds with the one person who knows exactly how to tear down your defenses. maybe there is no hidden trap. maybe there is no grand, terrifying conspiracy lurking beneath the surface. maybe you just need to walk over to your vanity, open your bag, and drink some pills to quiet the frantic, exhausting static screaming inside your head.
pushing yourself away from the cold marble sink, your eyes immediately lock onto your bag, tossed carelessly over the arm of a plush chair during the chaos of your arrival. it feels like a lifeline in the middle of a desert. you cross the room with frantic, uneven steps, your hands unzipping the compartments with a desperate, uncoordinated haste until your fingers finally brush against the familiar, crinkling foil of a blister pack. good thing you always keep a few pills in your bag.
you don't even bother looking for a glass of water; you just pop one of the tablets straight onto your tongue and swallow it dry, forcing the bitter, chalky lump down a throat that feels as tight and dry as sandpaper.
you stand there by the chair, chest heaving slightly as you wait for the medicine to work, counting the seconds in your head and praying for the chemical wave of calm to finally wash over the static in your brain.
but the moment you drink it, before the pill can even fully dissolve, the sudden silence inside your head doesn't bring peace— it brings an overwhelming, crushing emptiness. and in that hollow space, a sudden, violent ache hits you so hard it completely steals the breath right out of your lungs.
slowly, the frantic edge begins to bleed out of the room. after a few moments, the violent static in your head recedes into a dull, distant hum, and you finally return to normal. your heart, which had been hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird, slows its frantic pace, settling into a quiet, rhythmic thud that feels miles away from the previous panic.
you are now calm. the suffocating weight in your chest detaches itself, leaving behind a blank, hollow stillness that washes over you from head to toe.
but with that artificial peace comes the familiar, inevitable trade-off.
you lift your heavy arm, your thumb lazily lighting up the screen of your phone to check the time: 9:40 AM. a cold shock of disbelief ripples through you. time flies when you're not feeling it. the hours have slipped through your fingers like water while you were trapped inside your own head, leaving you with less than two and a half hours before you have to face the management. and right now, you have a strict, non-negotiable window to manage. after you take a pill, you need to sleep for at least one hour.
this is the exact, clinical side effect of the anti-depressant pills. without that one-hour blackout period, you are left stranded in a state of dangerous calm. its a flatline state of mind where fear is entirely deleted, meaning your inhibitions are gone, too. that is why you sleep for at least an hour for it to properly kick in— so that you don’t walk out into the world with a numb mind and make dangerous, reckless decisions you don't want, decisions that could ruin everything before noon even arrives.
fortunately, the medication is already dictating your next move. one side effect of it is feeling deeply, overwhelmingly sleepy, pulling at the corners of your consciousness and softening the rigid tension in your muscles. the heavy, dark fog of exhaustion rolls in quickly, wrapping around your mind so securely that you know you won't have a hard time sleeping. crawling into the massive, empty hotel bed, you let your eyes slip shut, letting the drowsiness pull you under for sixty mandatory minutes of silence.
—
the heavy oak doors of the hotel suite click shut, the sharp sound swallowed instantly by the vast, dead silence of the penthouse corridor.
Rin doesn't move from the top of the grand staircase, his posture perfectly rigid as he stands with his hands buried deep inside his pockets. he doesn't pace. he simply stands in the quiet, his dark eyes fixed on the empty space where his parents had just been standing, filtering their sudden departure through a lens of cold, detached irritation.
his mother and father are finally gone, heading back to the family estate to finalize what his mother smoothly labeled “ preliminary arrangements ” before the noon meeting. they have left him and you completely alone in the hotel.
as they walked toward the elevators, his mother had paused. she didn't offer a warm smile; she offered that pristine, calculated expression she used whenever she had successfully pinned a target to the wall. her eyes had flicked intentionally toward the closed bedroom door where you were hiding, her voice dropping into that smooth, aristocratic cadence that always carried an underlying threat.
“ Be good, Rin, ” she had murmured, the words light but perfectly heavy. “ Check in on her. ”
she had stepped away for a brief moment, her heels clicking a sharp, unhurried rhythm against the marble floor as she walked over to your door. she knocked— a precise, patronizing cadence— before turning on her heel to join his father at the elevator, leaving the unspoken reality hanging in the air.
left in the isolated suite, Rin lets out a sharp, quiet breath through his nose, his expression settling into a mask of pure, clinical disgust. he isn't worried about whatever pathetic emotional breakdown you might be having behind closed doors; he is thoroughly repulsed by the sheer idiocy of the situation. your clumsy, lukewarm mistake on social media has efficiently dragged his name back into a public circus, single-handedly disrupting his timeline and compromising the clean, calculated distance he had built after the breakup.
more than anything, it is the calculated behavior of his parents that sets his internal alarms off. they aren't scrambling to bury a catastrophic PR disaster. they are treating this viral nightmare like a long-awaited asset deployment on a battlefield— entirely too calm, entirely too precise.
his gaze shifts, locking onto the dark wood of your bedroom door with a heavy, suffocating intensity. the absolute silence coming from inside the room is total, a stark contrast to the venomous words you both were trading just an hour ago. to Rin, the sudden quiet isn't a sign of peace; it’s just proof of your incompetence, an assumption that you are inside frantically spiraling or trying to piece together a pathetic excuse before the noon deadline.
he steps toward the opposite wall, leaning his shoulder against the cold surface as he crosses his arms over his chest. he has absolutely no intention of following his mother's instructions to check on you. he doesn't care enough to reach for the brass handle, let alone waste his breath offering comfort to a liability who can't even manage a phone screen without causing a crisis.
he settles into a rigid, freezing silence, perfectly content to wait out the remaining hour by treating you like a nonexistent obstacle. he has no idea that on the other side of that wood, you aren't just hiding from the noise. he has no idea about your mother's text, the medication, or the fact that you have already blacked out into a deep, chemical sleep.
—
the heavy, narcotic fog of the anti-depressants slowly begins to recede, leaving behind a cold, completely empty clarity. you blink, your eyelids feeling like lead as you force them open, your gaze instantly darting to the digital clock.
11:00 AM. a sharp spike of adrenaline slices right through the lingering drowsiness. you slept for nearly an hour and a half. time didn't just fly; it completely vanished while you were blacked out under the sheets, leaving you with exactly sixty minutes before you have to walk into that corporate slaughterhouse at noon.
the dangerous calm your medication promised is fully active now— your heart isn't racing, your hands aren't shaking, but your mind is working with a detached, clinical speed.
you slip out of bed, your bare feet hitting the cold floor as you march straight back into the private bathroom. you can't walk into that meeting looking like a victim of last night’s fallout.
stepping up to the built-in closet in the corner of the bathroom, you pull open the sleek doors. fortunately, because your lifestyle demands constant readiness for paparazzi evasions, you always keep a few specialized cover-up outfits stored here for emergencies.
you pull out a heavy, oversized black trench coat and a structured, low-profile dark hoodie— pieces designed to completely swallow your silhouette and give the media absolutely nothing to photograph. you grab a pair of wide, pitch-black designer sunglasses from the shelf. catching your reflection in the mirror, you lean in close; the skin around your eyes is still slightly swollen, the whites a faint, telltale red from the raw crying spell before you took the pill. the sunglasses are non-negotiable.
finally, you pull a deep-brimmed bucket hat over your hair, tugging it down until the shadow completely obscures the upper half of your face.
standing in the harsh bathroom light, your disguise is complete. you are totally obscured, hidden behind layers of fabric and dark glass. you look like a ghost hiding in plain sight— untouchable, unrecognizable, and completely locked inside your own fortress.
you grab your phone, checking your mother's text one last time. the calm in your veins feels terrifyingly absolute as you grip the bathroom door handle, ready to step back out into the suite where Rin is waiting.
the heavy click of your bedroom door unlatching cuts through the dead quiet of the suite.
Rin doesn’t look up immediately, but his head shifts, his eyes tracking you the exact second you step into the living area. he stays leaned back against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze slowly traveling down your figure with a cold, unhurried precision.
you are completely swallowed by the oversized black coat, the deep brim of the bucket hat throwing the top half of your face into shadow, while the pitch-black sunglasses completely hide your red, swollen eyes. you look like a phantom trying to erase itself from existence.
Rin doesn't ask about the disguise. he doesn't waste his breath making a snide comment about the sunglasses indoors, and he doesn't care enough to ask how you managed to stop your previous breakdown. his expression remains entirely flat, a clinical mask that filters your ridiculous appearance as a purely tactical choice to dodge the press. he merely observes the unnatural, rigid stillness of your frame, his sharp eyes calculating whether you're actually composed or just freezing under the pressure.
for a beat, the silence between you is heavy enough to suffocate, the lingering venom of your morning fight still hanging invisibly in the air. but under the influence of the pill, the dangerous calm in your veins keeps your posture rigid and your tongue silent. you don't flinch under his stare.
satisfied that you are at least functioning enough to move without making a scene, Rin pushes himself off the wall in one fluid, silent motion. he doesn't say a word to you. he doesn't offer a hand, and he doesn't wait for an explanation. he simply reaches into his pocket, his fingers wrapping around his car keys with a faint, metallic jingle, and walks straight past you toward the private executive elevator at the end of the hall.
he is controlling the environment. no private chauffeur, no company drivers to overhear the sharp, jagged edges of a broken relationship. just him, you, and the claustrophobic confines of his car.
the elevator doors slide open with a soft chime. Rin steps inside, turning around to face the front, his eyes locked straight ahead as he waits for you to step into the cage with him. the clock on your phone softly shifts to 11:15 AM.
forty-five minutes left until the trap springs.
—
the private elevator doors slide open with a heavy, muted chime, welcoming you both into the sleek, clinical expanse of the corporate headquarters. the atmosphere here is thick with a different kind of tension— not the raw, emotional quiet of the hotel suite, but the frantic, high-stakes buzz of a multi-million-dollar damage control operation.
you walk into the main conference room side-by-side, a perfectly coordinated unit on the surface, though the space between you feels like a freezing void.
the room is dominated by a massive, polished mahogany table that stretches from one end of the glass-walled boardroom to the other. seated along its length is a formidable line of executives, legal analysts, and PR strategists representing both sides of the aisle. Rin's entire personal management team and PR core are already entrenched, their faces illuminated by the stark, white glow of open laptops and printed dossiers detailing last night's media fallout.
as you take your seat, your manager's eyes immediately lock onto your face, a sharp frown creasing their forehead. they lean forward, gesturing vaguely at your obscured features. “ Why are you still wearing sunglasses inside? We're behind closed doors. Take them off so we can actually look at you while we go over the timeline. ”
the demand hangs in the air, but under the absolute, icy control of the medication, you don't blink. your voice is flat, devoid of any room for argument as you firmly insist on keeping them on, offering no explanation and letting the dark lenses remain a solid wall between your raw, red eyes and their prying eyes. your manager lets out a brief, frustrated breath but ultimately drops it, sliding a thick folder across the mahogany surface toward you.
the documents hit the wood with a dull thud, and the room falls into a suffocating, professional silence as every eye at the long table turns to look at you and Rin, waiting for the official briefing to begin.
breaking the heavy silence that had settled over the long mahogany table, Rin’s head manager suddenly leans forward, his arms resting flat against the polished wood as his eyes track the two of you with a sharp, appreciative glint. the stern, panicked tension that usually defines a high-stakes crisis meeting completely vanishes from his expression, replaced instead by a cold, calculating satisfaction.
he lets out a low, approving hum, nodding slowly as his gaze shifts from Rin’s rigid, unreadable posture back to your obscured, pristine composure.
“ I have to hand it to you, ” Rin's manager says, his voice carrying a smooth, professional praise that echoes clearly across the quiet boardroom. “ Even behind the glasses, the two of you look entirely together. The framing is perfect. Seeing you side-by-side in this room, it makes complete sense why the media is fueling the fire so aggressively. The narrative writes itself. ”
the compliment lands with a heavy, clinical weight, treated not as a validation of a relationship, but as a highly successful evaluation of a premium corporate product. along the table, several of Rin's PR strategists nod in silent agreement, their pens hovering over their legal pads as they stare at the visual dynamic between you two, already calculating how to monetize the very scandal that had originally threatened to tear your careers apart.
the head of the public relations team taps a manicured finger against her tablet, and the official briefing finally starts now. the atmosphere in the room instantly hardens, shifting from speculative praise into a cold, rapid-fire interrogation as the lead strategist leans over the mahogany table, her eyes locking onto the two of you with unyielding intensity.
the very first question is delivered without a single shred of hesitation: “ What are you two doing together, after breaking up last year? If we are going to spin this to the press, we need the baseline truth of why you were caught in the same vicinity before we draft the official statement. ”
the question hangs heavily in the air, a blunt reminder of the fractured past you have spent months trying to bury. under the steady, numbing influence of your medication, you calmly part your lips, fully prepared to deliver a detached, rehearsed response to deflect the inquiry. but before you can even utter a single syllable, the air next to you shifts.
Rin cuts in, answering instead.
“ Our families hosted a private dinner last night. ” Rin says, his voice flat and cutting through the room like a sheet of dry ice.
the answer is short, cold, and entirely devoid of emotion. he doesn't look at you, and he doesn't look at his manager. his dark eyes remain fixed forward, his posture perfectly still as he delivers the line with precision that leaves absolutely no room for further questioning. he lays out the excuse that because the two families are closely intertwined, it was simply an obligation— a standard, high-society dinner night that the media blew entirely out of proportion. it is a completely sterile, professional story, reducing the entire chaotic fallout into a simple, bloodless matter of family courtesy.
the lead strategist tilts her head, her pen hovering over her legal pad as she zeroes in on Rin’s rigid posture, completely unsatisfied with the brief explanation. “ A family dinner explains the setting, Itoshi Rin, but it doesn't explain the specific proximity in those photos. The press is hyper-focusing on the intimacy of the shots. We need you to elaborate on the timeline of the evening. ”
the demand hangs heavily over the mahogany table, the PR team waiting for him to flesh out the lie. Rin’s jaw tightens, a cold silence settling over him as he prepares to deliver another flat, cutting response to shut the inquiry down completely.
but you don't give him the chance. you lean forward slightly, answering this time.
“ The dinner concluded late, and given the volume of press already gathering outside the estate, it was deemed practical to leave together to avoid a scene. ” you say, your voice perfectly flat, smooth, and devoid of a single tremor behind your dark lenses.
the lead strategist narrows her eyes, tapping her pen aggressively against the mahogany table as she refuses to back down. the PR team isn't buying the neat, clinical cover stories, and the atmosphere in the boardroom grows visibly tighter.
“ That still doesn't answer our question, ” she says, her voice sharp and unyielding as she presses further more. “ You're giving us logistics, but the public is looking at the subtext. Why are the two of you, as ex-partners who supposedly cut ties last year, agreeing to attend an intimate family dinner night in the first place? Let alone leaving in the exact same car, and allowing that level of physical intimacy to be captured in the photos? If there is unresolved history or if you two are secretly reconciling, we need to know right now, because the media is tearing those images apart frame by frame. ”
the question hits like a blunt instrument, laying bare the raw, chaotic truth of your breakup that you’ve both been desperately trying to suppress. along the table, the executives lean in, their eyes darting between your unreadable sunglasses and Rin’s rigid, frozen profile, demanding a real answer for the undeniable friction captured by the cameras.
Rin’s jaw tightens, his fingers locking against the polished edge of the table as a sharp spike of irritation breaks through his frozen composure. he doesn't look at the strategist, his dark eyes shifting slightly as he delivers a short, cutting response, his voice dripping with a cold, visible annoyance that causes the room to instantly quiet down.
“ We don't dictate our families' social calendars, ” he says, the words clipped and flat. “ And we don't control the angle of a telephoto lens. ”
he stops there, completely omitting the strategist's question about a reconciliation. it isn't that he lacks an answer— it's that he simply refuses to validate the intrusive inquiry with a response, leaving a heavy, defiant void in the room.
recognizing the escalating friction, you immediately step in to smooth over the rough edges before the PR team pushes harder. under the flat, untouchable influence of your medication, your voice remains completely level as you elaborate further, likewise bypassing the reconciliation question entirely to focus purely on the logistics.
“ What Rin means is that our families are ridiculously close with each other— to a degree that standard boundaries simply do not apply, ” you explain, your tone smooth and clinical behind your dark lenses. “ The dinner was an absolute family mandate, not a personal choice. As for sharing the car and the perceived proximity in the photos, we were only forced to do those things to maintain public appearances for our parents. We were playing our parts under duress. It was a performance engineered by our families, and nothing more. ”
the lead strategist finally leans back in her leather chair, letting out a long, slow sigh of relief as she taps the top of her pen against her tablet. for the first time since the briefing started, the sharp, defensive tension in her shoulders visibly loosens.
“ Finally, ” she murmurs, nodding slowly as she looks across the table at you. “ That's the first thing you two have said all noon that actually makes strategic sense. A family mandate we can sell. We can work with 'filial obligation' and overbearing parents. It perfectly defuses the scandal. ”
she pauses, her eyes scanning the two of you as she flips a page in her digital dossier. the room grows quiet again, the remaining PR analysts holding their breath as she brings the focus back to the one glaring omission from your previous statements.
“ Well, ” she asks, her voice dropping into a professional, unyielding cadence as she zeroes in on the lingering elephant in the room. “ What about the reconciling? Are you two getting back together, or is this purely a media facade? ”
the question hangs heavily over the long mahogany table, thick and suffocating.
none of you answer.
a sudden, heavy weight anchors itself in the back of your throat. under the numbing layer of the medication, you actually want to answer— to just say a flat, definitive no and kill the speculation right here— but you somehow can't. the word sits like a block of lead behind your teeth, completely unreachable, as if your mind refuses to let you voice a lie that definitive, or a truth that complicated.
the silence in the room stretches into seconds, becoming louder and more damning with every tick of the clock.
seeking some kind of cue, you shift your head slightly beneath the brim of your hat, looking at Rin through the dark tint of your sunglasses. his profile is completely frozen. his arms are still crossed over his chest, his gaze locked straight ahead on the glass wall behind the strategist. there isn't a single twitch in his jaw, no shift in his posture, and absolutely no indication that he plans on answering. he has completely closed himself off, treating the intrusive question with a cold, defiant vacancy that functions as a total shutdown to their interrogation.
the strategist lets out a small, knowing laugh, the sound cutting through the thick, suffocating silence of the boardroom. she shakes her head slightly, a cynical, highly professional smile playing at the corners of her lips as she taps her pen against the digital tablet.
“ Still not sure, I see? ” she murmurs, her tone dripping with the casual amusement of someone who deals in curated human drama for a living.
to her, your mutual paralysis isn't a sign of emotional wreckage— it’s a goldmine. she reads the heavy, unbreakable silence between you and Rin as the perfect, ambiguous tension of two people who are still tangled up in each other, completely blind to the fact that you are both simply frozen behind your own walls. along the table, the rest of the PR team exchanges quiet, satisfied glances, their fingers instantly flying across their keyboards to rewrite the midday press release.
Rin’s manager immediately leans forward, his hands slamming flat onto the polished mahogany table as a sharp, ambitious grin spreads across his face.
“ Then it's settled, ” he suggests, his voice cutting through the room with a sudden, aggressive energy. “ We lean into the ambiguity. You two fake date— publicly commit to a relationship for a while to ride out this wave. It completely controls the narrative, protects the stocks, and satisfies both of your families. ” he pauses, letting out a casual, dismissing shrug as if he were discussing a minor contract clause. “ And who knows? You'll develop feelings again eventually anyway. It’s a win-win. ”
the words hit the room like a physical blow. while the sheer audacity of the proposal leaves you trapped in a frozen, breathless silence, the reaction from the seat next to you is instantaneous and hostile.
Rin’s chair scrapes sharply against the floor as he abruptly leans forward, a dark, dangerous edge cutting into his features. a volatile wave of irritation shatters his stillness, his lips parting as he moves to shoot the pathetic proposal down entirely.
but he gets interrupted by the lead strategist before the savage refusal can even leave his mouth.
“ Wait. ” she cuts in, raising a hand to stall him as she stares intently at her tablet, her eyes flashing with sudden inspiration. “ Actually... I just thought of that, and it isn't a bad idea at all. ”
“ Think about the metrics, ” she says, her eyes flashing as she leans over the table, thoroughly convinced it's a good idea. “ A high-profile reconciliation narrative is exactly what the public is starving for right now. If we announce that you're officially back together, the sentiment shift on social media will be instantaneous. It completely flips the script from a messy scandal to a grand romantic reunion. ”
she gestures broadly with her pen, charting out the trajectory in the air. “ The positive effects on this are endless. Your individual engagement rates will skyrocket, and the collective buzz will push both of your fame and careers to an entirely new tier. Brands will be tripping over themselves to sign you as a package deal. We're talking massive endorsements, exclusive joint features, and ultimately, significantly more high-profile projects for the both of you. ”
a suffocating, dark pressure radiates from Rin, his fingers digging into the edge of the mahogany table as he shoots a freezing glare directly at the strategist.
“ I don't care. Find another strategy. ” Rin says, his voice flat, short, and cuttingly blunt.
“ It'll be awkward anyway, ” you say, your voice cutting through the tension with a flat, clinical honesty that matches the numbing weight of the medication.
you lean back slightly, your dark lenses fixed directly on the strategist. “ Forcing us to act like a couple after a year of trying to forget each other is completely counterproductive. On camera, off camera— we'll act awkward with each other. The public isn't stupid; they'll spot the forced chemistry immediately, and then we're dealing with a fraud scandal on top of everything else. ”
the lead strategist doesn't flinch at Rin’s sharp refusal, nor does she look deterred by your clinical breakdown of how disastrous the forced chemistry would be. instead, a slow, entirely unsurprised smile creeps onto her face. she paces a finger along the smooth edge of her tablet, looking between Rin’s dark, freezing glare and your completely unreadable sunglasses with the smug satisfaction of a chess player who had already mapped out this exact trajectory ten moves ago.
“ I knew you would disagree, ” the strategist says, her tone smooth, entirely unfazed by the hostile energy vibrating from his side of the table. “ And I knew you would say exactly that. Honestly, I’d be worried if you didn't raise those concerns. Forced chemistry is a PR nightmare, and the last thing we need is the public catching onto a stiff, awkward performance. ”
she leans forward, resting both elbows on the polished mahogany surface of the long table, her eyes glinting with a calculated intensity as she unveils the next phase of her contingency plan.
“ Which is why we aren't just going to throw the two of you to the wolves and hope for the best, ” she proposes, her voice carrying a tone of absolute authority that commands the entire room. “ To bridge that gap and eliminate the awkwardness, the agency is going to hire a high-level celebrity relationship counselor— someone strictly bound by a ironclad non-disclosure agreement. Their sole job will be to work with the two of you behind closed doors, iron out the lingering friction, and systematically make you get used to acting like a couple again. ”
she taps her pen against the table for emphasis, mapping out the clinical strategy behind the bizarre suggestion. “ They will coach you on micro-expressions, physical proximity comfort, and how to mirror each other's body language naturally in high-stress environments. By the time they are done with you, the lingering tension from your breakup won't look like awkwardness— it’ll look like intense, magnetic history. If you two can't find the rhythm on your own after a year apart, we will pay an expert to build it for you. ”
both you and Rin immediately move to voice your disagreement, your voices almost overlapping as you attempt to shut the absurd proposal down completely. Rin’s posture turns razor-sharp, his shoulders hardening with an aggressive, suffocating tension as he prepares to deliver another biting refusal, while you shift forward to dissect the sheer logistical nightmare of letting a stranger into the wreckage of your past relationship.
but this strategist is incredibly smart.
before either of you can even fully articulate a protest, she effortlessly cuts off your momentum with a raised hand and a flawless counter-argument. she has already anticipated every single objection, safety net, and loophole you could possibly throw at her. with cold, brilliant efficiency, she smoothly weaponizes your own logic, your family obligations, and the ironclad terms of your contracts against you, shutting down every escape route until your mutual resistance is completely suffocated by her flawless strategy.
your manager suddenly clears a throat, shifting in a leather chair as they re-enter the conversation, their eyes darting between the sharp-witted strategist and the tense, silent standoff happening on your side of the table. they smooth down the sharp fabric of their blazer, an analytical, deeply protective focus taking over their features as they recognize a golden opportunity to bridge the gap between the agency’s aggressive corporate goals and your deep, volatile reluctance to dive headfirst into a public facade.
“ Let’s look at this logistically from a rollout perspective, ” your manager speaks, leaning forward with an elegant, deliberate posture to rest their forearms on the mahogany table as they address the room. “ The strategist is right about the counseling, but a sudden, massive public announcement right now would look too manufactured. It would trigger immediate skepticism. Instead, I suggest we hold off entirely on releasing an official statement first. No press releases, no formal confirmations, no sudden 'we’re back together' captions. We let the media speculate and spin their wheels in the mud for a little while longer while we buy ourselves some time. ”
they turn their gaze directly toward you, giving you a steady, sharp look that implicitly communicates they are trying to protect you from the worst of this mess, before cutting their eyes over to Rin. their expression remains thoroughly business-minded, yet layered with a quiet, sharp perceptiveness as they map out the tactical timeline.
“ Instead of rushing to the microphones, we use the first few weeks behind closed doors to focus entirely and exclusively on improving both of your relationships, ” your manager explains, their voice dropping into a collaborative, highly strategic cadence. “ We let the counselor do their job in total secrecy. The primary goal during this initial phase isn't public consumption; it’s stripping away the friction so you two can actually stand in the same room without radiating absolute hostility. We need to build a baseline of comfort first. ”
your manager then turns back to the lead strategist, a calculated, knowing smile playing on their lips as they unveil the second half of their rollout plan. “ Then, once the foundation is solid and the awkwardness is handled, we start dropping subtle, organic breadcrumbs. We begin by giving a few carefully staged hints of both of you appearing together in the wild. A blurry background appearance on a friend's social media story. A casual, seemingly accidental spotting at a coffee shop near the agency. We let the fans and the paparazzi do the heavy lifting of connecting the dots themselves. By the time we actually step out as an official couple, the public will feel like they discovered it on their own, making the narrative entirely bulletproof. ”
“ Brilliant! ” the strategist says, a sharp, victorious smile locking into place as she snaps her digital folder shut with a definitive click. “ Then it's settled. No immediate statement. We secure the counselor, clear your schedules for the private sessions, and prepare the soft-launch rollout. ”
with those final words, the oppressive boardroom meeting officially draws to a close, the PR team immediately dispersing into a flurry of quiet chatter and frantic typing as the heavy tension in the air begins to scatter.
as the conversation ends and everyone stands up to leave, your manager steps into your line of sight, blocking the exit with a quiet, purposeful authority. they look between you, Rin, and Rin's manager, their expression serious and completely unreadable.
“ I'd like to talk to the three of you in private, ” your manager says, their voice low enough to stay beneath the noise of the clearing room. “ Away from the agency. Let's move this down the street. ”
without waiting for an objection, they lead the way out of the corporate headquarters. the four of you exit the building in a tense, tight formation, navigating the busy sidewalk until you slip into a quiet cafe tucked around the corner, the bell above the door chiming softly as you step inside to find a secluded table in the back.
the moment you sit down, you immediately lean across the small wooden table and complain to your manager. your tone isn't whiny or annoying; instead, it carries the easy, exasperated familiarity of someone venting to a close friend.
“ Seriously? ” you sigh, shaking your head as you slide your dark sunglasses down the bridge of your nose just enough to look them in the eye. “ You only made it worse. ”
your manager lets out a soft, tired chuckle, shaking their head as they lean back against the vinyl booth. there's no corporate shield up right now— just the genuine, weary honesty of someone who has been fighting in your corner all morning.
“ That was the best I could do, and you know it. If I hadn't stepped in with that rollout plan, that strategist would have had a press release pushed to every major outlet by noon, forcing you two to play the doting, ecstatic couple on a morning talk show tomorrow. ”
they lean forward slightly, their voice dropping to a quiet, conspiratorial murmur. “ I bought you time. Instead of throwing you straight into a public circus, I managed to lock you both behind closed doors where the public can't touch you. Trust me, in that boardroom? That was a win. ”
Rin’s manager immediately adds to the sentiment, leaning over the table with an enthusiastic nod as a broad, overly optimistic smile breaks across his face.
“ Exactly! Your manager handled that beautifully, ” he says, gesturing between the two of you as if he's already looking at a finished masterpiece. “ And let's be honest, it’ll only be a matter of time before you two get comfortable with each other again anyway. You have too much history for it not to click. A few weeks behind closed doors with a professional, and the spark will be right back. Before you know it, you'll be falling in love all over again. ”
Rin immediately disagrees, slamming his coffee cup down with a sharp clink.
“ Stop dreaming. ” he cuts in, his voice flat and freezing. “ This is a contract obligation, not a second chance. ”
you immediately lean your chin on your hand, a faint, teasing smirk playing on your lips as you decide to flirt with him right then and there.
“ Oh, come on, ” you say softly, your eyes locking onto his from over the rim of your cup. “ You'd be lying if you said you didn't miss me even just a little bit. ~ ”
Rin doesn't look away. instead, his gaze shifts slowly back to you, his dark eyes dead, hollow, and freezing. he leans slightly over the table, his presence entirely suffocating.
“ Stop acting, ” Rin rasps, his voice a low, venomous blade. “ Your delusional performance is making me sick. The only thing I miss is the space I had before your incompetence dragged me back into this circus. ”
you let out a small, quiet laugh, utterly unfazed by his hostility as you take a slow sip of your drink while moving your gaze to your manager.
Rin's manager beams, pointing a finger between the two of you with a triumphant grin. “ See? Look at that! It's working already without a counselor. ”
“ When exactly does this counselor thing even start? ”
“ At 3:00 PM today, ” your manager replies smoothly, checking their watch before looking back up at you with a serious expression. “ And you're going to be staying in a hotel for weeks, or months. ”
you instantly freeze, a mouthful of your drink going down the wrong pipe as you almost completely choke on it, coughing sharply into your napkin.
Rin finally looks up from his cup, his dark eyes cutting over to your panicked, coughing figure with a look of pure, unbothered contempt.
“ Idiot. ” he murmurs, his voice flat and freezing as he sets his cup down.
the afternoon quickly slips away after that, the heavy weight of the 3:00 PM deadline looming over the table until the managers finally call it, standing up to handle the final corporate arrangements. the lingering tension in the cafe slowly dissolves into a quiet, resigned reality as you and Rin are led out to separate cars, the reality of the upcoming weeks at the hotel finally setting in.
this is a work of fiction. any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or real events is purely coincidental and not intended. all characters depicted are not owned by me and belong to their respective creators. this work is purely fictional and for illustrative purposes only.
OKAY I know I stated I'll be updating my dessert series on june but I got... carried away.
ain't my fault the plot is fire 🥹 and besides. I'm trying my best to finish this as soon as possible while I still have motivation and spark! ( I've lost the remaining sparks for my othet works. )
consider this an... early gift?
felt like this was bad idk but I've rewritten it. next verse will be fluff with a slight angst. like very slight. STAY TUNED 👀
I'm gonna be busy since june so expect no new fanfics since I'm graduating ): I'll try to post new ones every month! please bear with this dessert series update for a while :p
if you're new here; here's a short summary!
Amor, haine et gloire ( Famous Athlete Rin Itoshi x Famous Model & Actress Reader from Blue lock ) — both you and Rin's family are so close. Despite your past relationship with Rin, both your families still arranged a private dinner night, ending into a public frenzy.
Sacrilege ( Priest Chrollo Lucilfer x Prostitute Reader from Hunter x Hunter ) — deeply inspired by the series Hilda Furracao. your co-worker got so broken that she invites you for church. you hesitated at first, someone going to the church like you? but when you saw the priest, you know things aren't just going to end there.
Burning Avarice ( Alladin AU. Leorio Paradinight x Genie Reader from Hunter x Hunter ) — Leorio deeply suffers from poverty, stealing foods in a poor village, that is until he heard few criminals talking about... a magical lamp?
STILL NOT SURE ON THIS ONE, BUT GO CHECK IT OUT!
Living Palimpsest ( Kaneki Ken x Reader from Tokyo Ghoul ) — you move to a new city, a new place, to start new. but your ex... lives nextdoor? but he somehow does not recognize you.
SYNOPSIS: locked behind the closed doors of a sterile suite and a private dinner night, a single inadvertent gesture ignites a catastrophic public frenzy. caught between the clinical, freezing distance of an unwanted arrangement and the hyper-fixated side of the media, the fragile boundary between performance and reality completely fractures.
CONTAINS: angst, not the usual romance. still romance though. slowburn. life of luxury and fame, public figures, public exposure / media backlash / surveillance, invasive fan culture, anxiety / panic responses, past relationship with Rin, toxic relationship and dynamics, slight family pressure, psychological thrill, tension ( list will change as more verses will be released. this story evolves per verse )
BLUE LOCK: Aged up! Famous Athlete Rin Itoshi x Famous Model & Actress Reader
Word Count: 13,189 words and 74,663 characters
MENU
Verse l. Le Cocktail Neurologique Verse ll.
the hum of the limousine’s engine is a low, expensive vibration beneath the soles of your feet. inside the cabin, the air is perfectly chilled, smelling of leather and the faint, crisp scent of the city night filtering through the vents. you sit back against the plush seating, the silk of your cream-colored halter dress pooling around you like liquid moonlight. the pleated bodice catches the stray glimmers of passing streetlights, making the fabric shimmer with every slight movement.
you check the time on your gold watch, the deep blue stones embedded in the band catching the dim ambient light of the interior. they match the weight of the earrings pulling slightly at your lobes— a sharp, regal contrast to the ethereal white of your ensemble. on the seat beside you, your marble-patterned clutch sits like a polished stone, its gold ring handle gleaming.
you are exactly on schedule, though you know on time is already late by your father’s standards.
the restaurant is still several miles away, tucked into a quiet, prestigious corner of the district where the Michelin stars are earned through discretion as much as flavor. your phone buzzes once in your clutch— a brief, formal notification. your family has already arrived. you can almost picture them: your parents seated at the head of a long, white-clothed table, already engaged in the performative pleasantries of high-society small talk with Rin’s family.
they are waiting for you to complete the picture. you lean back, smoothing a stray hair, watching the streetlights dance across the polished surface of your marble clutch.
the soft glow of your phone screen illuminates the dark interior of the limousine as you slip it out from your marble clutch.
you tap the notification, and a photo blooms across the screen. it’s a shot taken from the head of the table at the restaurant— a perspective of polished silver, crystal glassware, and the warm, golden ambiance of the private dining room. your parents are already there, looking impeccable and poised, seated across from Rin’s family.
they look perfectly settled, their expressions a blend of practiced hospitality and quiet command. the empty chair at the center of the frame is glaringly obvious, a silent reminder that the two legacies are currently lopsided, waiting only for your arrival to begin the evening's formalities. you stare at the image for a moment, before locking the phone and sliding it back into your bag.
the silence of the limousine is broken only by the faint, rhythmic tap of your manicured nails against the glass of your phone. you unlock it again, the screen’s light catching the pearlescent sheen of your dress as you bypass your messages and open your social media apps.
the feed is a relentless flood of the past. edits and high-definition photos from exactly a year ago dominate the screen— remnants of a time when the headlines were obsessed with the two of you. you scroll past a candid shot of you and Rin at a gala, the composition blurred and romantic, followed by a professional red-carpet still where his hand was possessively at the small of your back.
the comment sections are a graveyard of speculation, fans still dissecting the chemistry in every frame and mourning the " power couple " that no longer exists. seeing his face— the familiar line of his jaw and that specific, guarded look in his eyes— feels jarringly intimate against the cold, formal reality of the dinner ahead.
you stare at a particular video edit, the music low and melancholic, flickering through clips of you two in much less guarded moments than the one you are about to walk into.
a huff of irritation escapes your lips, the sound muffled by the quiet luxury of the car. you had intended to scroll down and check the comments, perhaps to see if the rumors had finally died down— but the screen suddenly hitches. whether it’s a momentary lag in the signal or a slight trip of your fingers against the glass, the interface jumps.
instead of the comment section, the app forces a transition, loading the original poster’s full profile. the grid of photos flickers into view, a dedicated archive of your past relationship staring back at you in high definition.
you stare at the loading icon for a second too long, your thumb hovering over the screen. it’s a small, technical inconvenience, but in the high-pressure silence of the limousine, it feels grating.
you’ve always preferred things to be seamless and precise, and this digital stumble feels like a crack in your composure. you wait for the unresponsive screen to catch up with your commands.
you finally manage to navigate back, your thumb sweeping over the glass to reveal the comment section. the engagement is relentless; even months after the official silence, the media and the public are still clutching at the threads of what you and Rin used to be. the timestamps show that people are still arguing in real-time, refusing to let the ghost of the relationship rest.
me and bae fr
one top comment reads, a delusional attempt to project onto the curated perfection of the photo.
your eyes track to the thread beneath it, where a cynical reply has already garnered hundreds of likes:
are you genuinely dumb? they broke up ages ago 💀
the bluntness of the word broke up feels jarringly loud in the quiet of the limousine.
you scroll further, the blue stones of your watch shimmering as your hand shifts. another comment, posted only a few hours ago, sits near the top with a string of hopeful emojis:
they're just taking a break guys! trust 🙏🏻 "
a bitter sort of irony settles in your chest as you read it. the public is still holding out for a " break " to end, while you are currently dressed in thousands of dollars of silk and stone, heading toward a dinner where you’ll have to sit across from him as if those comments aren't the furthest thing from the truth.
a soft, unexpected huff of laughter breaks the silence of the cabin, the sound bright against the muted hum of the air conditioning. you look down at the screen, your eyes crinkling slightly as you reread the words:
“ THEY'RE STILL TOGETHER !!! ” I yell as they dragged me into the asylum...
the sheer, self-aware absurdity of the comment catches you off guard. in a sea of bitter arguments and desperate theories, the dramatic flair of the " asylum " joke is genuinely funny.
you find yourself smiling at the screen, the marble clutch resting forgotten against your thigh. for a split second, the tension in your shoulders dissipates. it really is a funny comment— the idea that it would take a literal padded cell to keep the dream of " You and Rin " alive.
you linger on the screen for a second more, the blue light of the phone reflecting in the teardrop sapphire of your earrings, before the limousine finally draws to a complete, seamless halt.
through the tinted glass, you see the warm, amber glow of the restaurant’s entrance, and your expression smooths back into a mask of polished, untouchable elegance.
—
the heavy door of the restaurant is held open by a silent attendant, and the transition from the cool, dark privacy of the limousine to the golden, hushed opulence of the dining room is seamless. your heels click with rhythmic precision against the polished floor as the maître d’ leads you toward a secluded alcove in the back— the kind of space reserved for people who buy privacy as easily as they buy wine.
as you round the corner, the scene is exactly as the photo promised. both families are already settled, the air thick with the scent of expensive lilies and aged oak. they are huddled over their leather-bound menus, the gold-leaf edges catching the candlelight as they discuss vintages and appetizers with a terrifyingly casual grace.
the maître d’ pulls out the only remaining chair, and you realize with a jolt of dry amusement exactly what the seating chart entails. you are placed directly across from Rin.
it’s a move so transparently orchestrated by your parents that it borders on the theatrical. they don’t even look up as you sit, though the slight, satisfied curve of your mother’s lips tells you everything you need to know.
Rin is already leaning back in his chair, his menu discarded on the table. the moment your eyes meet, he doesn't hide his reaction; he gives you a look of pure, unadulterated annoyance. his brow is slightly furrowed, his jaw set in a way that says he’s been counting the seconds until this " coincidence " occurred.
in response, you don't falter. you settle into your chair, and you offer him a slow, deliberate smile.
the moment you are settled, the silence of the table is broken by Rin’s parents. they set their menus down with practiced grace, their eyes sweeping over you with a warmth that feels almost strategic.
“ My dear, ” Rin’s mother begins, her voice a smooth, melodic lilt that carries across the centerpiece of white orchids, “ you look absolutely radiant. Truly, even more gorgeous than the last time we saw you! ”
Rin’s father nods in solemn agreement, his gaze appreciative of the polished image you present. across from you, Rin shifts slightly, his annoyed expression tightening as his parents’ praise fills the space between you. he looks like he’d rather be anywhere else, his eyes darting toward the gold-rimmed wine glass in front of him.
you don't let his coldness deter you. instead, you tilt your head slightly. you let out a soft, airy laugh— the kind that sounds effortless and melodic in a room this quiet.
“ I could say the very same for you. You look stunning tonight ~ ” you reply, your voice steady and sweet as you lean in just an inch.
the compliment lands perfectly, earning a delighted smile from his mother and a subtle, approving nod from your own parents. you catch Rin’s eye for a fleeting second, your smile still lingering, watching as he looks away with a sharp, silent exhale of breath.
your mother seizes the moment with a practiced, elegant poise, her voice cutting through the soft clink of silverware with a playful sharpness. “ Oh, hush now, ” she says, her eyes darting between you and the man sitting across from you. “ I’m quite sure she could say the very same thing about your son, couldn't she? ”
the suggestion hangs in the air for a heartbeat— a blatant, heavy-handed nudge toward the past you both spent a year trying to bury. you feel a flicker of genuine irritation spark in your chest, a sharp contrast to the cool silk against your skin. it’s the kind of comment that feels like a trap, designed to force a compliment out of you for the sake of parental optics.
but before you can even think of a retort, the table erupts into a chorus of light, sophisticated laughter. both sets of parents share a look of knowing amusement, their mirth filling the private alcove as if they’ve just pulled off a brilliant joke.
even Rin’s father chuckles, leaning back in his chair with an air of immense satisfaction. seeing them all so perfectly aligned, so seemingly convinced of their own matchmaking prowess, you realize there is no room for a protest. you keep your expression anchored, your lips curved into a steady, beautiful smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. you maintain the mask of the dutiful daughter, nodding along to the laughter while the weight of the blue sapphires at your ears feels suddenly, momentarily, very heavy.
the menus are finally collected by a waiter who moves with the silent efficiency of a shadow, leaving the table to settle into the rhythmic clinking of crystal. while the rest of the group navigates the more avant-garde sections of the menu— selecting delicate tartares, foams, and deconstructed seafood dishes that look more like art than dinner— you keep your choice grounded.
when the server reaches you, you opt for the classic: a thick, prime cut of steak with a side of creamy mashed potatoes.
it’s a deceptively simple order for a place with this many accolades, but as the " fancy " plates begin to arrive for the others— tiny, intricate portions garnished with edible gold and micro-greens— your choice feels like a quiet act of defiance. there is something satisfying about the weight of a traditional meal while everyone else picks at their elaborate, bite-sized courses.
Rin watches as your plate is set down, the rich aroma of the butter-laden potatoes and the seared crust of the steak rising between you. he has something much more complicated in front of him, something that requires a specific fork and a great deal of precision to eat. you pick up your knife, the silver cool and heavy in your hand, and catch the way his eyes linger on your plate for a second too long.
you take a slow, deliberate bite, the rich flavors a stark contrast to the performative elegance of the conversation swirling around you. across the table, the parents are deep into a discussion about offshore investments and summer galas, but in the space between you and Rin, the only thing that matters is the steady, sharp glide of your steak knife and the silent, irritated heat of his gaze.
Rin’s father leans back, swirling the dark, expensive vintage in his glass as he shifts his attention away from the general conversation. he has a way of looking at people that feels like an audit— calculated but impeccably polite. sensing the sharp, silent friction crackling across the table, he decides to bridge the gap with a topic that centers the spotlight firmly on you.
“ So, ” he begins, his voice resonant and carrying that effortless authority of a man used to being listened to, “ How has the career been treating you lately? Between the acting and the modeling, you must be keeping an incredibly demanding schedule. ”
the table goes quiet for a moment, the focus shifting from the parents' business talk to your personal life. your mother looks over with an expectant, proud tilt of her chin, while Rin keeps his gaze fixed on his plate, though his grip on his silverware tightens just a fraction.
“ I’ve been following your recent campaigns, ” Rin's father continues, offering a nod of genuine professional respect. “ The work is impressive. It takes a certain level of discipline to maintain that kind of presence in the public eye. ”
you set your knife down with a soft, controlled click against the fine china. you can feel Rin’s eyes flick up to you for a split second, wary of how you’ll answer, his irritation still simmering just beneath the surface of his polished exterior. it’s a question that demands a perfect answer— one that balances humility with the high-society success everyone at this table expects from you.
“ It’s been a whirlwind. ” you respond, your voice carrying that effortless, melodic lilt that sounds perfect in a room like this. “ The latest campaign was demanding, but I find that the discipline of the set keeps me grounded. ”
your answer is flawless, hitting the exact note of professional ambition and polished humility that brings an approving murmur from both sets of parents. you take a slow sip of your water, the crystal cool against your lips, and then set the glass down with a precise, silent touch.
with a graceful turn of your head, you shift your gaze directly onto Rin. you let a small, expectant smile play on your lips— the kind that looks innocent to the parents but feels like a challenge to him.
“ But enough about me, ” you say, your eyes locking onto his with a shimmering, pointed curiosity. “ How has your son been faring? I’m sure his recent ventures have been just as... captivating. ”
the table goes quiet, all eyes turning toward Rin. he tenses visibly, the jaw you once knew so well tightening as he’s forced into the spotlight you just expertly aimed at him. you maintain your smile, leaning back slightly in your chair so the cream silk of your dress catches the golden light, waiting for him to find his voice under the heavy weight of everyone’s expectations.
Rin remains silent for a beat too long, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that feels like a physical weight. for a moment, it’s just the two of you— the sharp blue of your sapphires clashing with the cold, guarded dark of his eyes. he looks like he’s debating whether to just ignore you entirely, his jaw tight as he stares you down.
but then he feels the heavy, expectant silence from across the table. his father’s brow is raised, and the air in the room suddenly feels thick with the demand for him to be the " perfect son " for the sake of the audience.
he doesn't give you a polite smile. he doesn't even pretend to be enthusiastic. he just lets out a short, sharp exhale through his nose and looks away, his hand tightening momentarily around the stem of his wine glass.
“ It’s fine, ” he says, his voice flat and dangerously low. it’s the shortest possible answer he can give— the bare minimum required to satisfy his parents without acknowledging their presence as anything more than an obstacle. “ Everything is exactly where it needs to be. ”
he takes a slow, deliberate sip of his wine. the gold band on his finger catches the light, a stark reminder of the tie that binds him to this table. he offers no details, and the compliment you threw his way is left to wither in the air, unreturned.
instead, he sets the glass back down with a sharp clack against the tablecloth.
he doesn't look at them. he looks at you— his eyes narrowed, tracing your expression as if dissecting a weak play on the field.
“ I’m sure everyone here is much more interested in hearing about your 'captivating' projects than my logistics, ” he adds. the sarcasm is a thin blade, slightly invisible to his parents but meant to draw blood from you. he leans back, folding his arms in a way that feels less like relaxation and more like a challenge. he’s finished playing the part of the dutiful son. now, he’s just waiting for you to fail.
you let out another laugh— this one soft and musical, brushing off his sarcasm as if it were nothing more than a playful jest. it’s a perfect performance of grace, one that makes Rin’s biting tone look even more sour by comparison.
the reaction from his side of the table is instantaneous. his mother’s expression shifts, her polite smile tightening into something much sharper as she cuts a sideways glare toward her son. the irritation is clear in the set of her shoulders; he is failing the unspoken test of the evening, and she isn't about to let him ruin the atmosphere.
“ Rin, ” she says, her voice carrying a warning edge disguised as a laugh, before she immediately turns back to you, her face softening into a mask of fond nostalgia. “ Oh, don't mind him. He’s always been so moody when he's busy. It reminds me of that summer you two spent in the south of France— remember, dear? ”
she doesn't wait for an answer, leaning toward your mother with a conspiratorial glimmer in her eyes. “ They were practically inseparable. We could hardly get them to come to dinner because they were always off on those midnight drives. I don't think I've ever seen Rin quite as... attentive as he was back then. ”
she turns her gaze back to the two of you, her eyes flitting between your polished composure and Rin’s rigid silence.
“ Honestly, seeing you both sitting across from each other like this, it feels like no time has passed at all. Some things just have a way of looking right, don't they? ”
she lets the suggestion hang in the air, a heavy-handed tease intended to force a bridge over the gap of your breakup.
across from you, Rin’s grip on his silver fork is so tight his knuckles are turning white, his eyes fixed stubbornly on his plate as his mother continues to weave a romanticized version of your history right over the dinner table.
your mother doesn't miss a beat, leaning into the conversation with a knowing, elegant tilt of her head. she sets her wine glass down, the light from the chandelier dancing in the deep red liquid, as she catches the eye of Rin’s mother.
“ Oh, I remember those months vividly, ” your mother adds, her voice smooth and laced with a playful, maternal mischief. “ It was impossible to get a word out of her. She’d be tucked away in that library for hours, and we all knew exactly who was on the other end of that silent phone. You two always had that strange, quiet understanding— no one else could really get a word in when you were in the same room. ”
she turns her gaze toward Rin, offering him a smile that is far too sharp to be anything but a nudge. “ I remember your father complaining that he hadn't seen you for weeks because you were always 'supervising' whatever project she was working on. You were quite the shadow back then, weren't you, Rin? ”
across the table, your father lets out a low, amused chuckle, nodding in agreement. the parents are in full harmony now, weaving a thick, stifling net of nostalgia around the two of you.
“ It’s funny, isn't it? ” your mother continues, her eyes shimmering as she looks back and forth between you and Rin. “ How some people just have a specific... magnetism. No matter how much time passes or how 'busy' they get, that history doesn't just disappear. It’s written all over both of your faces tonight. You both still have that exact same look when you think the other isn't watching. ”
she lets the comment settle over the table like a heavy velvet shroud. the implication is clear: in their eyes, the breakup was a mere footnote, and this dinner is the beginning of the correction. you feel the heat of Rin’s silence from across the table— a sharp, jagged contrast to the lighthearted teasing of the people who still think they know exactly what’s best for both of you.
the laughter from both sides of the table is rich and synchronized, a sound of absolute confidence that their " subtle " matchmaking is working. your father’s chuckle blends with Rin’s father’s amusement, creating a wall of sound that makes the private alcove feel smaller, more suffocating.
you join in, letting out a light, practiced laugh that perfectly mimics their tone— a strategic move to mask the irritation still humming under your skin. it’s the easiest way to play along without actually surrendering to the narrative they’re spinning.
“ You all have such vivid memories, ” you say. you catch Rin’s eye for a fraction of a second— his expression is still a mask of cold boredom— before you pivot the conversation entirely.
“ Speaking of being inseparable, ” you continue, your tone breezy as you tilt your head toward Rin’s parents, “ where is Sae? I noticed his seat is empty. Is he joining us later? ”
the mention of his brother hangs in the air, successfully cutting through the thick atmosphere of romantic nostalgia. Rin finally looks up from his plate, his eyes narrowing. the shift in focus is immediate, giving you the briefest moment of breathing room from the weight of your parents' expectations.
Rin’s mother sighs, a delicate, practiced sound of maternal long-suffering. she adjusts the pearls at her neck, her focus shifting away from the romantic teasing for a brief moment.
“ Oh, Sae, ” she says, waving a hand dismissively as if his absence were a recurring tax she’s forced to pay. “ He isn't back from Japan yet. He’s stuck in some other country now— Spain, I think? Or perhaps back to Germany? Honestly, between the league matches and his training schedule, I can't keep track. He sent a very brief message saying he wouldn't be able to make the flight in time for tonight. ”
Rin’s father nods, though his expression is a bit more rigid. “ A professional commitment. He takes those matches far too seriously to drop them for a family dinner, even one as important as this. ”
the mention of Sae's absence brings a different kind of weight to the table— one of professional distance and the cold reality of the Itoshi brothers' diverging paths. across from you, Rin doesn't say a word, but the mention of his brother seems to settle into him like a cold draft. he stares at his wine glass, his expression unreadable, though the muscles in his jaw remain tightly coiled.
“️️ Well, ” your mother chimes in, trying to bring the lightheartedness back, “ It’s a shame. But at least it gives us more time to focus on the two of you. ”
she catches Rin’s eye with a pointed look, her smile returning in full force. the diversion worked for a second, but the parents are already circling back, their intent as clear as the polished crystal on the table. you feel the heat of Rin's gaze flick back to yours, his eyes dark with a renewed, sharp annoyance at being the sole target of the evening once again.
—
the dinner plates are cleared with a silent, synchronized efficiency, leaving nothing but the white linen and the guttering candles between the two families. you wait for the signal to finally end the night, but as your father sets his linen napkin down, he doesn't reach for his coat. instead, he leans forward, his hands clasped with an air of renewed authority.
“ The night is still far too pleasant to call it an evening just yet, ” he announces, his voice resonant and full of a practiced, wealthy warmth that seems to vibrate through the crystal glassware. he looks over at Rin’s parents, who offer identical, knowing smiles. “ I’ve arranged for the private lounge at the Skyline to be opened for us. It’s only a few blocks away, and the terrace view tonight is something even a seasoned traveler like Rin shouldn't miss. ”
Rin’s mother claps her hands together softly, her pearls catching the golden light. “ Perfect suggestion! It’s much more intimate there. We can actually talk without the clatter of a dining room. And it’s been so long since the families had a moment of true privacy together. ”
the suggestion hangs in the air, a heavy-handed command disguised as an invitation. you feel a sharp, cold prickle of irritation settle in your chest, and you look over at Rin. he is already standing, his movements jerky and forced, his shoulders so rigid they look as though they might snap. he doesn't look at you; he stares at a point somewhere above his father’s shoulder, his expression a mask of pure, concentrated endurance.
“ I actually have an early call time on set, ” you interject, your voice smooth and melodic despite the way your heart is beginning to thud. you pick up your marble clutch, the gold ring handle cool against your fingers. “ I really should be heading back to get some rest. ”
“ Nonsense, darling, ” your mother chirps, her hand coming down on your forearm. it’s a light touch, but the pressure is unmistakable— a silent command to stay in your seat. “ One drink. It’s barely ten. Besides, I’m sure Rin wouldn't mind ensuring you get there safely once we’ve had our toast. It’s settled. ”
Rin finally looks down, his eyes narrowing as he catches your gaze. he doesn't say a word to the parents, but the way he hooks his suit jacket over his arm is violent in its precision. he stands there, a silhouette of pure, unadulterated annoyance, waiting for you to stand so the " next phase " of their plan can begin.
the exit from the restaurant is as orchestrated as the meal itself. as you reach the curb, the two limousines idling at the entrance aren't the empty, cavernous sanctuaries you expected. instead, through the tinted glass, you can see the interiors are cluttered— heaped with oversized, ribbon-wrapped boxes, floral arrangements, and heavy gift bags that both families have been " exchanging " behind the scenes.
your father pauses by the lead car, placing a hand on the door handle, then turns to you and Rin with a look of feigned, sudden realization.
“️ Oh, look at that, ” he says, his voice brimming with a hollow sort of surprise. “ Between the antique cases from your mother and the wine crates Rin’s father brought... there’s hardly enough room for a person in there, let alone four. ”
Rin’s mother steps up beside him, nodding in immediate, graceful agreement. “ He’s right. It’s absolutely packed to the brim. We could barely fit the four of us in there comfortably with all these lovely gifts. ” she turns her gaze toward you, her smile bright and immovable. “ There’s no sense in everyone being cramped and wrinkling their clothes. ”
you look at the car, then at Rin, who is standing perfectly still, his suit jacket gripped so hard in his hand that the fabric is beginning to strain. the " lack of space " is a transparent lie— a final, physical shove to force the two of you into a private vacuum.
“ It’s a short drive to the lounge, ” your mother chimes in, her eyes shimmering with a victory she’s not even trying to hide. she reaches into her own small clutch and produces a set of keys, holding them out toward Rin. “ Why don't you and Rin take the coupe? It’s much more practical. He knows the way, and it'll give you two a chance to actually breathe away from all our 'boring' business talk. ”
Rin stares at the keys in her hand as if they were a live wire. the silence in the street is heavy, punctuated only by the low, expensive purr of the idling engines. you can feel the heat of his irritation radiating off him in waves— the raw, jagged energy of a man who knows he’s being played and has run out of polite ways to decline.
“ Take them, Rin, ” his father adds, his voice dropping into that tone of quiet, patriarchal command that leaves no room for a " no " in front of company.
with a sharp, nearly imperceptible jerk of his arm, Rin reaches out and snatches the keys from your mother’s fingers. the metal clinks sharply in the quiet night air. he doesn't look at his parents, and he doesn't look at you. he just turns on his heel toward the sleek, silver coupe parked a few yards away, his stride long and predatory.
“ Get in, ” he says, his voice flat and dangerously low, directed only at you. he doesn't wait for a reply, nor does he offer to open your door. he’s already heading for the driver’s side, leaving you standing on the sidewalk.
the cold night air catches the silk of your dress as you pause just inches from the passenger door, your hand hovering over the sleek, polished handle of the coupe. the metal is chilled, a stark contrast to the warmth of the restaurant you just left. but as you prepare to slide into the leather-scented interior, a sharp, artificial prick of light cuts through the darkness.
it’s a flash— quick, intrusive, and unmistakable. it lasts for only a fraction of a second, an electric white pulse that reflects off the teardrop sapphires at your ears and the gold ring handle of your marble clutch.
you freeze. your heart skips a beat, a sudden, cold jolt of adrenaline sparking through your veins. you immediately whip your head back, your eyes searching the shadowed alcoves of the street, the dark windows of the boutiques across the way, and the line of parked cars stretching into the gloom. you scan for the silhouette of a lens, the movement of a person ducking behind a pillar, or the tell-tale glow of a screen.
but there is nothing.
the street remains deceptively quiet, the only movement coming from the low, rhythmic hum of the luxury van’s exhaust and the distant, muffled sound of city traffic. the parents are already settling into their own vehicle, oblivious, their laughter drifting away as they disappear behind tinted glass.
a wave of confusion washes over you, followed quickly by a creeping, lowkey paranoia. you know that flash. you’ve experienced it on red carpets, in the wings of runways, and through the intrusive lenses of the paparazzi who used to haunt your every move when you and Rin were the world’s favorite headline. it’s a familiar ghost, yet the emptiness of the street makes you feel as though your mind is playing tricks on you— or worse, that someone is far better at hiding than they used to be.
you stand there for a moment too long, your breath hitching in the cool air, before you force yourself to move. you can’t afford to look rattled, not here and certainly not in front of him.
you pull open the heavy door of the coupe and slide into the low, bucket seat. the interior is a cocoon of dark leather and carbon fiber, smelling of expensive upholstery and the sharp, icy scent of Rin’s presence. the silk of your cream-colored dress rustles as you settle in, the fabric pooling around your legs in the cramped space.
you sit directly next to the driver’s seat.
the silence in the car is immediate and heavy, broken only by the faint, mechanical hum of the dashboard lights. Rin doesn't start the engine. he just sits there, his hands clamped on the wheel, staring straight through the windshield as if he's trying to burn a hole in the car in front of him.
he can clearly feel the rustle of your silk dress inches away from his arm. the cramped space makes your presence impossible to ignore, and he hates it.
he doesn't turn his head. he just shifts his eyes toward you, the look in them cold, sharp, and full of genuine loathing.
“ The back, ” he says. his voice is a flat, dead rasp. “ Move. ”
he doesn't elaborate. he just waits, his jaw tight, his gaze tracking the way you're settled into the seat next to him. when you don't immediately jump out, he lets out a short, jagged breath of derision.
“ Don't get comfortable, ” he mutters, his voice dropping an octave into something dangerously low. “ I’m not your driver, and this isn't a date. Get in the back or get out of the car. ”
you don’t move. instead, you settle deeper into the leather. you tilt your head, a small, knowing hum of amusement escaping your lips as you catch his reflection in the dashboard light.
“ The back? ” you repeat, your voice a smooth, playful contrast to the heavy silence. “ And leave you alone with that temper? I think I’ll stay right here. It’s much more... nostalgic. ”
Rin’s hands tighten on the steering wheel until the leather creaks under his grip. he doesn't look at you, he doesn't even acknowledge the tease. the only sign he heard you is the way his jaw shifts, his teeth audibly grinding together.
he lets out a breath— a sharp, huff of pure derision through his nose. “ Annoying, ” he mutters.
he doesn't argue, he doesn't try to convince you to move again. that would require too much effort, and he’s clearly decided you aren't worth the breath. instead, he shifts his gaze back to the road, his expression turning into a mask of cold, focused indifference.
“ Don't touch anything, ” he adds, his voice a flat, dangerous monotone.
before you can even offer a witty retort, he slams the car into gear. the engine doesn't just start; it snarls, a violent roar of power that shakes the cabin as he floors it. he doesn't care about the smooth " limousine " ride your parents expect— he takes the first corner with a sharp, gut-wrenching precision that sends your marble clutch sliding toward him.
he doesn't look at you, ignoring your presence entirely as he weaves through the city traffic like he's trying to outrun the very air in the car.
the silk of your dress flutters violently as you reach out and press the button, the glass sliding down with a mechanical hum to let the city night roar into the cabin. the high-speed wind immediately tangles your hair, pulling strands loose from their polished arrangement, but you don't care. you lean your head back against the leather, closing your eyes and letting the sharp, cold air hit your face to drown out the stifling tension of the car.
it wasn't your fault your two families were so intertwined that their business mergers eventually bled into their children’s lives. it wasn't your fault that " dating Rin " had once seemed like the only logical conclusion to a lifetime of shared galas and coordinated holidays. you weren't trying to win him back, and you certainly weren't seeking his attention— you were just existing in the same suffocating orbit your parents had trapped you both in.
Rin’s jaw tightens. he hates the disorder. the wind is a variable he didn't account for, a loud, messy intrusion into his space. he can feel the air swirling around his own head, breaking his focus.
he doesn't look at you, he doesn't even turn his head. he just reaches over with one hand and slams the window button up from his side, the glass sliding shut with a definitive, mechanical thud that cuts the noise instantly.
“ Tch. Distracting, ” he mutters, his voice a flat, dead rasp.
the silence returns, even heavier than before. he stares straight ahead, his eyes cold and fixed on the road, dismissing your attempt to change the atmosphere as nothing more than an annoyance he’s already corrected.
—
the coupe jerks to a stop at the curb, the engine cutting out with a sharp, mechanical finality. Rin doesn't wait. he’s already out of the car before the dashboard lights have even dimmed, his movements cold and efficient. he doesn't look back, leaving you to deal with the heavy passenger door yourself.
through the glass, you see them. both sets of parents are clustered near the entrance of the lounge under a warm, golden glow. they look like they’ve been waiting for this specific arrival all night—four faces turned toward the car with identical, expectant smiles.
as you step out and smooth the silk of your dress, the parents are already closing in. your mother reaches you first, her eyes bright with a triumphant sort of glee.
“ There you are, ” she says, her voice a melodic, knowing lilt. she brushes a hand against your shoulder, her gaze flicking immediately to Rin, who is standing several feet away. “ The drive wasn't too long, I hope? We were just saying how lovely it is to see the two of you in that car again. ”
Rin’s father nods, a small, disciplined smile on his face as he looks at his son. “ Good pace. I trust you handled the car well. ”
Rin doesn't offer a polite response. he doesn't even offer a nod. he stands there with his arms folded, his suit jacket hooked over one shoulder, staring at the lounge doors as if they’re an obstacle he needs to clear. the only sound he makes is a short, sharp exhale of breath through his nose— a sound of pure, unadulterated boredom.
“ Inside. ” he mutters. it’s the only thing he says. he doesn't wait for the parents to lead the way, and he doesn't wait for you. he just starts walking, his back a rigid wall of indifference as he heads toward the entrance. he’s finished with the pleasantries, and he’s making it very clear that every second he spends here is a second he’s counting down.
Rin's parents remain gathered under the warm, amber glow of the lounge's entrance, watching Rin’s retreating figure with a mix of practiced patience and subtle embarrassment. the tension he left behind is thick, a jagged contrast to the smooth, jazz-inflected atmosphere of the building.
Rin’s mother turns to you, a soft, apologetic sigh escaping her as she reaches out to squeeze your forearm. her pearls shimmer in the golden light, reflecting the flicker of genuine regret in her eyes.
“ I am so sorry, dear, ” she murmurs, her voice a low, elegant apology that carries the weight of a thousand similar moments. “ He’s always been so... difficult when he’s focused on his training. I had hoped he’d show a bit more grace tonight, especially with you. ”
your own parents stand just behind her, their expressions a blend of forced neutrality and keen observation. they are waiting for your reaction, searching for any crack in your composure that might betray how you actually feel about his blatant coldness.
but you don't give them the satisfaction of a frown or a sharp retort. instead, you settle your marble clutch comfortably against your hip and offer a slow, effortless smile— the kind that is as beautiful as it is untouchable. the sapphire at your ear catches a stray gleam of light as you tilt your head back toward the doors where Rin just disappeared.
“ It's fine, ” you say, your voice carrying that smooth, melodic lilt of someone who isn't bothered in the slightest. “ Still cold as ever. ”
the remark lands perfectly. it’s light enough to pass for a joke to the parents, yet sharp enough to acknowledge the reality of his behavior. a wave of relieved, sophisticated laughter ripples through the group.
“ Well, ” your mother says, stepping forward to usher everyone inside, “ at least some things are consistent. Let’s not let the night go to waste standing on the sidewalk. ”
as they lead the way into the lobby, you follow at a leisurely pace. you maintain that steady, beautiful smile, even as you think back to the silent, high-speed drive and the phantom flash of light on the street.
the transition into the private lounge is a seamless plunge into a world of shadow and steel. as the heavy doors seal behind you, the humid city air is replaced by a temperature that is comfortingly cold— a dry, crisp chill that makes the silk of your dress feel like a second skin. the lighting is sparse, reduced to amber strips along the floor and the cold, blue glow of the city skyline bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling glass.
your parents move toward a cluster of low-slung velvet armchairs in the far corner, their silhouettes framed by the sprawling lights of the district below.
almost immediately, the atmosphere among them shifts. the playful matchmaking and lighthearted teasing from the sidewalk vanish, replaced by the hushed, rhythmic cadence of a " deep talk. " they lean in close, their voices dropping into a serious murmur about market shifts, legacy planning, and the kind of high-stakes logistics that keep their world spinning.
they have effectively built a wall of professional gravity around themselves, leaving you and Rin adrift in the vast, open space of the lounge.
Rin is already at the far end, standing by the floor-to-ceiling glass. he’s a dark, rigid silhouette against the city lights. he doesn't have a drink, he doesn't have his phone out. he just stands there with his arms folded, staring out at the skyline with a look of bored, icy detachment.
you walk over, the rhythmic click of your heels the only sound in the cold room. you stop a few feet away, the cream silk of your dress shimmering in the low light.
Rin doesn't turn, he doesn't acknowledge your approach. the only sign he knows you’re there is the way his reflection in the glass narrows its eyes, his jaw setting into a hard line.
seconds pass. the silence becomes heavy, a cold weight in the refrigerated air of the lounge.
“ You're in the way. ” he finally mutters.
his voice is barely a whisper, a flat, jagged rasp that doesn't even carry a hint of emotion. he doesn't turn around, he doesn't tell you to move. he just states it as a fact, his eyes fixed on the horizon, waiting for you to either disappear or stop existing in his line of sight. he’s not looking for a fight or a conversation; he’s just existing in a space that he no longer wants to share with you.
you take a slow, deliberate step back, then another, until there’s a wide, cold expanse of polished stone between the two of you. it’s a ridiculous distance— enough to make the " awkwardness " of the night feel like a physical weight in the room— but in this silence, it’s the only thing that feels safe.
both your parents are still a world away, their voices a blurred hum of business and legacy. here, in the refrigerated quiet, you find your eyes drifting back to his silhouette.
it is a frustrating, bitter realization, but you can’t deny the memories. they surface unbidden, triggered by the sharp scent of his cologne or the specific way he stands when he’s reaching his limit. you remember a different version of this silence— one that didn't feel like a war zone. you remember the way he loved you in his own way: a love that wasn't built on flowers or soft words, but on a terrifying, singular focus.
the way he’d watch your rehearsals from the back of the room, silent and unmoving, until you were the only two left. the way he’d correct your posture or your form with a touch that was clinical and rough, yet possessed a hidden, frantic heat. it was a love that felt like being the only target in his sights, a devotion that was as demanding as it was deep.
now, he’s just a stranger in a familiar suit.
Rin doesn't move. he doesn't look at the space you’ve vacated, and he doesn't acknowledge the heavy silence you're both drowning in. he stands perfectly still, his eyes fixed on the distant lights of the city. he isn't reminiscing, he isn't feeling the " awkwardness. " he’s simply existing in the silence as if he’s alone in the room.
the only sound is the distant, muffled laughter of the parents and the faint hum of the building. Rin remains a dark, unreachable silhouette. he doesn't turn his head, he doesn't say a word. he just continues to stare out the glass, his jaw locked, completely indifferent to your presence and the memories you're currently fighting back.
the memory feels out of place in this sterile, freezing lounge. you can almost feel the phantom warmth of how it used to be— those rare moments when the sharp edges of his ambition seemed to curve around you instead of cutting through you. back then, the way your lives were woven together felt less like a corporate arrangement and more like a foregone conclusion. you had convinced yourself that his intensity was just his way of holding on.
but looking at the rigid line of his shoulders now, that " meant to be " feels like a fever dream.
he isn't looking back. he isn't caught in the gravity of " what used to be " to him, those years were likely just another stage of growth he’s already evolved past— a season of his life that he’s closed the door on with clinical precision.
the silence between you remains heavy and one-sided.
Rin reaches up, his fingers adjusting his tie with a quick, forceful tug that looks more like he's tightening a noose than fixing his appearance. it’s the only movement he’s made in minutes. he doesn't look at you, doesn't check to see if you're still standing there, and doesn't offer a single word to break the chill. he just continues to stare out at the horizon, his expression a mask of bored, glassy indifference.
—
the parents finally rise from their velvet armchairs, the low, rhythmic hum of their business talk coming to an abrupt end.
they check their watches in unison, a shared look of realization passing between them as they acknowledge how late it has actually gotten.
“ It’s well past midnight, ” Rin’s father says, his voice cutting through the cold silence of the lounge with practiced authority. “ We'll head to the suite. It’s closer, and everything is already prepared. ”
your mother nods, smoothing her dress as she casts a meaningful look in your direction. “ It’s for the best. There are two rooms ready— one for us, and the usual suite for you and Rin. No sense in making things difficult at this hour. ”
the arrangement is stated as a fact, leaving no room for negotiation. the " shared " room— the one you and Rin have occupied countless times during family stays— is where you are expected to spend the rest of the night.
Rin doesn't argue, he doesn't even look over at the parents to acknowledge the plan. he simply pushes off from the glass wall, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he turns toward the exit. his face is a mask of flat, icy indifference, the only sign of his irritation being the subtle, hard set of his jaw.
“ Whatever. ” he mutters.
the realization hits you with the same sudden chill as the air conditioning in the lounge. you had been so lost in the distance between you and the weight of your own memories that the passage of time had become a blur. now, the reality of the parents' " efficient " planning settles in: you aren't just sharing a space, you’re sharing the bed.
the same bed where the silence won't have a vast, marble floor to hide in.
Rin is already moving toward the exit, his stride purposeful and entirely detached. he doesn't glance back to see your reaction or to see if you’re even following. to him, the arrangement seems to be just another annoying logistical hurdle, something to be endured with as little interaction as possible.
he reaches the elevator bank first, pressing the button with a sharp, clinical jab. as the gold doors slide open, he steps inside and turns around, his arms folded tightly over his chest. he doesn't hold the door open for you; he just stands there, a dark and rigid figure framed by the elevator’s mirrors, his eyes fixed on a point somewhere above your head.
the " meant to be " feeling from earlier has completely vanished, replaced by the reality of a guy who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else on earth. he doesn't say a word as you step into the small, enclosed space with him, but the air in the elevator immediately feels twice as thin.
—
the penthouse suite is as seamless and cold as the lounge. it’s a massive, two-story expanse of glass and dark wood, with the first floor acting as a sprawling gallery of designer furniture that nobody actually sits in.
“ Go on upstairs, dear, ” Rin’s mother says, her voice smooth but carrying a sharp undercurrent as she glances toward her son. she places a gentle hand on your back, nudging you toward the glass-railed staircase. “ Get settled. We’ll be up in a moment. ”
your own parents follow suit, offering tired smiles as they begin the trek to the second floor, leaving Rin standing in the center of the foyer.
you catch the look on Rin’s mother’s face as you turn away— the tight, disciplined pull of her features. she’s definitely about to tear into him for his behavior at the lounge.
as you climb the stairs, the rhythmic click of your heels against the wood is the only sound. you don't look back, but you can feel the heavy, silent tension radiating from Rin as he remains downstairs. he doesn't move, standing there like a statue with his arms crossed, staring at a piece of abstract art on the wall as if he’s preparing for the lecture he knows is coming.
reaching the second-floor landing, the layout is clear: your parents’ wing is to the left, and the shared suite is at the far end of the hall. the hallway is dimly lit, the plush carpet muffling your footsteps as you walk toward the door that marks the end of the night.
you push the door open to the suite. it’s exactly as you remember— minimalist, freezing, and dominated by a single, expansive king-sized bed. the sheets are pulled taut, a pristine white expanse that feels more like a battlefield than a place to rest. you step inside and let the door swing shut, the soft click of the lock echoing in the quiet room. you’re alone for now, but the heavy silence of the hallway tells you it won’t be long before the lecture downstairs ends and the door opens again.
the hot water of the shower wash away the evening's tension, leaving your skin flushed and smelling of expensive hotel soap. after drying off, you methodically strip away the rest of the night: the heavy sapphires go onto the vanity, and your makeup is wiped clean until your face is bare. you change into the prepared sleepwear, but the sight of the single, pristine bed makes your chest tighten.
you aren't doing it. not tonight.
you remembered seeing it earlier— a spare, folding foam mattress tucked away in the deep storage closet between your separate bathrooms. it’s heavy and awkward, but you manage to haul it out, dragging it across the plush carpet toward the far corner of the room.
the door to the suite clicks open.
Rin walks in, his tie undone and hanging loose around his neck, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar. he looks exhausted and twice as irritable after the lecture downstairs. he stops dead in his tracks the moment he sees you.
he doesn't move. he just stands there, one hand still on the door handle, staring at you as you struggle to push the foam into place on the floor. his eyes are cold, tracking your movements with a look of pure, bewildered disbelief.
“ What are you doing? ” he asks. his voice is a low, jagged rasp, cutting through the silence of the room. he doesn't offer to help, and he doesn't move to the bed. he just watches you.
you don't look up from the foam, focusing on smoothing out the edges of the makeshift bed. the room is so quiet you can hear the faint hum of the city through the reinforced glass, but the air around Rin feels like it’s vibrating with a sharp, static tension.
“ I’m sleeping on the floor, ” you say. your voice is steady, matching the chill of the room. you don't offer an explanation or an apology; you just state it as a final decision, a way to reclaim some space in a night that has felt entirely out of your control.
Rin doesn't move. he stays rooted by the door, his silhouette tall and imposing against the light from the hallway. he stares down at you, then at the thin foam mattress, his eyes narrowing into cold, thin slits. the silence stretches out, heavy and jagged, until he lets out a short, sharp huff of air through his nose— a sound of pure, biting disbelief.
he doesn't argue, he doesn't tell you to get on the bed. he just stares at you for a long, frozen moment, his jaw locked tight enough to crack, before he turns away and heads toward his own bathroom without a single word.
you finally give up on the floor, sliding into the massive king-sized bed and settling a careful distance away from him.
despite the comfort of the mattress, you can't seem to settle. you keep moving around, tossing from side to side and constantly adjusting the pillows in a frustrating attempt to find a comfortable spot. every shift of your weight feels loud in the quiet room, but you can't help it.
to make matters worse, the air conditioner is blowing directly over you. the steady, freezing breeze sweeps across your face and shoulders, a sharp chill that makes you shiver and continuously pull the heavy sheets higher around your neck to shield yourself from the draft.
you keep moving again, unable to stay still for more than a few seconds. you roll onto your other side, the heavy sheets rustling loudly against the duvet as you pull your knees up, trying to shield yourself from the relentless chill.
a moment later, you shift again, flipping the pillow over to the other side and adjusting your position yet another time. no matter how you arrange yourself, the mattress feels too vast, the quiet feels too loud, and you just keep tossing and turning in the dark, desperate to find a single spot where you can finally settle down.
the endless rustling of the duvet finally breaks his patience. Rin rolls over, the movement sudden and sharp. in the dim light, his eyes are narrow, flat, and completely devoid of warmth. he looks at you with pure, clinical irritation.
“ Stay still, ” he rasps, his voice a low, jagged friction in the quiet room. “ You're being annoying. ”
he doesn't offer you space, and he doesn't care that you're freezing. he just stares at you for a cold, hard second, his jaw locked tight, waiting for you to finally shut up and stop moving so he can go back to sleep.
“ Well, it's hard for me to find a comfortable spot. ” you mutter back, your voice muffled slightly by the heavy sheet.
you pull the covers all the way up to your chin, trying to shield yourself from the steady, icy draft cutting across the bed. it’s an instinctive defense against both the room's temperature and his total lack of empathy, a futile attempt to get comfortable under his critical watch.
Rin doesn't offer a single word of sympathy. he doesn't shift the blankets, and he doesn't adjust the thermostat. he just keeps his narrow, unblinking glare fixed on you through the darkness, his silence heavy and unyielding as he waits for you to finish complaining and finally stay still.
despite the cold weight of his glare, your limbs just won't settle. the freezing draft from the AC sweeps across the pillow again, hitting the exposed skin of your neck and making you shiver.
you turn over entirely, rolling away from him to face the edge of the mattress, dragging the heavy duvet with you in a loud, aggressive rustle of fabric. you tuck the edges under your feet, trying to lock the warmth in, but a second later your shoulders feel stiff. you shift back, your elbow digging into the mattress as you flip the pillow over to find a side that doesn't feel like ice. every single movement is magnified in the dark, the constant friction of the sheets acting as a relentless, rhythmic disruption in the small space between you.
the relentless, rhythmic friction of the sheets finally snaps whatever thin thread of patience Rin has left. the mattress shifts sharply as he rolls over to face you, the sudden movement tense and entirely hostile.
in the pale, filtered darkness of the room, his face is a rigid mask of pure irritation. his brows are drawn low, and his eyes are narrow, sharp slits tracking the clumsy, frustrated movements of you wrestling with the sheets. there isn't a single trace of softness in his posture; he looks at you like a loud, broken fixture in the room that is actively ruining his rest. he is completely, utterly done with the disruption.
“ Get over here, ” he rasps. the words are a flat, heavy directive, delivered in a low, jagged monotone that cuts right through the steady hum of the AC. he doesn't ask, and he doesn't phrase it like a choice.
he doesn't open his arms to invite you in, and he doesn't shift toward your side to be welcoming. he just glares at you through the dark, his jaw set in a hard line. to him, this isn't an act of affection or a peace offering— it's a brutal, logical solution to a nuisance. if you're going to complain about being cold and you can't stay still on the edge of the mattress, the only way to make you stop moving and shut up is to anchor you right next to him where the draft doesn't hit.
“ Sleep here and stay still. You're being annoying. ” he mutters, his voice deadpan and sharp with friction as he indicates the space right beside him.
for a second, you just freeze right where you are, your fingers still tightly gripping the edge of the heavy sheets. the words seem to hang in the dark, sterile air of the suite, feeling entirely detached from reality. you’re not even sure if you heard him correctly, or if the cold and the sheer exhaustion of the long night are finally catching up to you, causing you to hallucinate a voice in a half-dreaming state.
Sleep here. the directive repeats in your mind, sounding entirely wrong coming from him. it feels utterly out of character— this is the same guy who spent the entire evening acting like a wall of solid ice, treating you like an inconvenient logistical hurdle he was forced to endure. he doesn't do comfort, he doesn't do warmth, and he certainly doesn't invite people into his space. everything about the command goes against the rigid, clinical distance he has maintained since the lounge, making your chest tighten with a sudden, confusing spike of adrenaline.
yet, even as your brain scrambles to analyze the sheer absurdity of the moment, you find that you can't deny him. there is a heavy, unyielding gravity in his flat tone that completely strips away your ability to argue or refuse. whether it's because you're too exhausted to fight the freezing draft any longer, or because the raw, blunt authority in his voice leaves absolutely no room for negotiation, your body moves on its own. slowly, tentatively, you begin to shift your weight across the wide expanse of the mattress, leaving your isolated corner behind to cross the invisible line into his space.
you are finally on the bed now, the massive expanse of the mattress no longer dividing the two of you. yet, despite the sudden proximity, the distance between you feels just as vast. you are both facing opposite sides, your backs turned to one another like two rigid, parallel walls in the dark. you stare out at the freezing gloom of the familiar suite, your eyes wide and completely awake, while he remains entirely motionless behind you, a silent, heavy presence that radiates an unmistakable chill.
your mind is a chaotic, racing mess of thoughts as you lie there, barely daring to breathe. it’s completely ridiculous— one second he’s snapping at you to move, and the next, he’s treating you like you don't even exist, shutting you out the exact moment you complied. you can’t help but think about how frustratingly predictable his stubbornness is, even when he's the one who demanded this arrangement. he probably just expects you to act like a statue now, treating you less like a person and more like an annoying fixture he had to secure in place just to get some peace and quiet.
the heat radiating from his back is a stark contrast to the icy draft from the air conditioner, a strange, solid warmth that you can feel even through the thick layers of the duvet without actually touching him. it’s an intensely awkward, high-pressure boundary to navigate. you are close enough to hear the faint, disciplined rhythm of his breathing, close enough that the slightest tilt of your shoulders would cause your blades to brush against his, but you don't dare shift an inch. you just lock your joints and stare into the shadows, acutely aware of every single centimeter of space between your spine and his, wondering how on earth you're supposed to actually fall asleep like this.
suddenly, amidst the chaotic swirl of your thoughts, a random spark of memory clicks into place. it’s a sudden, sharp realization that bubbles up from some forgotten biology lecture or an article you’d skimmed through years ago: there is an actual, literal science behind why your heart is hammering against your ribs right now. your brain, completely hardwired for survival, is currently brewing what researchers call “ The Neurochemical Cocktail. ”
it makes perfect sense when you analyze it through a purely logical lens. your body has been under pressure all night— the stifling atmosphere of the lounge, the heavy weight of expectations from your parents, the freezing cold of the AC, and the sheer, unpredictable tension of being trapped in this room with him. in response to that high-stress environment, your adrenal glands have been working overtime, flooding your system with cortisol and adrenaline. it’s the classic fight-or-flight response, keeping your senses hyper-alert, your muscles tense, and your pupils dilated in the dark. every single nerve ending is firing, which is exactly why the mere proximity of his back feels like an electric current in the room.
but there’s a second, more complicated layer to the cocktail. now that you’ve actually moved closer to him, crossing that invisible boundary into his immediate space, your brain is introducing a conflicting dose of oxytocin and dopamine into the mix. even though he is being completely cold and detached, facing the opposite direction like a wall of stone, the human brain instinctively reacts to close physical proximity and shared warmth by seeking comfort. it’s a jarring, highly volatile chemical contrast— the raw, panicked edge of adrenaline fighting against the heavy, primal urge to settle down and find safety in the dark.
lying there in the freezing gloom, you can't help but fixate on the sheer irony of the biology of it all. your mind is fully aware that this arrangement is entirely transactional, a blunt solution to an annoyance, yet your hormones and neurotransmitters are completely ignoring that logic. they are... are... reacting... him as... if he’s... a focal point.. intense focus.. amplifying the..
before you can even finish the thought, the sheer exhaustion of the night finally catches up to you. the complex chemical theories and the hyper-awareness of the space between your spine and his begin to blur together into a heavy, indistinct fog. your eyelids grow impossibly heavy, fluttering once, twice, before finally falling shut against the darkness of the suite.
the tense, rigid line of your shoulders finally softens, slipping away as the cold draft from the air conditioner ceases to matter. cradled by the solid, unyielding warmth radiating from behind you, your racing mind completely shuts down, and you fall into a deep, instantaneous sleep.
—
the heavy, suffocating silence of the bedroom is abruptly shattered by the aggressive, buzzing vibration of your phone against the nightstand. the sound cuts through your deep sleep like a blade, jarring you awake. your eyes blink open, blurry and disoriented, staring blindly into the dim, early morning light filtering through the gaps in the heavy curtains.
you groppingly reach out, your fingers fumbling against the cold wood until you grab the device. the bright screen flares to life, stinging your eyes. the digital clock across the top reads 7:24 AM. your chest tightens automatically, who on earth would be blowing up your phone this early? besides, you're sure your call time on set is 10am.
then, you see the caller ID. it’s your manager, and the screen is already lighting up with a fresh incoming call, overriding a string of missed ones.
instinct, sharpened by years of navigating the cutthroat entertainment industry and the relentless demands of fame and media, kicks in instantly. in your world, a manager calling repeatedly at sunrise is never a casual check-in. it means the radar is spiking; it means a crisis, a scandal, or a massive logistical collapse.
your heart rates spikes, the lingering fog of sleep vanishing in a fraction of a second as your thumb swipes to clear the call screen so you can check your notifications instead.
your lock screen is completely flooded. a wall of unread messages stretches down the display, a frantic text crawl of urgent notifications and missed call alerts that makes your stomach do a slow flip.
but as your eyes scramble to decipher the wall of text, skipping past the frantic opening lines, your gaze locks onto the very first complete sentence that registers in your brain. written in all-caps, bolded by the sheer weight of its implications, the message reads:
NO SHOOT FOR THE TODAY.
you stare at the glowing text for a few more seconds, the sheer weight of the cancellation sinking in. no shoot. no schedule. no demanding directors, flashing cameras, or rigid scripts to follow for the rest of the day. the frantic knot of anxiety that had tightened in your chest at the sight of those missed calls completely unravels, replaced by a wave of profound, heavy relief.
you don't reply to the messages. you don't scroll down to read the chaotic paragraphs explaining why the production collapsed. in your line of work, an unexpected free day is a rare, priceless luxury, and you have absolutely no intention of wasting it by stressing over logistics at seven in the morning.
your thumb flicks the side button, and the bright screen instantly goes black, plunging the space back into a soft, dim twilight. you set the phone face-down on the nightstand, cutting off the potential for any more distracting flashes.
turning away from the edge of the mattress, you slide back down into the deep warmth of the bed, burying your face into the cool fabric of the pillow. the freezing breeze from the air conditioner is still sweeping through the suite, but beneath the heavy sheets, the air is perfectly insulated. you pull the covers up over your shoulders, letting the quiet rhythm of the room wash over you as your eyes flutter shut once more, instantly drifting back into a deep, uninterrupted sleep.
—
the frantic, buzzing vibration of your phone cuts through the quiet room once again, dragging you right back out of your deep sleep. you blink your eyes open, squinting against the morning light that is now pouring much brighter through the gaps in the curtains. your eyes track to the digital clock on the screen: 8:17 AM.
before you even look at the caller ID, you instinctively glance at the space beside you. the mattress is completely empty. the sheets on his side are smoothed out, cold to the touch, and devoid of any lingering warmth. Rin is already gone, leaving absolutely no trace of his presence behind.
the phone continues to ring aggressively in your hand, your manager's name flashing relentlessly across the screen. knowing you can't ignore the persistence a second time, you clear your throat to shake off the morning rasp, drag your thumb across the glass, and lift the phone to your ear.
“ ...Why? ” you murmur, your voice still heavy with sleep.
the moment the line connects, your manager’s voice explodes through the speaker, so loud and frantic that you instinctively pull the phone a few inches away from your ear to save your eardrums.
there is no greeting, no apology for waking you up a second time— just a torrent of high-pitched, panicked words that completely shatters the residual quiet of the bedroom.
“ Are you seeing this?! Please tell me you’re looking at the feeds right now! ” your manager half-shouts, their breath hitching sharply over the line. “ A fan caught you. they spotted the two of you last night, and they didn’t just watch—they took photos. clear ones. two of them are already making the rounds, and the engagement is spiking every second. ”
the sheer volume of their voice makes your stomach drop, the last remnants of sleep instantly evaporating. you listen in stunned silence as your manager begins to rattle off the exact details of the leaked images, their tone a chaotic mix of professional dread and sheer disbelief.
“ The first photo is from the restaurant, ” your manager explains, the words tumbling out in a breathless rush. “ The lighting is perfect, unfortunately. It catches you mid-laugh, completely bright and smiling, looking right across the table at Rin. It looks incredibly candid, incredibly intimate— like there’s no one else in the room. It’s exactly the kind of shot the media eats alive because it looks completely unprompted. ”
your manager pauses just long enough to take a sharp, ragged breath before plunging straight into the second problem. “ And then there’s the second one. Someone was waiting outside by the vehicle. It’s a shot of you getting into the car, right as you’re about to slide into the back seat to sit next to him. The angle tracks your profile perfectly, and you can see Rin right there in the frame inside the car. It links the two of you together from dinner straight into a private vehicle, and the internet is already losing its mind trying to piece the timeline together. Do you have any idea what this does to the press cycle today?! ”
a cold, numbing sensation spreads rapidly from your chest right down to your fingertips, making the phone in your hand suddenly feel incredibly heavy. your brain completely stalls, struggling to process the frantic words screaming through the receiver. confusion and sheer shock hit you in a simultaneous wave, leaving you entirely disoriented as you sit up in the empty bed, the sheets slipping down your shoulders.
suddenly, the massive wall of unread alerts you woke up to a hour ago makes terrifyingly perfect sense. it wasn't just your manager trying to reach you; your lock screen was a chaotic battlefield of notifications from every single social media platform installed on your phone. direct messages, tags, mentions, and urgent texts from friends and colleagues were piling up in real-time, a digital avalanche triggered by a couple of leaked snapshots. the sheer scale of it leaves you breathless, your mind racing to grasp how a private dinner turned into a public spectacle while you were asleep.
“ What...? ” you breathe out, your voice barely a whisper against the panic vibrating over the line. “ Wait... ”
your thumb trembles slightly as you pull the phone away from your ear, switching to the messaging thread where your manager has already forwarded the links. you tap the first preview, and the image expands to fill the bright screen.
your breath catches in your throat. your manager wasn't exaggerating.
there you are, captured in high-definition, laughing with a rare, unforced warmth that feels entirely too exposed for public viewing, your eyes locked onto Rin's cold profile. and right beneath it, the second image is even more damning— the sharp, unmistakable angle of you stepping into the private car, the interior light illuminating Rin sitting right there in the shadows, waiting for you. seeing the raw, undeniable proof staring back at you makes your heart hammer violently against your ribs, the absolute reality of the crisis finally crashing down on you.
your finger hovers over the glass, your eyes darting frantically down the screen as you scroll past the images to check the actual source of the leak. but as the page refreshes in real-time, the notification counter at the bottom of the app doesn't just climb— it explodes, jumping by thousands in a matter of seconds.
a cold sweat breaks out across your neck. something else just happened. the press cycle isn't just spiraling anymore; it has entirely broken containment.
“ Please tell me that was an accident, ” your manager's voice suddenly cracks over the line, completely stripped of its previous anger, replaced now by pure, unadulterated dread. “ Please tell me your phone was unlocked in your pocket, or you slipped, or— ”
“ Ugh... what now? ” you stammer, your thumb frantically tapping into the trending tab.
“ The top comment on the main thread! ” your manager half-screams, their voice trembling. “ Look at what your account just did! ”
you click the link, and the top-voted comment under the leaked screenshot fills the top of your screen. it’s a hyper-viral, chaotic fan reaction typed in frantic all-caps:
“ THEY'RE STILL TOGETHER !!! ” I yell as they dragged me into the asylum...
and right beneath it, glowing with a definitive, unmistakable blue hue that seals your absolute ruin... is the tiny icon of your own verified, official account profile.
You liked it.
your heart completely stops. your thumb must have brushed against the screen when you frantically grabbed the phone at 7:24 AM, or maybe your half-asleep brain had clicked it in a daze before you drifted back to sleep. or maybe when you were heading to the restaurant, where your phone lagged? either way, it does not matter.
to the public, to the paparazzi, and to the millions of fans watching the feeds explode, this wasn't a glitch. this was an official confirmation. it was a direct validation of the rumors, an intentional nod to the chaos, and a match thrown directly into a warehouse full of gasoline.
the media is already going completely feral. headlines are rewriting themselves across every major entertainment outlet in real-time, notifications are blurring into a solid, blinding white sheet of light on your screen, and the sheer volume of the digital backlash is enough to make the room spin.
before you can even open your mouth to explain, to panic, or to tell your manager to get the PR team on the line, the heavy door to the suite suddenly clicks.
this is a work of fiction. any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or real events is purely coincidental and not intended. all characters depicted are not owned by me and belong to their respective creators. this work is purely fictional and for illustrative purposes only.
OHHH FUU🤤🤤 NEVER LOCKED IN THIS MUCH AFTER CE QUI RESTE
make me a student drop out and you'd be getting new works like this every 2 weeks.
but I chose my future. not like i'm actually earning money in this looool
I love Rin's character honestly and I hate mischaracterizations about him. I hate mischaracterization in general but anyway... I'm pretty sure I portrayed him well. Rin, even if not a ex-relationship-thing, will definetely not treat his partner in a sweet i-love-you-babe-thing😭!!! sure, he'll probably develop a soft spot ( just like I portrayed on the bed scene ) but he definetely won't change his personality😭😭
oh, suddenly, you arrived, and everything in Rin's world changed. he's no longer the cold, man people known him for. additionally, he's super sweet to this partner too!!!
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SYNOPSIS: short drabble of @dark-lady15's order; Stanley and Xeno having a teenage daughter, who they now have to raise in the Stone World. their daughter, being a teenager, gets tempted to try reckless things, and gets curious on Xeno's belongings.
Dr Stone: Stanley Synder x Xeno Houston Wingfield + teenage daughter
a.n; this is my first drabble or whatever you call it😔 I hope I did well and they are in character.. divider is from @viviansturns
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the DARPA conference was supposed to be a milestone— a chance for a fourteen-year-old to watch her dads command the smartest room in the country. instead, it became the day the world turned to stone.
when the revival fluid finally eroded the stone casing thousands of years later, she didn't wake up to a sterile lab or a military bunker. she woke up to a sprawling, primitive kingdom built on raw science and heavy artillery. Xeno and Stanley had already established their footprint in the Stone World, but the moment their daughter opened her eyes, the grand mission of global domination took a backseat to ultimate parental panic.
In the old world, Xeno was a man of logic and Stanley was a man of calculated risk. In the Stone World? They were a united front of terrifying, overprotective smothering.
“ Absolutely not, ” Xeno said, not even looking up from his blueprints as his daughter reached for a makeshift machete. “ The flora in this sector has mutated variations of contact dermatitis. Furthermore, Stanley has tracked a jaguar population three kilometers north. You will remain within the perimeter. ”
“ Dad, I'm fourteen, not four, ” she groaned, dropping the blade. “ I survived the petrification. I think I can handle a walk. ”
Stanley, leaning against a wooden beam while cleaning his rifle, blew a slow puff of smoke into the air. “ Listen to your father. You go past the treeline without me, and I’m putting you on a permanent mandatory base arrest. I don't care if you're technically a teenager; out here, you're fragile cargo. ”
“ You guys are unbelievable, ” she muttered, kicking a stray pebble. “ You're trying to rebuild civilization but you won't even let me look at it. ”
an hour later, seeking any form of entertainment in the high-tech, low-resource camp, she slipped into Xeno’s personal tent. her eyes immediately landed on his desk. Specifically, on the ridiculous, dramatic, custom-made claw-gloves he insisted on wearing.
“ How does he even function in these? ” she whispered to herself.
she slid her hands into the oversized, metallic contraptions, the elongated claws clinking together loudly. shaking her hands experimentally, she picked up a graphite pencil and a bound piece of handmade paper.
keyword: tried.
the moment she closed her hand, the heavy, awkward claws clattered against each other. the pencil slipped out of her grip, rolling across the desk. when she tried to scoop it up, the sharp tips just stabbed the wood, creating a frustratingly loud clack-clack-clack.
“ How does Dad wear these all the time and manage to get any work done? ” she grumbled aloud, balancing the notebook on her forearms like a clumsy waiter. “ I can't even manage to pick up my notebook and pencil... ”
“ Because, my dear, it requires an elegant synergy of physics, muscle memory, and an unwavering commitment to aesthetic superiority. ”
she froze.
Xeno was standing at the entrance of the tent, his arms crossed, a highly amused, elegant smirk playing on his lips. eight behind him was Stanley, who had a rare, genuine grin splitting his face, his shoulder shaking with silent laughter.
“ Do you require a lesson in aerodynamic finger-weaving? ” Xeno asked, stepping forward with an theatrical flourish. “ Or have you simply realized that your father is, indeed, elegant in all dimensions? ”
“ I think she just realized you're a dork, Xeno, ” Stanley chuckled, walking over and gently tugging the heavy gloves off her hands, replacing them with her fallen pencil. “ Stick to the normal hands for now, kiddo. We have enough trouble keeping track of you without you stabbing your own homework. ”
wow! Its so easy to write drabbles??? damn I should've start doing this before... I just hope both of them are in character because I don't pay too much attention to xeno and stanley😔
I don't even write drabbles, ( probably my last ) but I felt bad for the one who ordered this. seems like you want this drabble for a while, and I hope I got it right and you enjoyed this!!
— something covered in a thin layer of gold, gold paint, or a golden color, giving it a bright, shiny appearance
SYNOPSIS: in the amber haze of a stalled afternoon, a playful skirmish for attention dissolves into a heavy, shared silence. between the sharp high of a decoy kiss and the low weight of an athlete’s exhaustion, the boundaries of a game begin to blur, leaving you anchored together in a afternoon that feels less like a pause and more like a surrender.
CONTAINS: submissive bachira, free of spoilers! full fluff with a faint hint of angst, suggestive, flirting / teasing, childish behaviour, slight physical & playful agression. not for people who hate strawberry / cheesecake
BLUE LOCK: Meguru Bachira x Reader
Word count: 6,717 words 37,996 characters
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the world outside the apartment window is suspended in the heavy, honeyed grip of a Saturday afternoon, draped in the kind of stillness that only exists when the rest of the world has decided to pause. it is exactly 3:45 PM— that specific quarter-hour where the day begins to ripen and the sun loses its sharp, midday edge, transitioning into a thick, liquid gold. the sky is a vast, unblemished expanse of pale, shimmering blue, casting a radiant glow over the city streets below, though everything feels curiously muffled, as if the weekend itself has exhaled a long, quiet breath and settled into a deep slumber.
the atmosphere is dominated by a deep, cozy heat that seems to radiate from the very walls, creating a sense of density in the air that is almost tangible. through the glass, the distant hum of life— the occasional, rhythmic roll of tires on warm asphalt or the faint, melodic chirping of birds hidden in the foliage— drifts in like a hazy, half-remembered memory. a soft, breeze wanders through the half-open window, carrying the subtle, clean scent of sun-warmed concrete and the distant, sweet greenery of a nearby park. it is just enough of a movement to make the sheer, ivory curtains ghost against the wooden frame, a flutter that breaks the stagnant warmth for a fleeting second before the air settles once more into its comfortable, drowsy weight.
inside the bedroom, the light is a masterpiece of shifting transition. the sun, now slanting at a lazy, dramatic angle, filters through the swaying branches of the trees outside, casting long, soft shadows across the floorboards. the room is bathed in a dim, amber-tinted glow that highlights the stray dust motes dancing in the air, moving in slow, aimless circles within the beams of light like tiny, golden spirits.
everything within the sanctuary of the apartment feels slow, saturated, and profoundly quiet. the distant, muffled ticking of a clock or the soft, hypnotic whir of a fan in another room only serves to deepen the silence, marking the passage of time without ever disturbing it. it is the kind of afternoon where time feels entirely elastic, stretching out in the heat and inviting nothing but the absolute luxury of being still. the golden light pools in the creases of the mattress, warming the fabric and turning the space into a quiet haven, tucked away and hidden from the rush of the world outside.
you’re stretched out across the bed, sinking into the soft, sun-warmed duvet as the afternoon heat settles over you. the world has narrowed down to the glowing rectangle of your phone, the screen’s light reflecting faintly in your eyes as you scroll.
there’s a lazy, rhythmic comfort to it—your thumb flicking upward in a slow, repetitive motion that keeps pace with the quiet hum of the room. you’re drifting through an endless stream of photos, updates, videos, memes— everything. the digital noise providing a sharp contrast to the stillness of the apartment. lost in the mindless loop of social media, you’ve let the minutes bleed together, perfectly content to stay anchored in the amber-tinted shadows of the bed while the rest of the world passes by outside.
the peaceful, amber-tinted silence is shattered in a sudden, elastic blur of movement. there is no warning, no soft footsteps on the hardwood or a quiet approach. only the abrupt, heavy impact of a body launching itself into the mattress with the spring-loaded energy of a cat. the bed springs groan under the sudden weight, sending a physical ripple through the sheets that nearly knocks the phone from your hands as the mattress dips violently.
before you can even draw a startled breath, Bachira has colonized your space entirely.
with a fluid, almost feline grace, he slides into the narrow gap between your arms, wedging himself against you with a needy, tactile intensity. he doesn't just lie down next to you; he anchors himself to you. his face disappears instantly, buried firmly in the soft space just beneath your chest, hiding away from the world in the warmth of your shirt. you can feel the immediate, radiating heat of him— that high-octane body temperature he always carries—seeping through the fabric as he nuzzles closer.
his arms wrap around your waist in a locked embrace, his fingers curling into your clothes as if to ensure you can’t drift away. he is a chaotic tangle of limbs and soft, dark hair, squeezing you with a fierce, grounding affection that forces a huff of air from your lungs. he remains perfectly silent, his entire body relaxing into yours as he turns your quiet, solitary afternoon into a lopsided, heart-thumping hug.
you blink, momentarily stunned by the sudden weight and warmth of him, before shifting your gaze downward to the messy crown of dark hair currently pressed against your ribs. you can’t help but let out a soft, breathless huff of a laugh at the sheer absurdity of the position he’s put you both in. “ Bachira? What are you doing? ” you murmur, your voice thick with the laziness of the afternoon as you nudge his shoulder.
the answer comes as a muffled vibration against your chest, his voice low and honey-thick with a sleepy sort of mischief.
“ ..Nothing, ” he hums, though the word is nearly lost in the fabric of your shirt.
he doesn't move an inch to explain himself. instead, he only tightens his hold, his arms squeezing your waist a little firmer as if to prove that his version of nothing involves becoming your permanent shadow. he nuzzles closer, his nose brushing against your chest in a slow, content gesture, making it very clear that he has no intention of moving until the sun finally disappears from the room.
with a small, exasperated sigh that ruffles the dark tufts of his hair, you decide to concede to his sudden invasion, realizing that trying to dislodge him would be like trying to move a mountain made of warm, stubborn energy. you lift your phone back into your line of sight, the light of the screen once again illuminating your face as you settle back into the rhythmic, mindless scroll of your feed. you choose to ignore the fact that your personal space has been entirely compromised, acting as if having a world-class striker anchored to your torso is just another mundane part of your Saturday.
your thumb resumes its slow flicking motion, navigating through an endless stream of digital memes, but the experience has changed. every movement you make is now mirrored by the slight shift of his weight against you; when you breathe, you feel the rise and fall of his chest synced perfectly with yours. the persistent, radiating heat of his body acts like a living radiator, turning the cozy warmth of the room into something much more intimate and heavy.
even as you focus on the glowing images on the screen, your peripheral vision is filled with the sight of his arms locked firmly around your waist and the way his hair tickles the underside of your chin. he is perfectly still now, a silent, heavy presence that demands acknowledgment without saying a word, making it increasingly difficult to actually process anything you’re watching.
the silence of the room is broken not by his movement, but by a sudden, playful shift in his energy. you can feel him grinning against your skin before you even hear his voice— a tiny, mischievous vibration that makes your heart skip a beat.
slowly, Bachira tilts his head back, shifting just enough to peek out from his hiding spot beneath your chest. his chin rests right against you as he looks up, his bright, wide eyes searching yours with a look of mock offense. the golden afternoon light catches the yellow highlights in his hair, making him look even more like a golden retriever than usual.
“ Hey, hey... are you really just gonna keep looking at that little glowing box? ” he teases, his voice a soft, melodic lilt that’s impossible to ignore. he lets go of your waist with one hand just to reach up and poke the side of your phone, trying to wobble it out of your grip. “ I’m right here, you know. I'm way more interesting than a screen. Why are you ignoring me? Is the monster on your phone more fun than me? ”
you can't help but look down at him, the sight of his pouty lip and those dilated, expectant pupils finally breaking your resolve. you let your phone drop onto the duvet beside you with a soft thump, your hands finally free.
“ ..Maybe because I was actually being productive doing nothing until a certain someone tackled me, ” you retort, though there’s no bite in your tone. you reach down, your fingers finally tangling into the messy, soft strands of his hair. “ What do you want, Meguru? You said you were doing nothing . ”
“ I changed my mind, ” he chirps, his grin widening until his eyes crinkle at the corners. he nuzzles his cheek back into your palm, leaning into your touch with a contented sigh. “ Doing nothing is better when you're doing it with me. Talk to me! Tell me something. ”
despite his chirping request and the expectant, golden-bright look in his eyes, you choose to call his bluff. you offer one final, lingering stroke through the softest part of his hair before withdrawing your hand, reaching back for the device resting on the beddings. it’s a deliberate, playful rejection, a silent challenge to see how he’ll handle being sidelined for a second time.
for a few beats, the room returns to that artificial silence, broken only by the faint, digital pings of your notifications and the rhythmic, ghostly flutter of the curtains. you keep your gaze fixed on the screen, scrolling with a forced concentration that you know is driving him crazy. beneath your chest, Meguru is a coiled spring. he stays perfectly still, his chin still anchored against you, but his pupils are blown wide, tracking the movement of your thumb with the predatory focus of a cat watching a laser pointer. the atmosphere between you becomes thick with a new kind of tension— not the heavy, sleepy weight of the afternoon, but a sharp, electric anticipation that vibrates through his locked embrace.
then, the quiet is gone in a flash of yellow-tipped hair and lightning-fast reflexes.
without a word of warning, Bachira’s grip on your waist vanishes, and before you can even register the movement, his hand shoots upward like a strike on the pitch. his fingers are nimble and sure, snatching the phone right out of your relaxed grip before you have the chance to tighten your hold. you’re left staring at your empty palms, the sudden lack of weight leaving you momentarily stunned.
he ends up perched at the edge of the bed, just out of arm’s reach, holding your phone high above his head like a trophy. he’s grinning now, a wide, jagged expression of pure triumph that shows off his teeth, his eyes dancing with a manic, playful light. the sun catches the yellow of his hair as he wags the device back and forth, taunting you with the very thing you used to ignore him.
you let out a exaggerated groan of frustration, your hands dropping uselessly onto the rumpled sheets where your phone had been just a second ago. the sudden absence of the device makes the room feel even warmer, and you fix him with a look that tries— and fails— to be stern.
“ Meguru! Give it back! ” you huff, your voice rising in a mock-annoyance that only fuels the fire in his eyes. you scramble onto your knees, the mattress shifting and dipping under your weight as you try to close the distance he’s created.
“ Seriously, what are you doing now? ”
Bachira doesn't move a muscle to return it. instead, he leans back on his elbows, the phone held just a few inches higher, teasingly out of reach. his grin doesn't falter for a second. if anything, it grows wider, more jagged and full of that signature chaotic energy. he watches you scramble toward him with the delighted focus of a boy watching a game he knows he’s winning.
when you reach out, your fingers grazing the edge of your phone’s case, he suddenly tilts his head to the side. instead of a verbal answer or a playful retort, he simply sticks his tongue out at you. it’s a purely childish, bratty gesture, delivered with a cheeky blep that completely shatters any remains of your " annoyed " facade. he’s completely unbothered by your protest, his eyes crinkling shut as he wiggles the phone tauntingly, making it clear that if you want your digital life back, you’re going to have to work for it.
the playful energy in the room suddenly hits a wall as you let out a sharp, genuine huff of irritation. the initial fun of the chase evaporates, replaced by the lingering heat of the room and the sudden realization that you just wanted a quiet afternoon. without a word, you stop reaching for the phone, your expression flattening into one of dull resignation.
you don't snap or yell; instead, you simply turn away from him, your body moving with a deliberate, heavy finality. you sink back into the mattress, laying down sideways and curling your knees slightly toward your chest. you've positioned yourself at the very edge of the bed, creating a vast, cold expanse of sheets between you and him, your back turned like a solid wall of silence.
the view of the soft shadows on the wall and the swaying curtains is all you give your attention to now. you let your gaze fixate on a single spot on the wallpaper, pointedly looking in the opposite direction of where he sits perched with his prize.
the silence that follows isn't like the cozy, amber-tinted quiet from before. it’s pointed and sharp. you can hear the rustle of the sheets as he likely realizes the game has stopped, but you don't nudge him, you don't look back, and you certainly don't ask for the phone again.
the sudden silence seems to ring louder in his ears than any of your protests did. behind you, the bed stays still for a heartbeat, the only sound being the soft, rhythmic rustle of the curtains. then, the triumphant energy he was radiating just moments ago pops like a bubble.
“ ..Huh? ”
the sound is small, genuine, and laced with a sudden, confused tilt. you don’t have to see his face to know his head is cocked to the side, his big eyes blinking in a rare moment of genuine uncertainty. the weight of his " win " clearly didn't taste as sweet once he realized the playfulness had drained out of the room.
the mattress groans again as he abandons his perch at the edge. there’s no feline grace this time— just a hurried, clumsy scramble as he jumps back at the bed, the force of his movement jostling your sideways frame.
the heavy impact of him throwing himself back onto the bed sends a jolt through the mattress, but he doesn't let go of his prize. even as he wraps himself around you, his fingers are still clamped firmly around your phone, the hard edges of the device pressing into the space between your bodies.
he drapes his weight over your side, hugging you again with a clingy, frantic energy, but it’s a lopsided embrace. one arm is hooked tightly around your waist, pulling you back toward him, while his other hand— the one still clutching your phone— is tucked awkwardly against his own chest, trapped in the narrow gap where your bodies meet. he’s like a hoarders of treasure, unwilling to give up the item that started the fight but terrified of the silence you’ve greeted him with.
he’s squeezed against you so tightly that you can feel the cool glass of the screen through the thin fabric of your shirt, a strange, metallic sensation amidst all that human warmth.
he senses the shift in the atmosphere— the way your body has gone rigid and your silence has turned sharp. to Bachira, silence isn't peaceful; it's a wall he doesn't know how to climb.
he squeezes his arm tighter around your waist, his fingers still clutching your phone against his chest as if he’s forgotten he’s even holding it. he shifts his head, nuzzling his face deeper into the crook of your neck until his nose brushes against your skin, his breath coming in soft, hesitant puffs.
“ ...Are you angry? ”
his voice is stripped of its usual melodic lilt. it’s small, muffled by your shoulder, and carries a rare, fragile note of genuine concern. he doesn’t pull away to look at you; instead, he stays anchored to your back, waiting for a reaction with the wary stillness of a creature that knows it pushed a joke just a few inches too far.
the "monster" in him has gone quiet, replaced by a boy who is suddenly terrified that he’s lost his playmate. he waits. his heartbeat thumping a rapid, anxious rhythm against your spine, desperate for any sign— a sigh, a nudge, or even a scolding— that tells him he hasn't actually pushed you away.
the silence stretches out, thick and heavy like the amber sunlight pooling on the beddings. your lack of a response seems to make him more restless; you can feel the way his grip on your waist hitches, his fingers twitching slightly against your shirt. the phone, still clutched in his other hand, feels like a forgotten relic between your bodies— the trophy has lost all its value now that the game isn't being played anymore.
“ Hey... ”
he asks again, calling out your name. his voice dropping an octave, losing every bit of its playful edge. he nuzzles his forehead against the back of your neck, his hair tickling your skin as he tries to coax a reaction out of you. when you remain a sideways, motionless silhouette, a soft, defeated huff of air escapes him.
“ I'm sorry, ” he murmurs, the apology muffled by your shoulder but surprisingly sincere. “ I was just playing around. I didn't mean to actually make you mad.. ”
he finally loosens his locked grip, his hand moving tentatively as he slides your phone across the mattress, nudging it back toward your side of the bed as a peace offering. he doesn't pull away, though. instead, he shifts his weight, pressing his chest more firmly against your back and hiding his face completely in the crook of your neck.
“ ..Don't be quiet, ” he whispers, his voice small and unusually vulnerable. “ It's boring when you're quiet. You can have the 'glowing box' back, just... don't look away from me, okay? ”
he sounds less like a world-class athlete in that moment and more like a kid who realized his favorite person isn't laughing at his jokes anymore. he stays there, anchored to you, waiting with bated breath to see if his apology is enough to melt the cold shoulder you’ve given him.
the moment you begin to shift, the tension in Bachira’s body snaps into a high-alert stillness. he reacts instantly to your movement, his limbs loosening just enough to allow you to roll over, though he stays draped over you, his wide, expectant eyes tracking every inch of your face as you turn.
now, you are finally facing him.
the golden light of the afternoon catches the faint, anxious glint in his dilated pupils. he looks smaller like this, his messy dark hair splayed across the pillow and his lower lip tucked in slightly as he waits for the verdict. he’s braced for a lecture or a lingering frown, his entire being focused on the tiny distance between your noses.
you don't say a word. instead, you reach out, your hand cupping the side of his face— your thumb brushing over his cheekbone as you pull him just a fraction closer.
slowly, you lean in and kiss him.
it’s a soft, lingering contact that tastes like the quiet heat of the Saturday afternoon. the effect is instantaneous. Bachira’s entire world stops. his eyes go wide, frozen in a state of pure, unadulterated surprise, and the restless energy that usually hums through his veins completely stalls. he doesn't move, doesn't blink, and for the first time in his life, his mouth— usually so full of chirps and teases— is firmly shut. he is speechless and shocked, his brain short-circuiting as the "monster" inside him goes silent in the face of your touch.
but before the shock can even wear off, and while his guard is completely decimated by the kiss, you act.
with the precision of a striker finding the back of the net, your free hand dives for his loosened grip. your fingers curl around the cool casing of your device, and with a swift, triumphant flick of your wrist, you snatch your phone back from his stunned hands.
you pull away just as slowly as you leaned in, a small, devious smirk playing on your lips as you settle back into your side of the bed. you don't give him a second to recover; you simply turn the screen back on, the blue light illuminating your face as you return to your scroll.
Meguru is left staring at you, his face flushed a deep, frantic red and his hand still hovering near the air where your phone used to be. he looks like he’s forgotten how to breathe, his heart thumping so loudly you can practically hear it against the mattress.
for a long, agonizingly silent heartbeat, Meguru remains a statue. the flush on his cheeks is still deepening, and his lips are parted in that stunned, breathless "O" of total disbelief. you can practically see the gears in his head grinding to a halt, then suddenly whirring back to life at twice their normal speed as the realization finally clicks.
the kiss was a decoy. a tactical maneuver. a feint.
his eyes snap from your face down to the phone in your hand, and then back to your eyes, which are alight with a triumphant, devious spark. the shock in his expression doesn't just fade; it evolves into a look of sheer, competitive delight. the "monster" isn't just back— it’s ecstatic.
“ Oh... so that’s how we’re playing? ” he breaths out, his voice a low, raspy whisper that carries a dangerous amount of playfulness.
before you can even register the shift in the air, he lunges. this isn't the clumsy, needy scramble from before; this is the explosive, reflexive speed of a world-class athlete. his body is a blur of motion as he bridges the gap you’d tried to create, his weight coming down over you with a sudden, overwhelming force that pins you back into the sun-warmed mattress.
his hand moves like a strike, his fingers weaving through yours with practiced accuracy. before your thumb can even complete its next scroll, he snatches your phone again, his grip iron-clad as he yanks it back into his possession.
he doesn't retreat this time. he stays hovered directly over you, his chest heaving with a frantic, excited rhythm and his face inches from yours. he’s grinning— a wide, jagged, chaotic expression that says he’s completely seen through your trick and found it the most exhilarating thing that’s happened all day. he holds the phone high above his head once more, but his other hand stays firmly planted beside your head, caging you in.
“ Nice try! Really, really nice try, ” he chirps, his eyes dancing with a manic, golden light. “ But if you think you can just pay me off with a kiss and go back to that box.. you’re dreaming! ”
you let out a long, dramatic exhale, your head sinking back into the pillow as you go limp beneath him. “ Geez, ” you mutter, the word half-lost in a breathless laugh of genuine surrender.
you look up at him, taking in the way he’s looming over you with that triumphant, cheshire-cat grin. he looks so incredibly proud of himself, perched there like he’s just scored the winning goal in the World Cup final rather than just mugging his partner for a smartphone. the golden light of the late afternoon highlights the sweat-slicked tips of his hair and the manic, happy glow in his eyes.
“ You're a menace, Meguru, ” you tease, your voice dropping into a playful lilt as you intentionally let your gaze wander over his face, lingering just a second too long on his lips.
you reach up, but instead of clawing for the phone, you slowly trail your fingers down the center of his chest, feeling the frantic, heavy thud of his heart through his shirt. the steady thump-thump is a testament to how much that "decoy" kiss actually rattled him, despite his current bravado.
“ So, what's the plan then, star player? ” you murmur, tilting your head and offering him a challenge of your own. “ Are you waiting for a whistle to blow? ”
Bachira’s grin falters for a split second, replaced by a sharp, audible intake of breath as your fingers trace that slow path down his chest. he’s usually the one setting the pace, the one creating the chaos, but the way you’re looking at him now— with that heavy-lidded, challenging gaze— has the "monster" inside him doing backflips.
he’s still holding the phone high, but his arm feels a little heavier now, his focus entirely diverted from the prize to the person beneath him.
“ Whistle?.. I don't need a referee for this, ” he murmurs, his voice losing its chirpy edge and dropping into a huskier, more grounded tone. he slowly lowers his arm, but instead of handing the phone back, he simply lets it drop onto the pillow next to your head, completely discarded. his hand slides down to pin your wrist against the mattress, his fingers interlocking with yours in a firm, tactile grip.
he leans in even closer, his yellow-tinted hair creating a private, shadowed canopy that shuts out the rest of the room.
“ You’re the one who started playing dirty, ” he whispers, his nose brushing against yours in a slow, agonizingly playful tease. “ You think you can just flip a switch and leave me short-circuited? That’s a foul. ”
“ A foul? ” you repeat, your voice barely a breathy whisper that ghosts over his lips. you can see the way his eyelashes flutter at the proximity, his pupils pulsing with every word you speak. “ Then why aren't you calling for a penalty, Meguru? ”
“ A penalty? Oh! I like the sound of that! ” he chirps, his voice bouncing back to its usual melodic, high-energy lilt.
suddenly, the weight of his body isn't a "pin" anymore; he turns into a literal pile of jelly, collapsing his upper body onto yours in a massive, goofy "hug attack." he releases your wrist only to wrap both arms around your shoulders, burying his face in the crook of your neck and wiggling around like a hyperactive puppy trying to find the best spot on a rug.
“ The penalty is... tickle torture! ” he declares, his muffled voice vibrating against your skin.
before you can even process the change in pace, his fingers are dancing against your ribs with the same lightning-fast precision he uses for his dribbling. it’s chaotic, unpredictable, and completely ruins the "cool" atmosphere you were trying to build. he’s laughing now— that bright, infectious cackle that sounds like pure mischief— as he rolls with you across the duvet, the discarded phone forgotten and buried under a mountain of rumpled sheets.
“ You thought you were so smooth with that kiss, didn't you? ” he teases, pulling back just enough to look at you, his face flushed pink and his hair standing up in even messier tufts than before. he’s perched over you again, but this time he’s holding his hands up like claws, ready to strike again if you even think about reaching for your phone.
“ Nope! No phone! The monster says it’s officially Meguru-time until the sun goes down! ” he lets out a playful rawr, his eyes wide and sparking with fun.
you explode into a fit of breathless, genuine laughter, your body twisting and arching on the mattress as you try to escape those lightning-fast fingers. the transition from the heavy, golden tension of a moment ago to this pure, unadulterated chaos is so sudden it leaves you gasping.
“ Hah.. M-Meguru! Stop! ” you shriek through your giggles, your hands flying up to try and catch his wrists, though it’s like trying to grab smoke. he’s too quick, his fingers finding every sensitive spot along your ribs with a striker’s lethal accuracy. “ I yield! I yield! Seriously, I can't— ”
another burst of laughter cuts you off as he finds a particularly ticklish spot, making you kick out your legs beneath the duvet. the "cool" version of you from five minutes ago is officially gone, replaced by a squirming, red-faced mess.
“️ Okay, okay! You win! ” you manage to gasp out, your eyes watering from laughing so hard. you reach out, finally managing to snag the hem of his shirt to pull him closer, hoping that a hug might actually pin his arms down. “ ..Bachira, I'm gonna lose my breath! No more phone, I promise! ”
Bachira finally relents, though he keeps his hands poised over your sides like he’s ready to strike again at the slightest hint of a lie. he’s hovering over you, chest heaving with his own laughter, his face bright and eyes sparkling with pure, mischievous joy. he looks down at you, a stray lock of dark hair falling over his forehead, and gives you a cheeky, triumphant grin.
“ Promise? For real, for real? ” he asks, tilting his head with that bird-like curiosity. “ No more looking at the glowing box until the sun disappears? ”
“ Yes, no more phone. ”
before you let the phone go for good, you steal one last glance at the screen. the digital numbers shimmer: 4:10 PM. Only twenty-five minutes have passed since the sun was at its peak gold, yet it feels like you've lived through a whole championship match of teasing. the afternoon is still ripe, the shadows only just beginning to stretch their long, lacey fingers across the floorboards.
as you settle back into the mattress, the room's cozy, heavy heat wraps around you again. you adjust your position, shifting until you are lying flat on your back, sinking deeper into the soft, sun-warmed bedding. the change in posture opens up the space, and Bachira immediately adapts with the fluid, instinctive movement of a shadow.
he doesn't just lie infront of you; he practically drapes himself over your front returning to that same needy, tactile anchor from the start. he tucks his head into the crook of your neck and shoulder, his messy dark hair tickling your chin. one of his arms is slung heavily across your stomach, his fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt, while his legs tangle slightly with yours beneath the blankets.
“ 4:10... ” Bachira’s voice is a sleepy, muffled vibration against your skin. he nuzzles closer, his nose brushing your neck as he exhales a long, satisfied breath. “ That means we have lots of 'nothing' left to do. Don't move, okay? I'm recharging. ”
the ivory curtains ghost against the window frame, a rhythmic flutter in the amber light. you close your eyes, letting the drowsy weight of the afternoon and the warmth of his locked embrace pull you back into that peaceful, saturday slumber. no phones, no distractions— just the two of you, drifting in the liquid gold of the quiet apartment.
you let your arms rest naturally, one hand perhaps coming up to idly toy with the soft tufts of hair at the nape of his neck. now that the phone is banished to the nightstand, the world feels incredibly small and quiet. you can feel the steady, powerful thrum of his heart against your ribs, slowing down from the excitement of the chase into a calm, sleepy cadence.
the heat of the sun on the bed and the radiating warmth of Bachira squeezed against your front create a cozy, inescapable weight.
“ Hey, ” he whispers, not moving an inch from his spot against your shoulder. “ No cheating. I can feel if you're thinking about the phone. Just stay like this... the monster wants to nap now. ”
you can't help but smile at the ceiling, watching the lacey shadows of the trees dance across the plaster. you aren't thinking about the phone at all; the heavy, heart-thumping reality of him anchored to your side is way more interesting than anything on a screen.
for a long moment, Meguru is so still you think he might already be drifting off, but then you feel a slight shift in his posture.
he doesn't pull away. instead, he nuzzles his face just a fraction higher, his nose brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck. then, with a soft, lingering tenderness that feels worlds away from his usual chaotic energy, he presses a warm, sleepy kiss right against your pulse point.
it’s not a tease or a prank this time; it’s a quiet, grounding anchor of affection. the skin there is thin, and you can feel the faint, upturned curve of his lips against you before he lets out a long, content sigh that ghosts over your skin.
“ Night-night... ” he mumbles, the words barely intelligible as his head sinks back into the hollow of your shoulder.
and then, as if someone simply flipped a switch, his entire body goes completely lax. the tension in his arm across your stomach vanishes as he goes limp, his breathing deepening and slowing into the heavy, rhythmic cadence of immediate sleep.
it’s a talent only he seems to possess— to go from a whirlwind of movement to a deep slumber in the span of a single breath. the "monster" has finally curled up for a nap. the golden light at 4:17 PM catches the soft rise and fall of his chest, and you’re left pinned to the bed by a world-class athlete who has decided that your shoulder is the best pillow in the world.
he doesn't stir when the curtains flutter or when a car hums by outside. he’s out cold, his messy dark hair splayed across your collarbone, holding onto you even in his dreams.
you find yourself staring up at the ceiling, watching the shadows of the tree branches perform a slow, silent ballet across the plaster. it’s a strange, suspended kind of reality. usually, your thumb would be flying across a screen, your brain buzzing with the frantic energy of a thousand different digital thoughts. but now, with the phone banished to the nightstand, the silence is loud. it’s heavy.
your gaze drifts down to the top of Meguru’s head. from this angle, he looks almost vulnerable— the jagged, chaotic energy he carries is smoothed over by sleep. you can feel the heat of his breath against your neck, a steady, puffing warmth that marks the passage of time more accurately than any clock could.
a quiet thought drifts through your mind: What now?
the afternoon is cooling, the initial heat of the sun fading into that crisp, slightly chilly edge that spring evenings carry. you could try to reach for the bedding to pull it higher over both of you, but the slightest shift makes Bachira let out a tiny, subconscious mumble, his grip tightening on your waist even in his sleep. he’s like a human burr, stuck to you with a biological need for proximity.
you realize, with a soft, internal huff of amusement, that you’re effectively trapped.
there’s no scrolling to save you from your own thoughts now. you’re forced to just be— to feel the weight of his arm, the softness of his hair tickling your chin, and the way your own heart has started to slow down to match his. it’s a luxury you rarely allow yourself: the total, absolute stillness of doing nothing with someone who makes "nothing" feel like an event.
slowly, carefully, you let your head sink deeper into the pillow, turning your face just enough so your cheek rests against the crown of his head. the clean, slightly citrusy scent of his shampoo lingers in his hair, mixing with the scent of sun-warmed skin.
your phone can wait. the memes will still be there tomorrow. but right now, in the fading gold of a Saturday, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be stuck. you close your eyes, finally letting the drowsy weight of the afternoon claim you too, drifting off into the quiet alongside the boy who refused to let you be alone.
but the stillness of the room is so absolute that your brain begins to fill the void with its own digital ghosts. even with your eyes closed and your phone a distant, cold object on the nightstand, your muscle memory betrays you. in the dark theater of your mind, a phantom thumb flicks upward, and an imaginary Instagram feed begins to unspool with vivid, haunting clarity.
the "feed" is perfect— no ads, no filler, just the mindless, high-definition loop of your subconscious. you can almost see the saturated colors of a top-down cooking video. a knife slides through a thick, buttery graham cracker crust; a pour of vibrant, glossy strawberry glaze cascades over a mountain of velvety white cream cheese. you can practically taste the tart sweetness, the imagined chill of the cheesecake providing a sharp, delicious contrast to the stifling amber heat currently radiating from Bachira’s body. it feels so real that your senses tingle, your mind fixating on that perfect, digital slice of heaven.
but the phantom scroll begins to slow. the vivid red of the strawberries starts to bleed into the warm, honeyed shadows of the bedroom.
the weight of Meguru’s arm across your stomach feels heavier now, a grounding anchor that pulls you away from the imaginary screen and back into the physical reality of the bed. his rhythmic, deep breathing acts like a metronome, lulling your frantic thoughts into a steady, quiet crawl. the cool edge of the afternoon air brushes against your skin, but you are cocooned in the radiator-like warmth of the boy who conquered your attention.
the strawberry cheesecake fades. the digital noise goes silent.
the phantom light of the screen finally flickers out in your mind, replaced by the featureless dark of a sleep too heavy for dreams.
outside, the sun continues its slow, inevitable descent, the liquid gold deepening into a bruised, royal violet along the horizon. the shadows of the trees stretch until they cover the floorboards entirely, eventually climbing the walls to swallow the stray dust motes that had danced so vibrantly only an hour before. the rhythmic flutter of the ivory curtains slows as the breeze dies down, leaving the room in a state of perfect, breathless equilibrium.
in the center of the quiet apartment, the bed remains a small, warm island. the discarded phone sits dark and cold on the nightstand, its glass face reflecting nothing but the dimming sky. it is no longer a rival for your affection, but a forgotten relic of a day that was successfully stolen.
as the last of the daylight retreats, the only sound left is the synchronized rise and fall of two breaths— one light and steady, the other deep and grounded. wrapped in the gravity of a Saturday that refused to be rushed, you and Bachira remain anchored to one another, lost to the world in a silence that is finally, beautifully complete.
this is a work of fiction. any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or real events is purely coincidental and not intended. all characters depicted are not owned by me and belong to their respective creators. this work is purely fictional and for illustrative purposes only.
I'm not even done watching blue lock, but I already decided to write this. AUGHHH I LOVE YOU BACHIRAAA
seems like this is also my first work where readers relationship with my chosen character is classified... yeah not classifying the relationship adds more tension and plot sorry
I'm free for two weeks :3 and decided I will use my time to write fanfics ! despite having lots of unfinished works... uh yeah anyways
expect more posts this month! I'll randomly post fanfics !
I randomly write when I get ideas, but I couldn't bring myself to post them ;:; trying to change though. editing here is so tiring for me, sorry guys :(
