LUCY

with the moon positioned at its highest point in the night sky, blade guessed that it was already midnight, meaning that he hadn't caught a wink of sleep ever since he fled the xianzhou with your unconscious body in his arms and warped to a planet he first thought of. this was nothing new. he could stay up all night and his body wouldn't feel anything at all.

blade approached your resting figure in the small cave you were both currently residing in. observing your face for a moment, which was formed in a deep frown, he brushed away the stray hairs out of your face as carefully as he could, then placed the damp cloth on your forehead.

your fever wasn't going down throughout the evening, with your body covered in sweat and hastily wrapped bandages. your shoulders were bare since your most grave injury was a stab wound near your heart, caused by a sharp blade of a mara-struck soldier, and so he was forced to rip open the top part of your shirt to stop the bleeding.

beside your now wrapped wound was none other than your mark. your stellar mark. blade can only stare at it. even when he was placing a bandage over your wound, he didn't dare touch the area where the mark rested on your skin. until now, he was still in disbelief over the fact that the aeons gave him a counterpart, his other half. after all the torment and pain, he, of all people, was blessed with a stellarmate.

he went over to the bonfire in the middle of the cave, where he was boiling medicinal herbs with water using a bowl he made out of stone. years worth of travelling between planets made him gain knowledge of which food to eat or which plant is safe to intake. emerald-iii wasn't a foreign land to blade; he had visited the planet before twice, accompanied by kafka.

speaking of his companion, blade thought back to the xianzhou while waiting for you to wake up and for the medicine to finish cooking. she must be looking for him right now, maybe even asked silver wolf to track him down. your astral express friends might be searching for you too.

he closed his eyes. the image of you lying in your own pool of blood appeared in his mind. blood was also dripping down the side of your mouth, and your eyes were already starting to close when he found you. the pain and rage and fear he felt all over his body was nothing compared to his never-ending death. and he felt his mark burning too, wanting to seek revenge to the people who hurt what was his, wanting to kill them clean with his broken—

"b—lade?" your broken voice came out in a pained wheeze. you coughed shortly after, throat dry and parched. blade turned around and looked at you. your eyes were barely open, but he can see your confusion and distress. "you're...h-here?"

"fool. don't try to talk. you are currently in a weak state." he scolded, glowering at you with his crimson eyes narrowed in slits.

you shook your head repeatedly, slowly lifting your shivering arms and wrapping them around yourself. "i-it hurts, blade..." you complained as tears lined up your eyes, fingers brushing against your wounded shoulder, "...and it's c-cold."

blade gave you a blank stare. he didn't know what to say to you. it was the first time you talked to each other properly, and the first time you were alone together. but it seemed like you were in a state of delirium, seeing that you weren't scared of expressing yourself.

you whined while sniffing, "so cold...why is it so cold?"

he sighed in defeat and shrugged off his tailcoat, leaving him in only bandages wrapped around his torso. he scooted over to you and covered your body with his coat. "we are in emerald-iii, therefore, the weather is constantly changing. endure it while i finish the medicine."

"medicine?" you asked curiously, pulling his coat up to your face.

blade clicked his tongue in annoyance. "one more question and i will abandon you here."

you were silent for the next minutes as you patiently waited beside him. he removed the stone bowl from the fire, and saw that the water has turned a greyish green due to the medicinal herbs. to further melt down the remaining floating leaves, he gave the liquid a quick stir by moving it in a back and forth motion.

bringing it up to your lips, he commanded, "drink."

moving your head forward, you sipped from the bowl, but you immediately coughed it out. after recovering from the series of coughs, you let out, "it's bitter—!"

"you dare complain when i boiled these herbs for hours just so they become pure enough to consume." blade snapped impatiently, "do you wish to be well or not?"

you nodded quickly, not wanting to anger him any further. "okay. i'll drink it."

it took you a few more tries before you get to take all the medicine down your throat, your face scrunched in disgust by the time you finished drinking it.

without warning, blade scooped you up and placed your head against his shoulder. he started taking off your bloodied bandages, and once it was all removed, he examined the wound. he already cleaned and stitched it up hours ago, but it was still bleeding. it can't be helped. the supplies were sparse and the cut was too deep, and with your fever adding up, he was not sure if you'll survive the night.

sweat began lining up his forehead. gritting his teeth, he took a fresh batch of bandages and started to wrap them on you again.

why? why was he doing this? why was he trying to keep you alive? each time the bandage circled around your arm, blade's movements became more frustrated and quick and rough. he didn't even notice you gazing at him with a dazed expression until you chuckled softly.

blade scowled. "speak if you wish to say something."

"are you real?" you murmured weakly, your hushed voice cracking in between words, lacking the usual gentle tone yet it was still tinted with naivety and awe that it made him freeze. all the frustration and anger was washed away and was instead replaced with confusion to your question.

your eyelids kept drooping down, not allowing him to see the beautiful shade of your warm eyes that reminded him of the brightest stars of the xianzhou sky. it was fine; as long as he gets to hold you like this, your head against his shoulder, your bare skin against his with the moonlight shining over you, then everything was fine.

feeling his heart skid to a stop for a thousandth time that night, blade can't help but to slowly reach out, and although his bandaged hand hesitated to land on your skin, afraid it might tint your innocence with his sins, he allowed himself to caress your cheek. it did not surprise him at all when your face fit perfectly in the palm of his wounded hand, your warmth proceeding to seep through his thin and bloodied bandages. a stray tear suddenly fell down your smooth skin, and this time, he didn't hesitate to wipe it off with his thumb.

"what do you mean?" he whispered, leaning in closer to you. you didn't answer for a minute, your breathing growing heavy.

then you laughed. "i don't know," you said, "i feel like i just made you up."

more tears escaped from your eyes as you continued, "you wouldn't...boil some strange herbs for me, or wrap me up in your coat. or treat my wounds, or even talk to me. you wouldn't want to be near me. you wouldn't do that."

"i have no time for your nonsense." blade replied with the intention of sounding harsh, but it came out weak instead. you smiled at him tearily, placing your hand on top of his.

"we are going to be unbound soon." you assured him, and blade swore his stellarmark was stung the second you said those words, "and as soon as i get well, i will immediately seek the aeons and get our marks removed. then you wouldn't have to see me ever again."

he swallowed, speechless for the first time. unbeknownst to him, he was slowly pulling you closer to his chest, his fingers digging into your skin in an attempt to keep you all to himself. his breathing grew uneven as he thought of you walking away from him, forgetting him, not thinking of him, and you belonging to someone else that wasn't him. his heartbeat grew irregular at the thought of not seeing you again.

blade had the sudden urge to cover up his mark and protect it from the world. it was his. it was his and his alone, and no one was going to take it away from him. not even the aeons.

"but do you want to know a secret?" you continued quietly, your smile growing wide, "if the aeons would give me a chance to pick a stellarmate again, i would choose you."

yes. he was going to keep this mark. and he was going to keep you. ever single person who will lay their hand on your skin will meet the sharpness of his sword, and every single one who will stand in between your bond shall face his wrath.

"i would you choose you, again, and again, and again, until you want me back. until you love me back."

the second you wake up from your delirious state, he'll tell you of his new plans, and he imagined you in disbelief, surprised and hesitant and hopeless but you'll nod and you'll take his hand, and you'll run, run, run, and leave it all behind.

"oh, look at the moon," you exclaimed, pointing a finger to the crescent shaped light, and he ignored the way your breaths were growing shallow each time you talk, "look at the moon, blade. it's so pretty. the moon is so pretty."

blade pulled you closer to his chest and rested his chin on top of your head as a sinister grin started to grow on his lips, along with an unfamiliar flame beginning to ignite in his amber crimson eyes. you were his. you were his.

and not even elio can change that.

why are you, out of all people, asking about draken? mitsuya isn’t sure he wants to know the answer. 

“hello? earth to taka? you still there?” you giggled, waving a hand in front of his face, mitsuya seems to snap out of his trance as he blinks with his pursed lips.

“yeah. he prefers the darker kind of chocolate.” mitsuya answers, trying to gauge how you would react, but your expression was hard to read. “i see.” 

“alright, thank you, takashi!” with that, you turned on your heel and left, leaving mitsuya to wonder what that was all about. 

— 

if you were to ask mitsuya when he started liking you, he’d have no definite answer, seeing as for him, liking you was just something he realized along the way and he couldn’t go back, he’s fallen way too far to get back up.

but if you were to ask mitsuya if he thinks you felt the same for him, he would say yes. or that was how he would’ve answered in the past because right now, he was in a state of confusion as to why you kept asking about draken. 

“what kind of shapes do you think he’d like for his chocolate?” “i don’t think he’d care.” 

“would he prefer red wrapping paper or…” “i don’t think he’d even look at it much.”

“do you think he’d at least appreciate the gift?” “dunno.” 

you frowned, not liking how clipped mitsuya’s answers were becoming. 

“are you okay, taka?” “peachy.” mitsuya mutters, fighting the urge to roll them back in annoyance. 

mitsuya is very much aware that he wasn’t acting like himself. but he couldn’t bring himself to correct his behavior because for the past two hours that you hung out with him, all you talked about was draken. 

the purplenette never thought he’d say this but he’s so close to developing some form of resentment towards his sworn brother. 

“you don’t soud okay, taka, you know you can talk to me, right?” mitsuya nods, going back to his sketch at work. 

“oh, is that a new design?” mitsuya nods once more, not taking his eyes off the lines he was etching onto the paper. 

“what’s the inspiration behind it?” mitsuya freezes in his actions. the dress’ motif was insoired by you. by the things you liked. hell, he even had a cardigan that was designed to suit your tastes in the works, but he isn’t even sure if he wanted to finish it, what good would his gift do when all you ever asked about was draken, draken, draken. 

“it’s… for someone really special to me.” mitsuya answers, as vaguely as he can muster and he thinks that he’s imagining it, but from the corner of his eye, he can see the way your face dropped, but again, he wasn’t so sure. 

“whoever you like must be really lucky, huh?” yeah. you’re so lucky, idiot. mitsuya badly wants to answer, but he opts for a smile on his face, a smile that he doesn’t realize belonged to someone who was in love. a smile that was for you,  but you didn’t know. mitsuya thinks that he’d rather never let you know. 

“i don’t think she likes me, honestly.” mitsuya decides to play rhetorically, knowing that you were too dense to catch up on his insinuations, knowing that you thought of him platonically. 

you let out an offended gasp, “how could she not like you?!” 

“you’re like, perfect, that’s her loss. are you sure she doesn’t like you?” “i don’t know? do you like me?” mitsuya hoped he wasn’t being too obvious. 

“of course i do—“ mitsuya’s heart stuttered in his chest. “you’re w really great person, you’re such a loyal friend and anyone would be so lucky to have you!” right. dense. mitsuya wanted to slap a palm on his forehead but decided against it, he knew that you wouldn’t catch up on his words. 

he didn’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed. 

valentine’s was rolling around the corner, the restos and cafes that they used to walk by made it pretty obvious that valentine’s day was fast approaching, as if the couple promos and red heart decorations scattered across the block couldn’t be any more obnoxious about it. 

mitsuya feels his chest get heavier day by day as he feels valentine’s approach, he knew that he was mentally counting the days when you would confess your love to draken and he was slowly starting to detach himself to you, but you wouldn’t let him. 

“do you have any plans this valentine’s, taka?” you asked as you played with the straw in your drink. mitsuya looks down on his coffee, wondeirng whether he should shrug the question off or answer truthfully. he decides on the latter. 

“have the girl of my dreams confess to her crush, so i’m dreading the day it comes, honestly.” mitsuya says and a hurt expression passes on your face, it went away right before he could see it.

“do you really have no chance with her?” you ask cautiously, not wanting to seem too nosy. mitsuya shakes his head. 

“she likes someone else, and she’s made that obvious for the past few weeks. so really, what else am i supposed to do?” you purse your lips, not knowing what else to tell him.

“she must be really dumb if she can’t realize how lucky she is.” you pout, feeling your heart break a little bit and mitsuya wants to bash his head against the wall because of how oblivious you seemed to be. 

“seems so.” mitsuya clipped back. 

the two of sat in silence, not knowing what to say but there was a building tension that you could almost cut with a knife. you hated it, you wanted it to disappear, with that, you tried to disperse the awkward tension.

“ne… mitsuya.” you call for his attention. “hm?” 

“do you think you can tell draken to come at the pier on valentine’s?” his heart just shattered. his grip on the glass of iced coffee just tightened up and he hopes you didn’t notice. 

“sure.” “thank you, taka!” then it was silent again before mitsuya breaks it himself. 

“i have to go, (l/n)-san.” mitsuya stands up, excusing himself. “it’s time for me to go pick up luna and mana.“ “i can come with-“ “no.” you blinked, a bit shocked at his response, mitsuya notices the out of character reaction as he quickly composes himself. 

“we have to go somewhere after, family errands.” he lies, hoping you buy it. you nod with a conflicted expression, he nods back in goodbye before he walks away, leaving you to wonder what was wrong. 

the day of valentine’s came and mitsuya couldn’t help but lock himself in his room. he wanted the day to end faster, he even went as far as muting his phone, not wanting to see potential texts from you or draken saying that you were now official. 

a knock interrupts his thoughts, “i’m not in the mood, mana.” he called out. 

“it’s not mana.” he hears your voice call, mitsuya bites back a groan, not wanting to see you today. “open up.” you say, knocking— banging on his door. mitsuya groans once more, getting up and opening the door. 

to say his breath was blown away would be a massive understatement. you were dressed up, make-up suiting your face perfectly, the clothes you wore complimented your figure and he almost wanted to dock draken’s face in for taking what’s his- no. mitsuya thinks to himself, i should be happy for them. 

“you look nice.” mitsuya comments, and he might be delusional, but he could’ve sworn that you appeared flustered before his eyes. 

“t-thanks” you coughed, before shaking your head and smiling. “come on, let’s go!” 

mitsuya was now confused. “huh? where?” 

“the confession for draken, let’s go! go get dressed.” any semblance of happiness mitsuya sported now left his body as he frowns. 

you take notice, but not for the right reasons. “i know having your friend be confessed to isn’t the ideal valentine’s for you, but i’ll make it up to you, hurry up, let’s go! i didn’t waste time just to not see it happen so let’s go!” although mitsuya was a bit heartbroken and confused, he dressed up and just under a few minutes, you were pulling him out of his house, ignoring the way luna and mana were making kissy faces at the two of you. 

“there!” you gushed, pointing at the pier where the confession would happen. 

mitsuya was expecting you to let go of his arm and ready yourself for your confession. 

‘this is for the better.’ he thinks. ‘if i can see it happen, then that’s closure for me’ 

he was surprised when you let out a quiet squeal, slapping his arm repeatedly as you beamed at the scene in front of you. 

mitsuya turns to the scene, only now seeing the closest thing he can call as a brother stand in front of the pier, as if he were waiting for someone. 

the purplenette turns back to you, a confused expression on his face. ‘aren’t you going to go to him?’ he badly wants to ask, but he doesn’t want to see you walk away from him. 

“go girl.” you whisper under your breath. before mitsuya could question you, he sees a blonde emerging from the corner. 

“ken-chan.” the all too familiar voice of his leader’s younger sister was loud amidst the silence of the pier. 

sano emma. she was right in front of draken, not you. 

“ah, emma. you called?” mitsuya watches with a bated breath, he could clearly see that emma was holding a box of chocolates behind her back. 

“uh… i, uh…” “hm?” “please be my valentine, ken-chan!” emma closes her eyes, bowing her head as she pushes the box with her arms. 

mitsuya feels you stiffen beside him as you hold your breath. watching in anticipation. mitsuya was startled when you clung to his arm, eyes still in front of the scene. you let out a squeal when you see draken smile and place a hand on emma’s head, ruffling her hair slightly as he takes the box in her hand. 

“success!” you whispered excitedly before you looked at him with sparkles in your eyes. 

wait. huh? you looked at him, confused. shit. he said that out loud. 

“i thought you…” mitsuya’s words caught on his tongue, but you seemed to pick up on what he wanted to say as your eyes widened, your head shaking in denial. “liked draken? oh my god, no.” you denied. 

“i was only helping out emma, but she told me i couldn’t tell anyone about her crush.” “that was supposed to be a secret?” “not the point, takashi!” you fought off a giggle. “that’s why i asked you, because i know you know him and you wouldn't get suspicious, if i asked mikey then the whole world would know in the next five minutes.” you ranted

mitsuya finds you cute. 

“i really thought you liked draken…” mitsuya admits. you huffed, “girl code, taka, and no. i like someone else.” 

mitsuya could not catch a break. 

“who?” he couldn’t help but ask, not even bothering to be discreet. you gave him a shy smile, “his best friend.”

“mikey?!” “god, no!” you exasperated, “why are you so dense?”

mitsuya.exe has stopped responding. 

“i’m dense? do you even hear yourself?” mitsuya retorts. “you’ve been killing me the entire time you asked about draken, you made me think that you’ve fallen completely for him. you should be an actor.” 

you were curious to see where this conversation was going, you ignored the way your heart was beginning to thump loudly against your chest. 

“and what if i did fall for him? why does it matter?”  you lure him into a trap. wanting to hear a specific answer 

luckily for you, mitsuya wasn’t as dense as you. 

“because. you’re mine.” a smile threatened to escape your lips at the possesiveness he showed, his arm went around your waist pulling you close. 

“right?” mitsuya asks for assurance. you bit your lower lip slightly and whispered. “you didn’t ask me yet.” 

mitsuya almost laughs, but he opts to put his forehead on yours, breaths almost intermingling with each other. “be my valentine.”

you giggle, looping your arms around his neck. “that doesn’t sound like a question.” 

“it wasn’t.” mitsuya affirms, you smile, letting your lips fall on his cheek and you feel him pull your figure closer to him, longing for the warmth of your body against his. 

“you’re my valentine for years to come, alright? so don’t ask me about any other men.” mitsuya warns. 

“okay, taka.” you relented, closing your eyes with a smile, enjoying his scent close to yours.

“oi, go do that at your house! have some decency.” the both of you pulled away, facing draken and emma who wore teasing smiles at the two of you. 

“you should hide better next time, (y/n)-chan.” emma tuts playfully, you huffed, before you walk towards them, only getting stopped by mitsuya intertwining your hands together as the two of you walked. 

“i know i asked you to help me with my valentine, but i didn’t know that you’d get one yourself,” emma teases. 

“mission success with a bonus.” you winked and the two men couldn’t help but look at the two of you with endeared expressions. 

“anyway, we have to go.” you announce, pulling mitsuya away. 

“we do?” mitsuya asks as he follows your lead. “we do.” you smile at him, stopping him in his tracks to place another kiss in his cheek. 

“you don’t expect me to be your valentine without giving you chocolate, do you?” 

perfect timing, mitsuya wanted to see if the cardigan he made would fit you. (of course it will, it was for you. and of course the chocolates suited his tastes. it was for him.)

you wave at him as you rush over, your shoes clacking over the frosty sidewalk and your scarf fluttering in the breeze. the first thing hanma thinks is oh, fuck— because you're damn pretty, and also because your hands are full. of shopping bags that contain what he can only assume are valentine's day gifts for him.

suddenly, he feels embarrassed. the box of chocolates he spent so much time choosing for you, and the bouquet of roses (one of each colour to signify every kind and stage of love) feel suddenly empty. not good enough.

“hi baby,” he says, voice going rough as he softens it for you. leaning down so you don't have to get on your toes, he allows you to capture his lips in a kiss, parting his lips to give himself a sliver of your taste. “don't worry your pretty little head. i didn't wait long.”

“i went shopping.” you tell him, hanging some of your bags on the handlebar of his motorcycle, trifling through one of them for something. “shuji i knew you'd never dress correctly for the weather, so i made some last minute additions to my gift list and bought you these.”

you pull out a checkered scarf, very long in your hands — and you get on your toes anyway, slinging it around his neck and patting his chest before nodding in satisfaction and going back to the bag for something else. “that, and these gloves!”

you take out a pair of thick, black leather gloves and wait for hanma to finish wrapping his new scarf around his neck, before taking his large hands in yours and pulling the gloves on them for him. “aren't they nice?” you smile proudly, squeezing his gloved hands. “look at the silver buttons! you fasten them like this, and see! they're fitted perfectly.”

“i—” his voice cracks, and he blinks down at you in silence for a moment, feeling warm and fuzzy as you hold his hands in yours. “thank you, pretty doll. i love them.”

“and you better use them.” you huff. “i know you're freezing even now. it's a cold evening. you never learn, shuji.”

“i will, baby.” he has to grin at you then, because you're so fucking cute when you turn your nose up and frown at him, bossing him around like that. “promise.”

“kiss.” you pout, then, and his heart melts. he'd already put his flowers and chocolate down on the back of his motorcycle, so he wraps his hands and arms around your waist, pulling you in and enjoying the warmth you offer as he kisses you, his touch so gentle and tender even to himself. “love you, baby.” he says into your mouth, blushing again when he feels you hum happily against his lips. “i love you so much.”

when you pull away, your gaze wanders off to his motorcycle — and you look up at him, eyes somehow so adorable, sparkly and full of innocent joy. “are those for me?”

“who else would they be for?” hanma chuckles, snatching up the bouquet and chocolate, handing them to you. “happy valentine's day.” the words feel foreign, an inexperienced rasp to them as they leave his tongue.

he watches you hug the flowers to your chest, reading the label on the chocolate box, giggling as you notice your name carefully written in black marker on the pink ribbon tied around it. “it's not much,” he starts, but you don't let him continue. 

“i love them, shuji! these are my favourite kind of chocolate— and how did you know to pick these specific colours of roses, hm?” you raise an eyebrow, giggling even as you try to appear skeptical. “i bet kisaki taught you. you wouldn't know a thing about flower meanings.”

it's true — he didn't know. he'd asked kisaki for help himself. his little plant-loving genius of a friend had been delighted to oblige. “hey, don't be mean t’me now.”

“i love them, honey.” you smile, and hanma's heart flutters with the softness of your tone.

he knows you love him. you call him your honey, your sweetheart, your baby — as if he wasn't 6’4, tatted up and famous on the streets for being an on-and-off member of multiple gangs, a wild card and a lone reaper of souls that's never been defeated in a fight.

as if he wasn't quite terrible at giving you his love back. he stares again at his flowers and his measly box of chocolates, before glancing as discreetly as he could at all the bags you'd hung on his motorcycle's handlebar. “so, what's our plan?” he licks his lips. “we can go anywhere you want— name a place, i'll drive us there.”

“aren't you sweet,” you reach up to pinch his cheek. “hm, let's go to my favourite restaurant! you know the one. and after that we can drive around and head to the park you like. we can open the rest of your gifts there.”

fuck. “these all’re really for me?” he frowns at the bags — there are six of them, all tote bags in pretty pastel pinks and yellows.

“mhm.” you nod, utterly unaware of what you do to his heart. “i got you twenty presents!”

“the hell?” he mutters under his breath, running a hand through his hair and rubbing the nape of his neck, puzzled. “why the fuck would ya do that, now?”

“buy you twenty presents?” you blink. “well, i was trying to get you something really meaningful, you know? something special. that's practical but also mmm, sexy — because that's the kind of thing you like.”

“and you had to buy twenty of these … practical and sexy presents.” hanma isn't convinced. 

you put the flowers and chocolate into one of the bags and climb onto the back of his motorcycle, rolling your eyes at him. “listen, shuji— i got a little carried away, alright? i'm nervous!”

nervous? you? he walks the few steps required to close the distance between you two once again. “hah?”

“mhm.” you grab at his stomach through his shirt and pinch, earning yourself from him a hiss of pain and a swat from his hand. “i'm nervous, because…” you smile, leaning in like you're telling him a secret. “i have to show you a good time—a little birdie told me this is your very first valentine's day date.”

hanma's embarrassment is evident as he tugs the scarf up his chin and turns his back to you, leaping onto the motorcycle and making it jolt, your panicked squeak and the way you grab at his jacket to steady yourself making him chuckle despite himself.

“hey!” you slap his shoulder, and he ignores you, twisting the keys into the ignition and revving his vehicle up instead. “shuji! you're mean.”

“‘m not.” he scoffs, backing up off the side of the rode and to the yellow line. “you're mean.”

he peeks at one of the mirrors and sees your pretty face twisted into a scowl, and his own face cracks into a smile. “you'd be a real sweetie if you told me the rest of the stuff you got f’me, though.”

“those are surprises.” your scowl lifts, as he pushes off the road with one foot and drives out into the street. you wrap your arms around his waist and press your body to his back, cheek against his shoulder as you let the wind into your hair and relax as he speeds up. “you can guess, though. so funny when you guess.”

“cause i never get anything fuckin' right?” he laughs, and then you laugh too, and hanma feels all warm and fuzzy again. god, he loves you. he loves you so much.

people would assume about a man like hanma, that he wouldn't settle for a first love. he would want experiences! he would want to taste love, passion, regret, heartbreak, unadulterated lust, the poisons and ambrosias of other people— but really, he thinks he can do just fine with just you.

he can do just fine with only your love, your presence, your warmth and your kisses from your lips his whole life. if he wants experiences, he'll have them with you.

“hey.” he says, half hoping his words get lost in the wind— but you hum in response anyway, so he continues. “i know i haven't even opened those presents yet, but thank you. alright? i really do appreciate it, baby.”

he laughs at the end, a little awkward, because fuck— he sounds so stupid when he tries to be serious and express something that isn't a joke.

then you kiss his shoulder, and he feels that warmth and fuzziness all over again. “of course. anything for you, shuji. i'll make sure you feel just how much i love you.”

and god, hanma just might fucking cry. his eyes sting, and he blinks the sensation away before it can build — but he still takes a little too long to reply, takes too long to swallow down the lump in his throat. “i love ya too.”

“shuji,” your voice is teasing, and he feels you tilt your face on his shoulder to look at him better. “you're tearing up, aren't you?”

“baby, respectfully, shut the fuck up.” he smiles anyway, because your laugh is beautiful, and when you push yourself up just a bit to place a quick kiss on his cheek, he turns his head just in time to make it a kiss on his lips. ”now stay put.”

_ The room is foggy and you wonder if it’s from five - you counted - lit cigarettes or it’s just your tired drunk brain. It wouldn’t be the first time you conjured something out of nothing. Shaped it in between your fingers and gave it form. Brought it to life.

Your lips quiver and you press them together, averting your red high eyes from you don’t know who. You probably look pitiful and scared because Haruchiyo reaches over and snakes his long arm around your shoulders, hugging you closer to his body. It’s hot in here, but for one reason or another, he is still wearing his favourite old leather jacket. Now, hours into the party, its surface absorbed all the nasty smells of this huge house in Yokohama. It stinks and you gag. 

His long bleached hair smells even worse and you gag again. This time closing your mouth with your palm and he looks at you, worry in his hooded eyes.

He should offer you a glass of water and maybe a ride home, you think. If he was a better - maybe normal - friend. But he does neither of that. He takes the joint from his lips and holds it close to your mouth. When you don’t move, just staring at him as if you don’t understand what he wants from you, he sighs and smiles.

Sweetly.

Haruchiyo is a sweet guy. Your best friend.

Deep down the fuckery that he is he is indeed very sweet and kind; pure.

“Come on,” he urges you, tapping on your shoulder. “Relax. Tensing up and thinking won’t do you any good. Be nice. Open your mouth.”

You do just that and when he places a cigarette between your lips you inhale. Toxic green smog invades your lungs and the nausea subsides. Once again you feel light and careless. You feel almost happy. The knocking on the back of your head and in your heart dies. Killed by your own stupid hands. If Rindou were here you suppose he would’ve been very mad at you. 

For killing and for not caring. For pretending. “Truth or dare?” 

The girl speaks to you and you know that. You feel her stare on yourself and if you weren’t so high you would see the expecting, oh so spiteful, glint in her eyes. If you were sober you would’ve noticed it and probably still would’ve done nothing.

That’s just the way you are. 

“Truth.” She licks her glowing with gloss lips and smiles. Her friend, a girl with uneven bangs and the longest hair you’ve ever seen in your life, just beneath her hips, giggles. They share a glance. A knowing one. The trap they settled for you closing with a loud thump. 

On the right side, with his arms across the girl's shoulders sits Ran Haitani. She’s almost between his legs, but not quite, and yet there’s a striking familiarity that surrounds them. Maybe it’s in a way his thumb caresses the bare skin of her shoulders or maybe it’s her leaning even more into his broad chest when she catches you watching them. 

Either way your hands shake and it might be the alcohol or weed or something entirely else. You don’t bring yourself to care. You simply can’t. 

“So,” the girl speaks. Despite the music and the fog around your senses you can hear her clearly. “Is it true that there are burning marks on your upper thigh?” You tense and beside you Haruchiyo tenses too. But the girl continues, “Is it true that you burnt yourself because you hate yourself? Is it true that you always do it high because you are a fucking coward to do it sober?” Your eyes are open and no matter how much you want to close them and squint them hard, you won’t. You stare at the girl as she spews your silly little sins out like they are nothing; like you are nothing. “Is it true that you wanted to fuck Ran, but he said no, because you are..?” 

She never finishes her sentence and for the rest of your life you can only guess what insult she had prepared for you. 

The table that stood between you falls to the side when Haruchiyo’s Docs comes in contact with it. Ashtrays, bags and glasses scatter on the hardwood floor and you stare at them for quite a time, unable to look at anything or anyone else. The girl screams and her friend screams too and suddenly you aren’t that high anymore and you want to get out of this house, of this party. Out of the sight of all those people. Your body trembles and Haruchiyo, who tightly holds your hand, nudges you to stand up. You do as he asks, because you're tired and because you’ll go anywhere he’ll take you. If Rindou was here, he would’ve hated you not fighting back, but he is not and you are glad there’s one reason less for him to be disappointed in you. “Pathetic fucking excuse of a woman,” Haruchiyo spits at the girl and you tune out, losing yourself in the broken glass on the floor. It’s pretty with myriads of lights - lives - in every broken shard. They are colourful and full of hidden senses you don’t understand. 

In the corner of your vision you notice Haruchiyo raising his free hand. The girl screams again and this time when you finally raise your eyes, you see her face and pretty white t-shirt with one of Sanrio characters on it wet with whatever alcohol Haruchiyo had in his cup. A few splashes of it hit Ran’s cheek and arm too, but it’s hard to say what he is thinking. He was never one to betray his mind and show it off to everyone and besides you don’t look at him for too long. The cup and the remnants of a joint goes straight to the floor too. Haruchiyo steps on them and curses again. 

“Tame your fucking bitch, Haitani. Next time I won’t see that she’s a woman.” With this you leave. Hand in hand, with bitter hearts, you swim between the people and friends, until you are out of the house, in the fresh air outside. The night that meets you is starry and cold and so it’s very beautiful. Both you and Haruchiyo, stand on the side of the street, near the house in silence, clearly absorbed in surroundings. There’s a black cat watching you across the pavement and somewhere in the bushes is a cicada. Or maybe there are many. You have no way of knowing. The smoke of the cigarette - a regular one - hits your nose and you wonder how in the world have you missed the familiar click of Haruchiyo’s favourite ZIPPO lighter. His older brother gifted it to him when he was barely fifteen. The gift is quite questionable and Haruchiyo is not very sentimental, but he always has it with him. There’s a naked woman engraved on it and he fooled you to believe that’s why. The door behind you sways open, but none of you is interested to know who it is. Maybe it’s no one important. Maybe you both should leave and forget this night like many others. But it’s Kakucho and he gently places his huge brown jacket across your shoulders and so you stay for a little bit longer. His harsh presence cuts the night in two and what happened before suddenly turns into an ugly illusion. The cat yawns and you are reminded of how late it actually is.  “True,” you say after the night digs dipper and the smoke of Haruchiyo’s cheap cig envelopes you. 

The boys are quiet. Kakucho turns his head to look at you and you smile shyly under his curious gaze. It’s not like anything really matters. 

“It’s true. Only I never wanted to fuck Ran. I just wanted to share the love I have for him.” Haruchiyo sighs, dropping unfinished cigarettes onto the pavement. You hope the cat's paws won’t touch it and burn. As it hurts when it burns. Very very much so. “Who the fuck cares if it’s true or not?” “I hate to admit it,” Kakucho sighs pretentiously, a kind smile smudged across his lips, “but I do agree with Haru. Who the fuck cares?” Drops of alcohol on his cheek. Little perfect pearls. Wet black blouse. Cold dead eyes. He doesn’t look at you. He never does. He used to, but not anymore and besides it was so long ago, it’s like it’s never happened. Old images of false memories your brain conjured by itself with a sole reason to feel something; anything at all. 

The cat disappears, night swallowing it whole, and you wish it would do the same to you. But beside you two boys bicker so loudly it would never happen. Their voices tie you to them and despite your strong wish to disappear into thin air, you are glad they make you stay. “Do you wanna get going? You are crashing at mine, right?” Haruchiyo asks, stretching out his hand, palm up. You don’t need to think about it, but you still do, taking a little pause before you reply. “Yes. I can’t show up like this at home. Mom’s gonna cry again.” None of these boys know what it means for a mom to cry. And yet they understand the ache and the heartbreak. The sacred prayer to be a better child someone somewhere could be proud of.

Before you part ways, you and Haruchiyo go to find his parked motorcycle and Kakucho his old sporty car he bought with money he probably stole from someone, you shrug Kakucho’s jacket off your shoulders. “No. Take it. You can return it any other time. I don’t mind.” He smiles at you and his smile reaches his eyes. 

_ 

Haruchiyo’s apartment is small, but it’s only his and that is something to be proud of. 

The bathroom is all fogged up from the hot shower you just took. You slip into a pair of clean boxers, old grey sweatshirts and plain white t-shirt. They don’t smell like anything, but they are so undeniably Haruchiyo’, your heart swells. You love your best friend to death. 

“I hate the post high,” he murmurs when you sleep under the duvet next to him. “How are you feeling?” “Like shit and worse.” 

He giggles, but then he grows serious and his hand slides across the bed. He is searching for your hand, to take it into his and calm you down, to show his love. You help him find it. “Your scars are just scars and she is just a bitch. Don’t think about her.” When you don’t reply, he adds. “I know you do. You are breathing strangely.” And when you don’t say anything else, he speaks again. “I have never spoken about those things with anyone. And I can give my head that Rindou hadn’t either. I don’t know how she knows.” 

Those things that are your feelings, your inner world and ugly cracks all over your body. 

Those fucking things. Involuntarily, without your mind's consent, you curl into yourself. Cold attacks your limbs like thousands of small invisible needles and you weep, and Haruchiyo understands why and for what. All the reasons are so plain, they are written in black ink on white paper. You hate that you are so easy to crack open. You want to be something else entirely. 

“I love you,” he shifts closer to you and soon you are one body, “However you are. Okay?” His long beautiful fingers hold your own hands near his bare chest. He twirls your many many rings and swipes his thumb across your skin. Haruchiyo is a gentle creature and you don’t know where it all went wrong and when sleeping pills in his cupboard became dust to snort up his nose. 

“Okay.” 

He smiles at that and checks the window behind you. It’s still dark. The dawn - nowhere in sight. Good. So so so good. Before he closes his eyes, he presses his lips against your damp forehead and then under each of your eyes, kissing the tears and headache away. Somehow he manages to do just that and you fall asleep with a light heart. _

Two summers ago, on the warm evening of the last August day, your careless youth slipped away from you.

It’s an irony that it happened when the sun was setting and a small part of you remained forever imprisoned in that pleasant August day, while another you strode forward to some distant place in the night, where you shouldn’t have been at all. 

You were wearing a pretty sparkling dress and you were all dolled up and beautiful and yet that wasn’t enough.

With your hands behind you, supporting your body and legs stretched forward, you sat on the porch of the Haitani’s house. The sun had already dipped behind the grey buildings and Roppongi, the heart of nightlife in Tokyo, was just summoned back into existence. Sometimes it felt like during the day this bright area was almost dead, barely breathing, due to the sheer constant of blinding lights it birthed at night. 

The all too thoughtfully magazine under your butt did little to protect you from the coldness of the ground. You shivered uncomfortably and gazed at the boy standing in front of you. Ran was always a dream. So handsome. So mature. So perfect with all the hard edges of his character and soft plump of his lips. 

So so so so so. 

It was embarrassing how in love with him you were and it was more embarrassing, almost devastatingly so, that you fell for him the first day you met him. You still remember how the three of you - Ran, Rindou and you - stood near the vending machine under the metal roof of the small bookshop. It was heavily raining then and you were waiting for the droplets to stop. For the storm to cease and for you to go home. You remember Ran’s beautiful face and you remember how he lit up a cigarette and you remember how his body shivered because he was cold and how he smiled when he caught you staring at him. How he said nothing and how that pretty smile of his never left his face until you closed the door of your home and bid them goodbye. 

That day you were supposed to go to a party. Ran was supposed to drive you in his new shiny car and you were supposed to have a good time. Your best friend was already on the train to Roppongi, just one station away and Rindou was still inside the house, torn between white blouse and a grey t-shirt. He didn’t want to appear too casual and yet dressing up never sat right with him. 

Maybe if one of them were with you nothing would’ve happened and maybe you would’ve stayed. 

But none of them were. Only Ran and his stupid smile that fell off his soft lips the moment you confessed. The frown settled on his face then, and he was silent for a very long time, until he spoke and it became dark. 

“You know, I don’t do sloppy seconds. You kinda are my brother’s. It's like… I am sorry. It just won’t work out.”  

Once warm air quickly turned dry and you were suffocating. Heart beating too fast and not enough to spread blood across your cold frigid body, you stood up from the porch and without a mere word strode down the road. Ran didn’t say a word. He didn’t go after you. He didn’t call. And if you were to turn back, you would’ve known that he didn’t even look after you as you were slowly disappearing between the building and despair. 

The rest of the evening passed in blur. There’s no recollection in your mind of how you ended up in that particular bar and how you spent the little yen you had on you. Till this day, you believe it is your brain that is protecting you from sleazy hands of men across your body, shielding you from the force of pain that overtook you once they had your way with you. You don’t remember much because you were drunk and high, but you remember when Rindou ran into the toilet of that bar and looked away from your abused body splattered on the floor. And you can still hear the sob your friend let out when she saw you. And if you try hard enough you can still feel the love of Rindou’s blouse when your best friend dresses you up in it. Her warm hands on your marked dirty skin.  

And of course, you remember the day after, when you woke up in her bed and you both sobbed together, until numbness overtook you and you surrendered to it like a warm hug from the life of your life. 

Since that very day, two summers ago, when your little heart was broken and your youth bid you a gruesome farewell, Ran Haitani hadn’t spoken to you at all. It’s like instead of you there was a blank waste of a space and somehow you could understand him. You could justify his silence. 

_ 

The headache after a hangover is never kind. Mixed with a loud banging on the door and muffled - thanks God - shouts of the Rindou it is truly the worst. 

The inner sides of his fists are red, but irritated skin shows barely an ounce of the frustration and anger that bubble in Rindou’s throat. His always so pretty face, now scarred by fury, is what gives him away and by the force with which he kicks off his boots, you can tell he wasn’t trying to ease himself or hide how he is feeling. “What the actual fuck,” he shouts and neither Haruchiyo who stands near the still open door, nor you still in bed under thick blanket can’t tell if this is a question or a statement. 

His body rigid and eyes burning an unfriendly fire Rindou throws his bag on the ground near the wooden dinner table that Takeomi brought in Haruchiyo’s apartment - or rather picked it up from the garbage -  and strides through the only room to you. “Get up and strip,” he commands and his voice so unnerving, so angry and forceful leaves no space for you to retreat to. You hate when he is doing this, but you understand why and his quivering lips and red dust across his cheeks are enough for you to forgive him. It’s hard for him too. 

Loving you and caring for you is hard. But it’s not a new found truth so it’s easy to fathom it in your bones.

You shed clothes that aren’t even yours, easily. One by one they pile up near your legs, a protective shell broken and discharged, until you stand there in your panties and palms for a bra. Haruchiyo curses and averts his gaze. He despises these little checks-up Rindou does and he resents that you are letting him do them every single time. Not once you said “no”.

Smooth hands glide across your skin. Between legs, under your arms, right down the spine. Optical examination ceased to be effective long ago when you put makeup on the newish wound you inflicted upon yourself. Now, Rindou had to be sure. Now, he needed your safety ensured by his own two hands. You wonder if he does all these, because he feels guilty. Because he thinks what happened to you is partially his fault. You had this conversation with him already and it ended in you sobbing and him so angry you were almost afraid of him, but not nearly. Rindou, too, is sweet and kind. Maybe a little bit more so than Haruchiyo. 

That’s why you aren’t asking anything anymore. Instead of a question you puff out a little air from between your lips. Rindou’s head shots up and he looks at you, his eyes hidden behind the thin metal rim of his glasses. You suppress a laugh. Something in between his white and blue locks charges you with merriness. 

He watches you as you press your lips together and adjust his glasses higher up his nose. He is not amused, you can tell that much, but he isn’t angry anymore and that is a relief. And he let you touch his glasses, something he never allows anyone to do [except you, but not when he is in a bad bad bad mood]. So, you decide, the storm is over. The waves are calm. 

“Not even gonna ask what you are laughing about,” he mumbles, inspecting your ankles and when he finds nothing, he stands up from the floor, not before picking up the clothes on the floor. 

“Your eyes,” you make a vague gesture with your fingers in front of your own face, “They were just hidden and you looked so… I don’t know… Never mind, Rin.” In front of you in the kitchen fighting with a kettle Haruchiyo snorts. There’s a herbish aroma and something almost too sweet circulating in the air and it’s so strong it startles you. Too absorbed in Rindou you didn’t notice the smell before. Another Haruchiyo’s tea concoction. Hopefully, this time successful. 

“Did you two get high yesterday?” Rindou asks, going inside the kitchen - it’s hard to tell where the bedroom ends and kitchen starts since Haruchiyo’s apartment is a studio - and peeking over Haruchiyo’s shoulder. “You laugh even more in the post-haze than you do while you are at it.” The silence that settles is murmuring all the nasty things that happened yesterday right in Rindou’s ears. He looks between the two of you exchanging glances and sighs. 

“Whatever. Honestly, I am not even interested. I am here this early only because your mom called.” At this, you stop, your sweatpants half way your legs. You would’ve called Rindou out for lying, because he is here not only because of your mother’s call, but because he simply can not stop caring for you. But then, when your parent calls Rindou it’s never a good thing. It’s always about your scars, your secrets and your lies. 

This time, however, you know why she called him and you sit down on the bed, feeling like the smallest tiniest human being in the whole world. You hate this feeling of a deep humiliation. You want to burn yourself to not remember the ache in your tightened jaw and the disgusting sweat on your clammy palms. 

“If this is about the blades under my bed I didn’t buy them to… har… cut myself. I bought them for postcards.” 

He doesn’t buy it. He bites his lip and shakes his head, waiting for you to continue. “I am telling the truth, Rindou. I bought them to cut out postcards. I… I…” Hot tears pool in your eyes and you hate that he doesn’t believe you and you so badly want to pity yourself, but you can’t. Can’t do this. Because it’s your own fault no one trusts your words and promises anymore. When they look at you and pity you it’s done by your own hands. Hands you too want to burn. 

“Oh, baby, stop,” Haruchiyo helps you pull your sweatpants up and then he ties the drawstrings for you, his body - a shield between you and Rindou, “you didn’t cut yourself with those blades, did you?” “No, I swear, I didn’t,” you repeat it a few times and the only thing that makes you stop mumbling is the pain that seeps through Haruchiyo’s eyes into your heart. 

“Well, good to hear, but you will have to buy a pair of scissors for your postcards, because I threw away those blades you hid under your bed.”  

A clammy hands of desperation tighten around your neck and you want to scream. From frustration and from anger, from despair. Was it like this back too? Your every word carefully weighed and put on the pedestal to judge? You don’t think so. For better or for worse you can’t remember how it was before, but you wonder when everyone will just give up on you. 

With a loud screech against the chair against the floor, Rindou stands up. He takes a few steps and gently shoves Haruchiyo away from you. His long white hair swaying in the air. Haruchiyo smiles at you, reassuringly, kindly and the pools of grim pain evaporate from his beautiful eyes. Love heals, you think. So then, why do you remain sick? “You know how much I care about you, do you?” Rindou asks, cupping your face, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. “I’ll do anything for you to be healthy, happy and well. If it means I have to be harsh with you then I will. And if it means you will hate me somewhere on the way, so be it. But I won’t let you down again. Get this in your head. I. Am. Not. Letting. You. Down. Ever. Again.” Haruchiyo turns away and gets to his kettle and tea. And you finally silently cry cradled into Rindou’s warmth. Humiliation washes away with salty tears and the ever so heavy guilt crashes upon your shoulders. It’s better than anything, you think. Because that means you still care too and that means you are alive and well and there’s hope that one day all the check-ups and blades and tears will be in the past. 

You believe in this. 

Haruchiyo’s tea turns out not so bad and you and Rindou have two cups, one and half each. 

_ 

That day you come home late in the evening. 

You still wear Haruchiyo’s clothes and have Kakucho’s jacket thrown over your shoulders. The sneakers you place on the shoe rack - dusty black Adidas - are yours. This random sudden thought makes you happy and for the first time in a while you bubble with excitement. Over shoes. It can’t be normal. It’s not normal. Probably just a lingering side-effect of weed or bottled up emotions in which Rindou effectively made a hole once again. Inside the living room, under tonkatsu, sits your family. They are watching TV over dinner. You see an empty plate and an empty space reserved just for you and your giddy happiness holts. You had dinner with Rindou and Haru already and you aren’t hungry. Guiltiness spreads across your lungs like a web of poisonous spiders. 

Your mother is the one who sees you first. She is wary and tired when she looks at you, but this is nothing new. Your father turns back to look at you too, he nods and returns to the TV as soon as he can. He says, you should join them and eat something, you must be starving. You nod and wave at your little sister. She waves back. 

You go inside your room.

No one said anything about new shining scissors you had in your hand that Rindou bought for you. 

No one came to check on you and you didn’t have dinner together. 

_ You skip school for the next few days. 

There’s no particular reason. You just don’t feel like going. 

In front of you, there’s a void and it’s luring you in. Black colour, so inviting and beautiful. Inside of a space avoidant of anything and everything, where no air is floating, you are blossoming. The slightest aroma of laundry detergent and fresh baked cookies are so hard to resist and this is exactly what this imaginary [not so] place of yours smells like. You wish you could stay there forever. 

You almost do. 

But then your phone rings and the number is unknown. Yet, you have the slightest hunch of who it could be. That’s why you pick it up. 

“Hey! You have no idea how hard it was to get your number. You do have some seriously overprotective friends,” Kakucho laughs echoes through that night where you met a black cat to now  and then right into your ear. 

You hum, holding your phone in the safest place between your ear and shoulder, “I guess you could say that. Why are you calling? Oh! I am sorry I totally forgot to give you your jacket back. Do you wanna meet up somewhere? I am free now.” 

He laughs again and you notice that his laugh is boisterous and contagious. It’s almost childish in its raw sincerity. You haven’t heard people being that happy in a long long time. In a reminiscence the corner of your lips stretch up on their own. “What about… Can you be at Shibuya station in twenty minutes?” “I can try.” “Cool. I'll see you there then!” 

He hangs up just as abruptly as he called and the taste in your mouth is not of sweet abyss cookies, but of metal and caramel. It’s exciting in the most lazy manner. 

Outside, running down the street, to catch the bus on time, you notice the vast blue sky that is so clear it looks like it’s made of glass. You stop on the crossroad, hands on your hips, and take a few shallow breaths. Running was never and will never be your forte, but you stare at the infinite beauty that covers the whole earth and all people living on it, and wonder why haven’t you got out of the house earlier. 

_ Kakucho takes you to a nice barbeque place. 

It’s a chain restaurant, so the food is quite cheap and nice. You order two bowls of rice, beef, soup and kimchi. Kakucho gets himself Sapporo beer and you ask for iced lemon tea which he claims doesn’t go well with meat, but still smiles when you sip it. 

He is sitting opposite you in a small booth made for two people only. He is wearing a black turtleneck and plain jeans that can’t be that expensive, but they do look like he paid more than twenty thousand yen to get them. On the back of his chair hangs yet another leather jacket. The one he gave you sits in the Mitsukoshi bag under the table near your leg. 

In everything he does, Kakucho is effortless and confident. He grills the meat for you and he carries the conversation for you too. He asks you about school, about your hobbies, your likes and dislikes and even learns what your favourite colour is. 

Half through this spontaneous dinner you understand that this was never about returning his jacket. At least for him. But then, it’s his dark black hair that he spontaneously decided to grow out almost two years ago after he got tired of seeing that ugly bald dude with a scar in reflection every morning. [This you too learn over the food and while you want to tell him that by no means he can be considered ugly, you suppress yourself and listen to his soothing voice carrying you to yet another story already.] They are so black, they almost have this blue-ish inky feeling to them. And somehow looking at him so smiley, so kind and so handsome, so welcoming and accepting, so invested in every few words you say, he reminds you of those beautiful warm summer nights. Not the one that happened two summers ago, but all the ones before that. It’s a burning sensation and it calms you. 

You think, if he wants you might give him a chance. 

It’s dark when you go outside and back to the metro station. 

“Next time I’ll see you I’ll bring my car. I feel really bad, but my car is in the service. The engine has been acting up.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Kakucho,” you say counting the colourful kaleidoscope of the stained glass window of the random shop, you pass by. You connect every piece to seconds that fly away and they make beautiful constellations. “Just think it’s a good thing you are taking me home then and we are going by foot and not driving there. I am bad with directions. But now you are going to remember where I live and next time you can pick me up right from home. You know, just to pay for all the walking we did today.” He bites his smile back, lips pressed tightly together, but it fights him and reaches his eyes. They shine. _ “Since when are you and Kakucho going out?” 

You sit on the floor of Haruchiyo’s apartments with a scissor in your hands. Bright patterned paper, stickers, glue and so many other things you sure are two boys in the room with you don’t even know the name of, lay in a circle surrounding you. It’s messy, but Haruchiyo who lays on the bed, behind you and watches every single creative step you take, doesn’t seem to mind. 

In fact he never does. 

“We are not going out,” you mumble, eyes focused on cutting the most precisely shaped heart without an outline. “We’ve been hanging out. That’s all.” Rindou doesn’t seem to be convinced. He glances over to Haruchiyo laying on his stomach, blond hair a curtain, and sighs. 

“You do know, he has a thing for you?” “Well, I mean I kinda do, but I am sure it’s not anything serious. Who would’ve been in lo…” “He punched Ran at that party and they haven't talked since then.” 

The scissors stop and the bright yellow heart falls to the ground. It’s nicely and evenly cut out, but something about it isn’t right and you can’t tell what it is and you are spiralling and nothing can stop you now, because fire is nowhere in reach. You scratch your left thigh. 

“I didn’t wanna tell you, but…” “I am glad Kaku did it. I am sorry Rin, but it was actually very nasty there and if not for her,  I would’ve killed his bitch first and then kill him,” you hear the springs in the old mattress squeak and then Haruchiyo plops right next to you, making a space for himself between glue bottles, colourful tapes and you. “Ran never told her anything, because he didn’t even know, and I never told Ran or anybody about it. It wasn’t my brother’s fault she ran her mouth. For all I know Ran and her were never even together.” “Oh, really? Then how the fuck does she know?” The anger rising up in Rindou scorches you and you wince, but boys being boys, playing their own little war don’t notice it. “How would I know that? I just know that even if Ran knew he would never speak about it with anybody else!” “For fuck’s sake, Rindou, I know he is your older brother and you always admired him and…” 

The words bleed. The wounds they leave suffocate. You plaster a yellow heart over a red cardboard. You draw millions of hearts around it. You wish they’d stop now, but you know them both well enough, to know they won’t. You know how much Rindou loves Ran and how much Haruchiyo thinks everything that happened to you is because of Ran. But it’s not. What happened to you has never been Ran’s fault and you won’t let anyone think that. Not even your sweet pretty Haruchiyo. “I believe it,” you say loudly enough to stop them. “In fact, I know it wasn’t Ran who told her. Ran is not like that and… I… I just know he didn’t know about it. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t Ran and it’s not his fault. Neither it’s his responsibility or yours.” Splashes of alcohol across his cheek and wet t-shirt. The look on his face. Of pure horror and so many regrets. It wasn’t Ran. It could never be him. 

Rindou and Haruchiyo mend over the sweet sour chicken you make for them. They laugh, and joke and make those stupid boyish remarks only male in their twenties can. But you forgive them for that and for everything else too, like they do the same for you. 

It’s when Rindou examines your newest red card with yellow heart and I LOVE YOU RINDOU written across it, he brings the subject of Kakucho back. “Just so you know, I won’t hesitate to add another scar to his face.” Haruchiyo snorts, “Aren’t you two like best gym buddies?” “Yes we are. But he doesn’t make me postcards. And want it or not, but my loyalty lies with my brother so we aren’t speaking either.” 

Haruchiyo never comments anything on it and neither do you, but for the rest of the evening and well into the night when you lay down in Haruchiyo bed and try your best to sleep, you can’t help it, but think where does your loyalty lay? To what latitude does it extend and what seconds are most important to you to get back to them over and over again. _ 

It’s summer and you are in Kyoto. You are in your last school year and life has never ever been more beautiful. The green around you has the most vibrant colour and the sun above you is the warmest it has ever been. You close your eyes, spread your arms and melt. If you had to choose a moment to live in forever it would be this. 

There’s a festival going on in town. You hear music and people laughing. You smell chicken and something very very sweet. But despite this cacophony of smells and sounds, you also hear birds chirping and because of that your heart beats twice as fast. It’s a pretty feeling and you hope your heart will stay this way forever. 

Ran finds you kneeling in front of the small flower cart in front of the flower shop. You are so engrossed in the scenery of random shapes and ethereal feelings to them, you don’t notice him at all. Or so he thinks, because it’s very very difficult for you not to sense Ran’s presence.

It’s even harder not to feel his lazy stare on you and it’s impossible to not be burned by his crooked hazy smile as he watches you pecking tender petals with your fingertips.  

“Where’s Rin?” You ask, eyes focused on the bright pink flower. Ran takes a step, then another one and then he squats by your side, shoulders touching, the flower unnoticed. “With Kakucho, your two friends and Haruchiyo at a sportswear store.” “What?” Head snapping to the side, you study his face, to see if he is teasing you and while his lips are stretched in a smile, you don’t think he is. 

“I know. I am surprised Haruchiyo tagged along with them,” he stops talking, his lips form a straight concerned line and the crease between his blonde eyebrows makes you want to press a fingertip in there to soothe it. 

But instead of you reaching out to him, it’s him raising his hand to your shoulder. You hear a little buzzling near your ear, see the blue vast sky and people swarming behind Ran and you feel so warm, so safe, so i-wanna-freeze-this-moment. And you don’t know why your heart clenches the way it does and why your hands get clammy. 

“It’s a little bee,” Ran says, eyes fascinated by the small creature sitting on his finger. “Probably mistook you for a flower.” He laughs and shakes the bee away. It falls in the air, but as if remembering it can actually fly, spreads its little tiny wings and goes off. To the crowd. To the festival. To so many shared happy moments. 

“Do you want to go eat something? I am starving and on my way here I saw a decent looking place that serves yukke.” “Can we get Yatsuhashi after?” you stand up first, your head a bit dizzy from squatting for so long. Ran grins and nods, “Anything you want.” It’s on the way to the more than decent looking, but high-class restaurant that Ran takes you to, in the middle of your conversation that you remember about the flowers you were so fascinated with. There was no tag on them and you weren't sure they were even for sale, and yet you wished you went inside the shop and asked. Everything needs a name to stay. Today, Ran is eager to provide you with one. “It’s camellia. The flower you were looking at. Did you like it?” 

The sun is still high up in the sky and people are still walking. The Gion Matsuri festival will last for another three days. “Since when can you tell flowers?” 

You are genuinely interested and maybe that’s why Ran responds. You are sure he wouldn’t otherwise. 

“Mom used to have a book on flowers. Encyclopaedia. Was obsessed with them and how do you think she came up with the name for me and Rin? Obviously took them from there. It was the only thing that remained after she left. Along with our names.” 

“Well, you and Rindou remained too and then that old apartment of yours.” The smile blooms on his face again. He points at the restaurant with his finger and leads you there, “That apartment was actually of our beloved father. I wanted to set it on fire, but Rin talked me out of it.” 

Somehow you know once again he is telling you the truth. The fire, him and Rindou, and the book that for one reason or so many more others he kept and read so many times, he could tell camellia apart from other flowers. 

“Anyway, do you think bees migrate?” Inside the restaurant almost all tables are busy, but Ran finds you a perfect place near the outdoor garden for two people. You get a haunting feeling like it was waiting for you. “You mean migrate like birds do?” “Yeah,” he says casually overlooking the menu, “Oh, they have your favourite iced lemon tea. I always thought it’s amusing how you never drink anything hot.”  

“I don’t like hot things. They burn. I hate it when it burns,” you do and you don’t think you’ll ever change. “And to answer your question, I don’t think bees migrate. I’ve never seen them flying around freely like birds.” “I’ve never seen a single bee in Roppongi. Today's gotta be my first time.” You end up ordering a lot more than you both can eat. It’s always like this with Ran and you think you know why. You think you understand him, and his questions and a lot more things he tries to keep confined in that heart of his. 

Like an encyclopaedia of flowers and bees that flew away.  

_ You and Kakucho will never end up together. Not in this universe, not in any other. He is the first one to break it to you, but you were the first to realise. 

The truth is swallowed under bright cold stars. There’s not much light on the pier where you are lying down on the cold grey cement, but the roar of crashing waves and flickering lights of bulk carriers’ lamps are enough to guide you home. If needed. 

“I feel like I could love you, but you won’t let me,” he says and these words are mere whispers that take the form of a knife. Dull or sharp doesn’t matter. It still cuts your skin in two and you bleed. This is nothing new. 

“Maybe you are right,” is all you say. Your hands on your belly, you imagine sharks, three of them, emerging from the water and ripping you apart. They have five rows of deadly sinful teeth that will shred your flesh in seconds before you become part of them and the sea. You won’t die and you’d feel pain until sun blasts and the Earth will pause to exist and you with it. But no sharks come out and you are breathing. 

“I still want to be your best friend, though,” Kakucho turns to his side, prompts his head on his palm and peers in your face. “If you want to, of course.” 

Under his gaze, you think he’s searching for something. You want to tell him not to, because he won’t find it there. There’s no fight left in you. It’s all in vain, all in vain! “Nah. Those roles are taken,” you are only half-joking, but he doesn’t have to know that. “You can try though.” “Oh, I will. I will try my very best. I still like you. It’s not like it will go away any time soon.” If sharks do come, you pray, please don’t kill Kakucho too. He deserves to live a long nice life with a person who will love his gentle soul. But again, no sharks come, and you and him are alive and well. And an hour later he drops you off at home and you wish you won’t see him again and regret your inability to make people feel love. _ Haruchiyo’s hair is the prettiest you’ve ever seen. You’ve known him since you were eleven and every single hairstyle he had he owned. He was a young cheerful boy then, and a quite pretty young man now. Sometimes, you wished you could be together. You think both of you could make it work and maybe both of you would, if there wasn’t Rindou in between of you. But, today, there’s no Rindou and Haruchiyo’s head is in your laps and his clear bright eyes, almost transparent in their intensity, look at you and you only.  

“What are you thinking about?” He asks, hand finding yours, fingers sewn together. “Nothing much,” you lie and he accepts it, because he knows what goes in your head.

He sighs then, a tired loud sigh ripped right from his chest, just where his heart is. He tears himself off you, and sits opposite you, stretching his legs on each side of you. 

“If you want, we can, but I do agree with Kaku, you will never love anyone, even me, like you love that beanpole. And hurting me will break your heart more than… Ah, you understand what I mean, right? And sex won’t solve anything either. It’s gonna make everything worse. And I am willing to give up anything I might feel for us, but not you and what we already have. I love you and I love your happiness and it’s not with me. Not in that way.” “Wow,” you giggle, face hot with tears. Haruchiyo smiles. His kind, beautiful smile makes him even more ethereal than he already is. With this angel white hair. 

He leans in and kisses you on your lips. Hands on your wet cheeks, he doesn’t wipe them away, but hold them there and you feel them. They are cold and sorrowful. They are happy. 

“Let’s go eat something. I’m paying. And if you want we can rent a movie to watch before we come back.” I do, you say and he nods. He kisses your forehead and helps you stand up. Haruchiyo is your best friend and you don’t really suppose you are destined to become something else. And it’s good. It does feel right. 

_ The school is somehow not how you remember it. It’s even more dull, grey and ugly. You so badly want to drop out and never come back, but you can’t disappoint your family and friends more than you already have. You suck all your regrets and unpleasantries in, and continue to carry on. 

Today, you are all alone. Haruchiyo isn’t in Tokyo and neither is Rindou. They went to that stupid DJ convention in Osaka and you, sitting in the cafeteria with your store bento box in front of you, wish you were with them. They are for sure having a lot of fun. 

Unlike you. 

It’s not a recent thing, but you are craving company, because thoughts inside your head are suffocating you. You see fires, fireworks and sharks with fairy lights. You feel waves and your little sister stares at you. Your skin pops off, wrinkling and coming off in ugly distorted layers. 

You need this to stop, until you do the unforgivable and this is betraying Rindou to whom you promised not to do anything with yourself. You promised to go to school and study and be a good girl. Just for this week. Until he comes back and it gets easier to breathe. 

Maybe, you should call Kakucho and go out with him. He won’t say no. You know that well and that’s why you don’t call him. He is too good for you and your haunting voices in your mind. 

Everything seals in, when your friend finds you in the cafeteria and invites you to the party. It’s a small intimate gathering she promises and it’s gonna be so fun! We can dress up and have a little fun. We haven’t hung out in so long. Let’s go! Let’s go! Let’s go! We are going to have the best night ever. 

You don’t think twice, you need to relax and shut your shaking fears in your head, lock them away and preferably kill. So, you say “yes” and it makes your friend so happy, she spills her orange juice on your bleached jeans that your mother washed yesterday. _

The party is awful and your heart screams at you to get out before it’s too late. 

But your friend holds your hand and you feel safer and she claims she knows a lot of people there and they are nice and then, she would never let anything happen to you. The last part is true, but there’s only so much a young girl in her twenties can do. People she knows are a group of men. They look like rock stars, smudged eyeliner and long hair, multiple piercings in both ears. There’s no way to tell their age, but you don’t think they are that much older. A strong smell of weed and alcohol doesn’t scare you either. It feels familiar. 

With a few drags from a blunt you levitate, head in clouds, river of shitty bitter drink in your stomach, you levitate. You laugh and giggle and let the boy with orange bleached hair throw an arm around your bare shoulders. His touch isn’t anything, it’s barely there. 

Until it’s not. 

Until, his hand slides to your breast and he squeezes it. Once, twice, you lose the count. You feel sick, smoke disintegrated from your head, alcohol still in your blood. All the scars you carry on your body itch. You breathe in and breathe out, and the boy mistakes it for excitement. He grins, eyes foggy and greedy. 

The bile rises up in your throat. You shove it down, to your stomach. The friend that promised to be there for you isn’t here anymore and you can’t pinpoint the moment she left. Hazy thoughts and remnants of what she said to you before going upstairs with one of the boys are still there, but they are melted in the hold and attention forced on you. 

When the boy turns you around and kisses your neck, you’ve had enough. With a smile on your lips, and wobbly legs, you push him away, hands on his chest and he groans unsatisfied and hungry. He dives right back, fingers latching onto your waist. “I really need to use the restroom,” you whisper again and again and again. “I really need to. Please. I’ll be back. Just let me go.” He doesn’t and his friends laugh behind you. Is there no one to help you? No one to not let that awful night happen again? “Please, I just want to go to the restroom,” you plead and this time he releases you. You flee away. With trembling hands and shaking heart, you flee away and run to the bathroom. It’s vacant and it’s dirty, but it will do. It will do until you think of how to escape that party and get home. To your mom, to your dad and to you sweet little sister. To everything good and innocent that still lives in you. But now, you cry. You sit on the dirty floor in the house of a person you don’t know with a dress ridden to your mid thighs and cry. You cry for betraying Rindou’s trust, because once you are out of here, you’ll cut and then you’ll burn yourself and this time you hope it hurts so much, you won’t be able to feel anything for weeks. You hope it scars your body so ugly everyone will finally turn away from you. But firstly, you need to get out of here and this is almost impossible, because that guy wants you and waits for you and you promised to be back. Swallowing, you reach out for your phone. It’s in your bag. It’s fully charged and when you are about to dial Kakucho’s number, because he’s the only person to come and get you now, it rings. You answer before you see the name of the caller. “Hey! Why weren’t you answering my calls? Where the fuck are you?”

It’s Rindou and you know everything ends here. “I am fine. I am just at the party with…” “Are you crying? What the fuck? Where are you?” You sob. Because he is harsh with you and because he has every right to be. 

“Rin, I am sorry, I… that guy… I don’t want you to worry about it. I’ll call Kakucho and he…” “Who? Did someone hurt you? You need to tell me where the fuck you are.” “He just… Rin, I can’t… Why are you in… I am sorry… I want to go home.” He is panicking. On the line, in another city, his heart breaks in two for you. “I need you to tell me where you are. Tell me where the fuck you are.” You tell him. The address, the way to the bathroom and even what you are wearing. You have no idea why you are doing this, because Rindou is no god and he can’t get to Tokyo, to you, swiftly. Today, he won’t save you. But he promises you he will and then he hangs up, only to call you a couple of minutes later and talk to you about anything and everything, before you are safe. Before you are you again. _ The lightning that shoots through your body is so strong and powerful, you straighten up against the door and stop breathing. Outside is eerily quiet. The music is no longer playing and people aren’t speaking. It’s like the world died and you are the only one left. “What is it?” Rindou asks after he catches you not listening to him telling you about the new DJ set up he and Haruchiyo saw today at the exhibition. It’s pointless asking him, because you do know the answer to your question, but you do ask anyway. “Who did you call, Rindou?” “Ran. I called Ran. Is he there?” 

His voice is soft and comforting, but it does little to calm your wires of nerves.  Suddenly the world is very crispy and clear. “Rin, I don’t think I am ready to talk to him and…” “Listen here,” he interrupts you, taking a long pause, “It’s just Ran. My older brother. The guy you knew since what? Five years old? I don’t know a better person I can trust you with than him.” “It’s not that… it’s just… I am not ready… I don’t think…” A knock on the door never lets you finish the sentence. Rindou is babbling up on the phone again, you can hear him, but you can’t comprehend what he is saying. Slowly you open the door. You feel safe. You start breathing again. _ Ran doesn’t take you to your house. He doesn’t speak to you when he escorts you out of the house, your hand in his, and he doesn’t speak to you once he stops near KFC, gets out and gets back with two large bags he throws in the backseat, neither does he say anything when he makes the last stop at convenience store two blocks away from his and Rindou’s apartment. 

Two stops and thirty minutes ride, you don’t hear his voice even once. I am with her, is what he said to Rindou when he found you and took your phone from your hands; it still sits in the right pocket of his sweats. 

And you, you don’t try to talk either. Instead, you watch him. You caress his face with your eyes and try to spot if everything is different since you last saw him this close. Two summers ago. 

You don’t find anything new and it’s disappointing and relieving at the same time. Inside the apartment everything is still. He flickers on the light in the living room, places bags with food and drinks on the table and turns to you, standing where he left you. In the corridor. “Go and take a bath. Puke if you want and then come here. We’ll eat and we’ll talk.” When you don’t move he adds. “Go and wash yourself, I’ll bring you fresh clothes in a minute. Go.” The shower does help you. Water and soap feel nice on your skin and it’s not the cleansing you wish it was, but it still makes you feel better. Less anxious and more grounded. It also washes your worries away and you can’t help, but blame it on the weed wearing off your body. You are happy you are sober now and you wish it was something else that sobered you and not a random guy groping you at the party you shouldn’t have been at, at all. You don’t puke and you rinse your mouth with green mouth wash that you find on the sink. Haruchiyo has the same one at his apartment. You think if he is already aware of what happened. You should call him tomorrow and say you are okay, you are fine. Nothing bad happened. You suppose Rindou has told him, but you want to reassure him yourself. Ran sits on the floor when you emerge from the bathroom, wearing black sweats and grey t-shirt. You know it’s his clothes and you know when he raises his head and sees you wearing them, the corner of his lips tug up. He is quick to lower his head again, eyes on the chicken and fries neatly divided between two plates, as he motions you to come join him. 

This time you do it without hesitation. You eat in silence. Words on the tip of your tongue you so desperately want to say something, but it’s not your turn to talk and so you wait, until he gathers up and says what he has to say to you. “You are staying here. I already called your mom and told her you are with me so you don’t have to worry about it. I also spoke with Rindou and he’ll stay at the convention until the end. He won’t return tomorrow as he initially wanted.” You don’t say anything back. The fast food Ran bought is delicious and this apartment with him in it is a pleasant nice memory you dissolve in. You sip on your beloved iced lemon tea and you hope this moment of the night will never end or it will snatch you away. Imprison you in its comfort. “How do you feel?” His purple eyes never leave your presence and while the question is expected, you never wanted him to ask you that, because for once you don’t want to lie anymore. You are sick and tired of lying. “I am fine now, but I don’t think I’ll be tomorrow morning when I leave and I’ll probably get worse when I am home and alone.” He hums to that, shaking his head. His hair is parted in two nicely done braids. It’s longer than you remember it and yet it’s the same. “You won’t go home tomorrow morning. You are staying here until the answer to that question is I am good. Until I see you are better I am not letting you go.”

“Ran, I don’t think it works like that.” “Then, we’ll make it work like that.” 

That puts an end to your conversation. Together you wash dishes and he returns to his room, while you slip in Rindou’s bed and close your eyes. Violence is never an answer to you, and maybe Ran didn’t mean to enforce anything on you, and that’s why he didn’t close the door to his room as he always did before [you remember it so, but he might have changed, it’s been years after all], but you want to try. You so desperately want to feel good, you are willing to do anything. _ The next morning comes and you are the first to wake up. Ran’s room is dark and silent. The door is still open. There’s no sound coming out. Everything is still and motionless, but alive. That’s how you know he is actually home, inside his room sleeping peacefully. 

You don’t move around much. You don’t want to wake him up, because you do remember how grumpy he gets when someone disturbs his sleep. So, instead, you return back to Rindou’s bedroom and lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Your phone is still in Ran’s possession and you are quite bored. Not that you can do much with it, but you could have messaged Rindou or Haruchiyo. It’s better than doing anything and in Rindou’s bedroom there’s nothing much to shorten the time you have until Ran wakes up. 

It’s around noon when your back gets so stiff and you just simply can’t fall asleep again no matter how hard you try, so you get off the bed and stride into the kitchen. The cupboards don’t have much and it’s even worse than at Haruchiyo’s house. That boy at least has a collection of tea, instant coffees, chicken take-outs leftovers and rice. All Haitanis have are a pack of rice, one cup of instant noodles, a carrot, two cans of spam and five eggs. It’s all definitely courtesy of Rindou. Ran solely survives on deliveries and eating in those favourite posh restaurants of his. 

It’s another hour and a smell of grilled spam that lures him out of the bed. He crosses the corner that separates his bedroom and kitchen, and with a heavy blanket across his shoulder and droopy eyes that are ready to close any second, stares at you. “What are you cooking?” 

“Rice with spam and eggs.” “I didn’t know we had eggs. Good. I’ll be right back.” 

He disappears into his room and then reappears a second after and goes straight into the bathroom and you standing in their little kitchen for the first time since yesterday shrink in size, feeling very very small. It’s all too strange, you comprehend, mind spiralling and angry and so frustrated. So so so strange for you to be here, in Ran’s and Rindou’s kitchen, cooking a miserable attempt at breakfast at noon, for yourself and a guy with whom you once were so close, but then you haven’t spoken in almost two years and now… 

You freeze, hands raised mid-air, and mouth slightly parted. Breathing in and out. In and out. In and out. 

Now… Now, there’s rice on the stove and you need to reach for bowls, which should be in the cupboard right in front of you. That’s if they didn’t wake up one day and decided to store their dishes in the drawer next to the fridge.

Now, you need to turn the stove off, so the spam will stay crispy, and not turn into an ugly tasteless black  coal. You need to do all this and that’s what you do. Ran is back to you in almost no time. He watches you carefully, and you wonder if he sees your worries in your trembling hands and bitten lips, in how you avoid his intense gaze. But if he does, he doesn’t say anything. Wordlessly, he helps you by taking both of the bowls, leaving you to grab chopsticks and soya sauce. 

He settles on the floor and you sit next to him, putting a comfortable distance between the two of you. 

It’s very Ran to not turn on the TV. He eats quietly, throwing a small praise your way, that means nothing, because it’s just an appreciative humming and a couple of pleased curses. You eat too, because there’s nothing else to do and you are kinda hungry. It’s also is a distraction enough not to send you down your torture tunnel again. You welcome it happily, grabbing the opportunity with both hands. You welcome Ran staring at you too. You suppose you are acting as the TV for him today. The thought makes you smile. “Yesterday, when I arrived, no one would tell me who was the guy that made you uncomfortable by touching you,” he starts, confident with purple eyes never leaving you. “They only spoke when I kneeled one of them down and stepped on their fingers.” The rice in front of you, sticky from the yolk, dances. You wish you could dance too, but you haven’t had a good dance since the last party with Haruchiyo and Rindou almost two weeks ago, where Rindou got so drunk, he couldn’t remember what his name was, but he remembered you. That moment was sweet and you think the moment now isn't really so, but your mouth suddenly tastes like cotton candy and it’s a pleasant feeling. A great even. 

“I broke the fingers of the guy who touched you yesterday and I broke every single finger on the hands of the guys who touched you that day. It was a mess, but there won’t be a day now in their lives, that they won’t feel the pain and that’s all I wish for.” “Ran…” The bowl is too heavy for you to hold and the rice isn’t dancing anymore, nor does the world move and you doubt anything exists past this apartment. The white noise and deafening eerie silence envelope you in their deadly hug. But you don’t want them to touch you. You want to swim in Ran’s eyes that carry no remorse or guilt or pity, but acceptance and comfort. Tenderness seeps through him like the sand of the broken hourglass. If he suffocates you with it, burying you under him, you won’t mind it. 

You won’t mind it at all.  “You don’t have to say anything,” he laughs, clearly amused by your lack of reaction or from the plentiness of it. “Good.” “Yeah, good. Finish your food and let’s go grocery shopping. We don’t have anything to eat in this house and Rindou’s stack of shochu isn’t much to my taste.” “He still has a stack of shochu?” “That’s the only thing you are worrying about?” “No, but…” “I am teasing you. Yes, he has. It’s in the cupboard next to the fridge.” Well, it seems like nothing much changed in their apartment after all. Bowls in the cupboards and stacks of shochu, and everything else in between. 

Two years after last visiting, you feel like it was just yesterday. A nice revived warm memory. You hope it will linger for a little more, its light pleasantly warming your cold hands. _ Your phone is somewhere inside Ran’s room and he isn’t willing to give it to you. It’s also a no trespasse territory so you don’t dare to go in there and take it yourself. “Did Rindou call?” You ask on your second day spent with Ran. It’s raining outside. Quite heavily so, but inside this little cute cafe that serves only coffees and cheesecakes, it’s warm and safe. “He called me,” Ran says, cutting his lemon cheesecake in half and transferring the piece to your plate. He cuts off part of your strawberry one for himself too. “Asked what we were doing and how are you doing. Don’t worry about him. He is getting drunk, high and probably has a couple of girls in his bed to warm it. I bet he is having a good time.”

“It’s good then. I want him to have a good time.” Ran hums, takes a sip of his black coffee that obviously doesn’t taste good at all and observes you. Eyes squinting and all. It would’ve been uncomfortable before, but it’s not anymore. In these two full days you spent with him in his apartment it’s almost like all those years before. “Your other friend called though and sent lots of messages.” You don’t have to ask to know who this friend is and Ran understands it very well, because he continues without waiting for you to ask who he is talking about. “I answered him and told him you’ll stay with me. Apparently what I did at the party reached him.” 

Never once he looks away from you, waiting for anything from you. A small frown, barely there sigh, tears or glossy eyes. But nothing comes, so he asks. Simply, because he desires to know. “Are you upset? I can give you your phone back if you want to call Kakucho. I know you’ve become close since that party.” There’s nothing you are feeling. No sadness, no remorse, no heart in the stomach. It stays in your chest where it’s supposed to be. So you shrug and put a little bit of yellow cheesecake on your spoon. You taste it, the back of the spoon hanging from your mouth. It tastes good. Really really good. 

“I am not upset and we are just close friends. Nothing more.” “Nothing more?” “Nope.” “That’s good. Anyway, do you want to rent something to watch later today?” It is good and yes you do. Of course you do. 

_

With his hair up in a messy bun, loose strands falling all over his face and glasses always falling off past his nose bridge, Ran looks ridiculous. You tell him just that. 

He also looks very domestic, very warm and safe, but you aren’t about to tell him that. He understands it anyway. 

_ On the fourth day of getting back to Ran he leaves the apartment very early in the morning and doesn’t return until the evening when the clock strikes eight. 

It’s very boring without him there. With nothing to do you read Rindou’s book about healthy food and when you finish it, you read his handouts about the importance of music in western world. Both food and music are dull topics to you, but with nothing to do it’s better than just sitting on the sofa and waiting for Ran to come home.  You also watch TV. MTV with loud pop and all the same techno music and then some soap opera with an all too obvious plot on TBS. You even tune in on the football match on TBS Sports and find it a bit entertaining. 

But then the match ends and Ran isn’t home yet and you have no idea where your phone is so you could’ve called him [you don’t have his number], so you get up and get to cooking. Cooking is nice and it’s creative enough for you to lose yourself in it. You notice a pack of shaving razor’s on the kitchen countertop and wonder how they even got there. 

You take them back to the bathroom. When Ran does come home it’s dark outside and he doesn’t look any different. It’s raining again and his hair and clothes are a bit wet, which makes you think that he didn’t use his car. You so want to ask him where he has been and why has he left you alone, but you don’t dare. 

You stare at him from the safe space of Rindou’s room. Watch him take his coat off, then his boots and then he is right by your side. “I wanna see your scars,” he asks, almost pleading, and this is so unlike him, so not Ran and everything you know about him, you think you heard him wrong, but he repeats, “I want to see you. You aren’t afraid of me, are you?” And you aren’t. You were never afraid of Ran and his vicious, sometimes cruel, nature, because to you he was never like that. You never saw him as a person capable of turning another human being's fingers into a bloody mess that won’t ever heal. To you, Ran is Ran. Beautiful sleepy eyes and gentle touches. A never ending worry for the people he loves and all the knowledge about flowers he once read in the encyclopaedia of his gone from his life forever mother. 

Without saying anything, holding onto each other’s gaze, you strip to your underwear. Your scars ugly tissues of messy skin, are wanting to be hidden. They scream at you and cry and rebel. They promise you, you can hide them under other scars, more brutal, more deadly, more deep, but you don’t believe them anymore. 

Nothing ever will steal them away from you. They are now you and you have to carry them for as long as you live. No sharks or stakes are the option.

Cold fingers burn your warm skin. Ran’s hands glide across every patch of your existence that once were wronged by you. He finds every single one. On your arms, your legs and thighs. Your ribs and lower back. He doesn’t say anything, but his hands tremble and that is enough for you to understand everything. Him and his reasons. 

When he claws your waist with his fingertips and brings you close to him in an impossible tight hug, you start crying. Your own hands fist the plush of his sweater and you want it gone, because you need to feel him close to you. Skin to skin and nothing apart. 

The pressure from his fingers is painful, and if he presses more, he’ll leave blooming bruises, but you won’t mind it. You wouldn’t mind it at all, because just this once it’s so nice to be safe and sound in the arms of someone other than Rindou or Haruchiyo. It’s so nice, so so nice, to want something more and not be afraid of it. 

It’s like blooming camellias and stinging honey bees. 

_ Fully dressed with sanrio cookies Ran got at 7-Eleven, you sit near him on the floor, on the Rindou’s blanket you spread across it for warmth and comfort. Your tears have long dried and the Ghibli movie is now playing on the TV. The room is dark, the rain is still falling and Ran is slowly falling asleep. 

“You know, I’ve never rejected you,” he yawns, laying down. “That summer. I didn’t reject you. I thought you and Rin had something going on between you and that’s why I said what I said. Maybe if I were to… Anyway, it doesn’t matter now. Let’s just watch the movie.” Ran doesn’t make it to the end. He dozes off right at the moment when Chichiro boards the train and suddenly you too lose interest in a magical movie with so much sense behind its gentle animation. For a couple of seconds that stretch into an endless drop of water you bring your knees to your chest and stare outside the window. The view is nothing much. A grey building and dimly lit street lamp. Not a soul passes under the windows and you don’t hear any voices or laughs. No steps or coughs and rustling of clothes. Maybe there’s a black cat there somewhere, but its paws are too soft to make any noise. It most definitely won’t reach the second floor. Especially with rain meeting the pavement and cars and roofs, and maybe cats, but hopefully not. 

That night that summer it was raining too or so you were told, because you don’t remember. Drunk, high and very very sad you were brought into Haruchiyo’s apartment where he cared for you as best as an eighteen year boy could about an eighteen year old wronged girl. And in that crumpled dusty bar in Roppongi another act of love was happening. More vicious and more cold. Rindou has never told you about it, but you know him and Ran well enough to know that they did it together. Haitani brothers and all. 

You are too lazy to go to the kitchen and put sanrio cookies in the cupboard where they belong so you place them on the table near the TV. You grab the remote and switch the movie off. Darkness envelops the apartment, but you are used to it and then there’s that street lamp with its light and Ran. Slowly, you sneak under the blanket and curl next to him.

His breaths are even and methodical. His heart beats the same and he is very very warm. He is asleep and you so desperately want to sneak into his dream and live there. Meet the bees and blooming camellias along with other beautiful flowers he knows by heart. It must smell so good there and it must be day. Full family at the table and everything is good. Cats can be heard from miles away and fire is never burning the skin, only purifying. It never hurts there. 

Just like it never hurts near Ran. 

“Stop thinking so loudly,” Ran turns on the side, arm hooking across your waist and brings you closer to him, his body and his peace, “You are waking me up with those thoughts of yours. It’s gonna be alright. We are… I… It’s… I…” Whatever he said is lost on you, because he falls asleep again. This time, in his arms, in his warmth, it’s easier for you to close your eyes, because after many many days you are eager to open them again. _ This time, you don’t wake up first, but you wake under an intense gaze and hand caressing your face. He doesn’t stop when you open your eyes, curiously, looking at him and you don’t stop him when he leans in and kisses you. Slowly and sweetly. Besides drunk games at parties where you pecked a couple of boys, you’ve never ever kissed anyone, because you loved them. And right now doing exactly that - kissing the person you love, - your chest burns and you are not sure what you are supposed to do and how to suppress all those whimpers and moans you are so readily feed Ran with. 

Somewhere in the kiss, right after he hugs you impossibly closer to him, both arms around you, he smiles. The flame in your chest is now fire, and so you push him away. “What?” He asks leaning in again, this time pressing wet open mouthed kisses across your jaw. It makes it harder to speak, breath uneven and clogged, “Why are you smiling?” Surprised, he looks up, “I thought you were gonna ask me what the kiss was about, but you so you, and… why do you think I am smiling?” He waits for an answer and your brain runs kilometres in a millisecond, but you can’t come up with a decent answer that is not embarrassing or humiliating and full of self–doubt. Instead, you want to kiss Ran more and you want him to hug you tight again, hands holding you together, in one piece. And so you do. And it feels nice and it feels beautiful and right. And probably you should have had a conversation about all these before, but as he said you are you and he is Ran Haitani, and you kinda like doing everything in mysterious complicated ways only understandable to you. So you kiss more and he kisses across your face and under your jaw and then your neck where he plants bites and hickeys that bloom right away. Pretty shades of purple.  Only when you are sitting on top of him and his hands slide under your [his] shirt, does he stop. Hair a wild mess, he tilts his head and retracts his hands from your bare waist moving them to your face, which he cradles with all the gentleness in the world. He searches for something, anything, in your expression, but only finds swollen lips and pretty eyes that hold all the stored love they never gave away. And he crumbles, falling so hard and so fast, you hear the air crying and flowers blooming in his chest. 

Right at this moment, you both know, he’d do whatever you want and this will either be the best reward of his life or his demise. [As if you ever would let the last happen]. Ran presses a small barely there kiss to the corner of your lips and nudges your cheek with his nose. He takes a deep content breath full of the meaning you don’t catch on. Not because you don’t understand, but because you can’t, because he holds your head to his and kisses that sweet place right below your ear. Because he whispers, asking you, “How do you feel?” “Good. I feel good, Ran. I really really do,” you breathe out, hands clutching onto his shoulders. You can’t see his face, he buries it in your neck, inhaling your very being into himself. Storing you and what you are to the depths of his heart to where he will never let anyone reach. 

Your skin absorbs his smile and it makes you happy. So happy, you believe, if you died right there in his arms, an army of bees and the prettiest pink camellias would swerve from your ashes and Ran would name them all. 

_ The afternoon was spent exchanging lazy kisses and tender caresses. The time passes and the rain continues and when you stand outside of Haitani’s apartment building waiting for Ran who forgot his card upstairs, you inhale the wet aroma of pavement and green leaves and everything seems fine. Uncertain and wobbly, but fine. 

You actually believe that if sharks would come right now and try to swallow you for the first time ever you would fucking fight them. And they would back off. _ “You know, we should have ordered,” Ran complains in his small accusatory voice that you haven’t heard in so long. “You are soaking.” “Maybe. But then the poor delivery guy would’ve suffered and the food would be cold and…” Ran gives you the look. The one you haven’t forgotten, but could never crack up before. Where he believes you are very cute, but hella naive and a bit stupid. Now, though, you know what this small smile with a very relaxed face means. Now, that you know, you just nod embarrassment overflowing, and turn away from him, cheeks hot and hands trembling. He notices it all. He finds you endearingly cute. So cute, he wants to tear you apart. “You know, let’s just eat our burgers and get home.” “Burgers and fries, Ran. You did order fries, right?” “Yeah. Yeah. And fries. I just really wanna get you home.” _

“Say it again,” Ran murmurs, tenderly kissing your right cheek. His hair is still wet from the shower and his skin is slightly tinted red from the hot water. The huge tattoo that splits his body in half is more evident than ever and you find your gaze lingering there, tracing pretty shapes of it. 

He doesn’t wear much. Only sweatpants. And straddling him, legs hugging his hips, you can clearly tell that there’s nothing under them. Only him and his bare skin.  The smell of his shampoo and gel shower lingers in the room and it’s unclear if it’s from him or from you since you’ve been indulgently using his toiletries this whole time. Not because you always wanted to be closer to him, but because there was just no way you’d use Rindou’s mint one. Vanilla and bergamot it is then.

And now, all senses high and elevated, you claw at Ran’s naked shoulders, letting him slowly mouth your neck and you throw your head back, and you inhale this pleasant aroma that will forever remain you of these days and you desperately try to compose yourself. Dissolving into him would be easier, but you want to remember every single moment and every single sensation, and so you stay. “When was the last time you had sex?” In his question there’s no shame or hesitation, and it’s good. Really good. Because Ran doesn’t want to hide his intentions and pretend nothing is going to happen since this morning it was clear you would be under him today.

 “And with whom. I wanna know who had you last.” There’s slight fear in his last demand and you want to wonder why, but you stop yourself before your mind could create impossible scenarios and trap you. You pull back a little, peering into his face. You need to know why he is asking you this and as if he understands you, he leans forward pressing a soft kiss to your lips. 

“I am asking, because I need to know how hard I can go and what you can take from me.” His hands, warm and attentive, slide under your shirt. You too wear nothing under it. He doesn’t seem too surprised when he finds it out. Instead, he stops at the small of your back and hugs you closer to him. “I don’t want to hurt you or make you do something you aren’t ready for.” If not for the gentle fire in your heart, you would’ve cried. But you drop your head down, unable to look him in the eyes anymore. There’s something in them you aren’t mentally prepared for and Ran should be fearing about it more, than he does about sex. “I am not afraid of you and you won’t hurt me.” You say and then something possesses you and you cradle his face in your palms and you hold the whole world there and he isn’t aware of it and everything hurts, but in a good sweet way. “Can we kiss some more? I really like kissing you and I like you. You asked me to say it again and I will. I like you, Ran. So so so much.”

Ran kisses wet and sloppily and he grabs at your waist so clumsily, so unsure and so uncertain that it sells him immediately away. He has never kissed anyone like this and now that he has it has him spiralling. And so out of his mind, he pulls you closer, his bare chest against your [his] t-shirt and he does it again, and then again and again, as if could possibly merge with you, because being like this seems so so so far away to him. He wants you closer and it physically hurts him not being able to. And so he takes a good look at your flustered face, your perfect collarbones picking out of the loose clothing and dives in to kiss you again. This time he doesn’t stop only at your lips, but he mouths across your neck, guiding his tongue across the bruises he left this morning. He smiles all the way down to your collarbones and his smile makes you smile too, and despite you being quite shy and awkward you grin, melting in his happiness. 

If that’s how love feels, it feels good, it feels right and it might help you. It should. You want to give it the power to.

Somewhere between losing yourself in each other completely and starving hands, Ran hooks his fingers under the hem of your t-shirt and lifts it upwards. There must not be enough of you for him and so he wants more. But you freeze, heart beating so fast, it’s going to burst any second now, and Ran understands. He puts a gentle sweet kiss on your lips and presses his forehead to yours.

His breathing is ragged and fast. 

“We don’t have to do anything. It won’t be good for you if you feel…,” he starts, but you take all those words with your mouth on his. You don’t want to hear what he has to say, because you know what it’s going to be. And you don’t want your fear to overwhelm you, because that’s what has been living inside you and that’s what you’ve been trying to carve out of your soul. With razors, scissors and knives. Never with love or understanding. You slip away from him. You take off your shirt and place it near you on the bed. Ran watches you. His eyes are hazy and unfocused, but not any move of yours passes by unattended by him. He glides over your breasts and there’s a slight jerk under you and suddenly you want to hide yourself. You almost do, but then you think better of it and you raise your hips and you try to take your sweatpants off, but Ran stops you. “Don’t,” he murmurs, flipping you on your back. “Don’t. I wanna do everything myself. I want to undress you myself. And I want you to kiss your body and I want to play with your tits until you lose your mind and then I want to eat you out and make you cum, because you fucking deserve it. Because this fucking tension needs to go the fuck away. Okay? And then I want to kiss you and then I want to fuck you and I will watch your face as I do it. I’ve always wanted to see your sweet pretty face under me. Always wanted to hear how you will scream for me and how insanely perfect you’ll be with my cock inside you. Okay?” You nod and he does exactly what he said. And Ran is attentive and careful and very very kind. He talks you through everything and doesn’t push your buttons even though a couple of times you secretly wish he did. That night it’s only one round. Mainly because he is too exhausted and sleepy after he cleans you up and dresses you in his boxers and a new clean t-shirt. 

You don’t change sheets though and decide against opening the window. Because it’s heavily raining outside again and because none of you wants to get up from the warm bed and lose the comfort of each other. “Is it too early to say that I love you?” He whispers, taking a full deep breath. 

You think it’s not, but you say that it is and he laughs seemingly seeing through your small insincerity. “Okay. Then you should ride me tomorrow morning. I deserve it after today.” “You know, Ran, I think this is too, too early to ask of me.” “Really?” “Well, yeah.” “But I kinda already asked and I kinda already…” A loud thunderstorm slams Tokyo and you get startled. Your body is aching in all the pleasant ways and you don’t have any capability in yourself to continue this ridiculous conversation. You press a kiss to his chest and hide yourself in the crook of his neck. You are safe and you are in love and pain is still there, and memories will never die, but pink camellias are blooming and bees are going to return. _ Rindou is not supposed to get back next afternoon, but he does. 

It’s still raining and Haruchiyo is at his back complaining about how much he hates humidity, because his hair gets all frizzy and ugly. [Not that someone particularly cares about Haruchiyo’s hair, but Rindou is too tired to argue with him, so he just hums.] Because he understands where Haruchiyo comes from and he is also still tipsy. 

Yesterday, before boarding the bus they did drink a little too much. But the bar they camped in in the night, ditching the comfort of the hotel, was nice and the girl that sucked Rindou off in the back alley behind that said bar, was pretty much exceptional, so he won’t complain. 

Besides, he and Haruchiyo, but Rindou more or so he believes, were too worried for you to stay in Osaka. All the girls in the back alleys be damned, they need to see you and make sure you are alright. Short unconstant messages from Ran - “oh, she is fine”, “don’t worry i got her” and “she’ll be just fine” - were not cutting the white patch of horrors off for him. 

Rindou needed to talk to you. He needed to do his little check up and maybe [most definitely] buy you some expensive patterned paper and a couple of cute storage boxes. And because he feels generous enough you’ll stop at Daiso and buy all the stickers you want too. 

“Does it smell like mackerel or am I tripping? Again,” deadpans Haruchiyo taking off his soaking wet shoes. He dumps the sports bag with all his clothes next to Rindou’s and waits for him to take his last evening white now grey Adidas sneakers to go check into the living room. It does indeed smell like grilled fish and vegetables inside the apartment. Tofu and spring onion. He tries his very best to remember when was the last time their apartment smelt of homemade food and simply can’t. To his own dismay, this special cosiness of familiarity and domesticity were more native to Haruchiyo’s studio.   But that’s only because you spent a lot of time there. 

Getting high, getting creative and being you. It clicks and responds and suddenly everything makes perfect sense and they could’ve stayed in Osaka for two days more as planned. 

So when they enter the living room and find you picking out bones out of the fish, Rindou is not surprised. He is not surprised when he notices that it’s actually Ran’s plate in front of you and this small act of service is for him and him only. And he is so not surprised when his own brother doesn’t pay any attention to them staring at you both. His thin lips curled into a tiny smile, chin prompted on his hands as he watches you knowing there won’t be anyone else. 

And there never were. 

It’s all so simple and so fucking stupid. 

“Rindou! Haru!” You notice them, of course you do, and you set the chopsticks aside and run to them, somehow hugging both of them at such an awkward angle, the hug doesn’t last long. 

In the back, Ran clearly rolls his eyes and drags the plate with the boneless fish to him. It makes a disturbing screeching sound. 

“Weren’t you supposed to be back much later? Like in two days?” 

“We changed plans,” Rindou replies without an ounce of venom or disappointment of whatever else he is supposed to feel right now at his brother’s not so inviting tone, “But I guess we were wrong to rush.” Near him Haruchiyo snorts, Ran laughs a little and you with your neck and collarbones a perfect constellation of purple flowers, get so shy, Rindou himself cracks a smile. 

It’s evident where he is looking and what he is reading from it all, and your hand - trembling as per usual - flies to your head, in a poor attempt to cover what can be seen from miles away. More than anything, at this moment, Rindou wants to tell you that there’s nothing you should be ashamed of, nothing to worry about in his presence. 

Hickeys, cuts, bruises and all the blemishes are evidence of feelings and we people are meant to feel them. We are meant to experience them in our own ways. 

But he can’t say that now. He’ll do it later. 

Now, he throws his arm around your shoulders, kisses the top of your head and excuses himself to the bathroom. 

He needs that hot fucking shower now.

_ Three days later the rain stops. 

Haruchiyo goes home the day after they arrive from Osaka and you spend two more nights at Haitani’s. 

You leave when it’s sunny and not so cold for January. Ran offers you his long grey coat and a deep kiss to your lips. At that Rindou rolls his eyes, but he is smiling and so it’s fine. 

They both promise you they’ll stop by your apartment in the evening to go have dinner together. You all settle on something french. It’s weird how today your wants align and you aren’t about to pass this extreme luck of not quarrelling on where to eat.

[You feel like today is going to be a nice day.]

Your parents are home. Your little sister too. The house smells like butter and caramel. They probably had something sweet and nice for breakfast. The last time you ate with them together in the morning was so far away you can barely remember it. It saddens you, but only a little. 

“What are you watching?” You ask your sister. She sits on the floor, her legs inside the kotatsu. It seems to be a new one, because the wooden frame is white instead of dark brown. You’ve never noticed they changed it and you don’t know why. Something might have happened to it or perhaps your mom just wanted a small change. She can be like that sometimes. 

“National Geographic,” she replies without turning her head. “Is it interesting?” You genuinely inquire and she gives you a weirded out look. She shrugs, “I guess so. You learn a lot of things about the world we live in. Like did you know that all flowers have meanings behind them? Yellow roses mean friendship, tulips mean perfect love and camellias symbolise romantic love, adoration and care. It’s pretty cool. Don’t you think so?” 

From the kitchen with two puddings and small all too familiar from childhood silver spoon in her hands emerges your mother. She has a sweet hesitant smile and her face is so lovely and you missed her so so so much. She sits next to you and opens the pudding for you. You think that if she was to feed you, you’d gladly accept. Any neglected love you can take from her you will. “Oh, and bees… that don’t fly south. They actually never fly away,” your sister says and your mother laughs for one reason or another and there’s tears in her eyes and what your sister just said makes no sense at all to anyone, 

and once again, he’s here sitting, impatiently waiting for your updates about your silly grocery shopping you told him about just an hour ago. he wanted to tell you to wait, and that he’d come with you after practice. but before he could even send the message, he caught himself showing what he would call, for a lack of better term, lukewarm ‘feelings’ (it’s clinginess, he just doesn’t want to say the word himself, it’s distasteful in his own tongue).

he’s not clingy. he’s not needy. he doesn’t need to see you all the time. he doesn’t need to hear your voice or even receive a foolish text message from you. it’s not like he’s going mad about it this instant if you don’t update him. 

that's beneath him — or at least he firmly believes so before refreshing his notifications for the nth time for your long overdue text.

he could just text you first, right? to tell you how he hopes ego gets an urgent call from whoever, allowing them to leave practice earlier. tell you how desperately he wishes the earth would spin faster until he sees you again. and most importantly, tell you that he misses you, and he wants to see you despite staying over just a day ago for your weekly date.

after all, you're together now. he could simply just text you and let you know. what's the worst that could happen?

well, you might think he's being too much (he reached that conclusion on his own), and it might throw you off a bit — which is probably the last thing rin would want to happen. 

it’s too much, and too soon. no matter how long he had known it would be you for him, it doesn’t change the fact that the two of you are new to this. 

it has been nearly three months since you made it official for him, yet he’s still uncertain whether the length of your relationship could gravitate the spontaneity of him showing up to your place unannounced, or if he could ask you to stay the night after your weekly date, heck he doesn’t even know if could say those three damn words whenever he feels like it.

rin fears of overwhelming you. he can try and deny, but rin harbors big feelings that for as long as he could remember, stayed dormant for his own good. but now that you’re here, he’s afraid of putting it all out there for you.

rin thinks, or at least how he treats it, that your relationship is a new form of delicate. something he would need to handle with care, something he needs to approach slowly, even when all he wants is to give you all that he is— the good and even the bad that he would make better, just for you.

this is new and delicate. you are delicate. 

and rin knows his hands have never been known for their ability to handle something so precious.

sighing in defeat, rin threw his phone inside his gym bag, but as he was about to leave the locker room, he heard the faint buzz coming from his phone.

it was faint, barely detectable to some. but for someone who had been waiting for it for a whole damn hour, it felt like an angel whispered in rin's ear, letting him know that someone from above took pity on him.

“damn, that was fast. did you guys see that?”

bachira wasn’t lying. rin did turn to pick up his phone from his bag as quickly as one would turn when someone yelled ‘fire’. and for it, bachira received his second (it’s 2 pm, two is still a merciful number) glare of the day for pointing out his patheticness.

hastily, rin opened your conversation to be greeted by a photo of two different brands of protein powder followed by a harmless question from you, yet it almost burned him.

it’s your break, right? just wanted to ask you which would you prefer. i’m getting one of each for you to try if you can’t reply right away :D

fuck what he thought, he needs to see you – and he will. 

rin almost clicked the call button just to tell you he loves you. all because of some protein powder. just because you're so thoughtful and kind to him, it's downright unbelievable. he needs to hear your voice so he can process how real it is that you are his.

rin glanced at the clock of his phone. four more hours ‘til he’s free. four more dreadful hours, he can make do.

just before he got called by his team, rin quickly typed a reply to you.

Right one. Thank you :)

on the other end of the texting, you almost dropped both brands from your hands into your cart as you stared at rin's reply, particularly to the emoji he sent.

is this my boyfriend? you thought with a bemused grin. shaking your head, you placed his choice in your cart. you'd tease him about it when you saw him this saturday.

little did you know, even before saturday arrived, rin would be standing in front of you, hours after your last conversation. he was dressed in his sweats, wearing a white shirt, and had his gym bag slung across his chest. his hair seemed still damp from the shower, and as he looked at you, it was as though he just realized he had come here on his own.

“rin? what are you doing here?” you ask, breaking the silence first.

it was only after your question that rin realized he had more pressing matters to face than letting his eyes wander around you in your pajamas.

“i…” fuck. this is torture, and he curses himself for not finding the right words, “i wanted to see you.”

“you want to see me,” you echoed.

“is that fine?” rin’s voice came out strained with uncertainty.

a soft smile crossed your face, and you nodded. “of course…” you answered, “do you want to come in?”

rin nodded and slowly walked towards the entrance of your home, letting himself in as he dropped his bag on the floor. he still hadn't met your eye, reluctant to face what he might see in them.

instead, he indulged in the way you looked, seemingly so soft and warm to the touch in your flowing pajamas. his hands ached and itched with the urge to hold you close against him.

but he can’t – it was too much, too soon. 

“you can come here anytime you want,” you said, pulling rin out of his thoughts.

taken aback, rin took a few seconds to process what you said. “it’s not… too much?”

curious as to why he would ask that, you gave him a bashful smile. “it’s you, baby. why would it be?” 

and just like that, rin cast aside all of his hesitancy at the sound of your words, as if they were the green light signifying him to let go of the brakes holding his own affection.

rin took a step closer to you until you were inches away from him. your curious eyes followed every movement he made. curiosity immediately turned to bewilderment when you felt one of rin's firm hands on your waist, pulling you closer to him. his other hand settled in the curve of your neck below your jaw, gently guiding your face to meet his.

“how about when i hold you like this? still not too much?” rin's voice sounded hoarse, an octave lower. his hands roamed around your back, gently caressing your clothed skin.

“no…” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

rin exhaled with your response, the scent of fresh mint wafting around your face. his hand on your neck climbed up until you felt his thumb caressing the side of your lip.

“and if i tell you i love you— perhaps a little too much. how 'bout that? does that bother you?” 

so, this is what it is about.

feeling bolder than you were minutes ago, you caught rin's hand, enclosing it with your smaller ones as you guided it to your lips, leaving a featherlight kiss on his knuckles.

smiling up to him, you say, “never. i think i’ll love that.”

as the moment lingered in suspended anticipation, rin wasn’t able to suppress it any longer. he closed the distance between your lips with an urgency that bordered on desperation. the kiss was more than a mere meeting of lips; it was a collision of hearts.

his lips molded against yours, and his touch was not just gentle, but also fervent, as if trying to give you all that he is, without any reservation. his hands, once hesitant, now found their place on your waist, pulling you even closer to him, feeling the warmth of your body against his. his fingers traced a delicate path along your spine, memorizing every curve, every contour, as if etching your presence in his memory. 

as the kiss deepened, a soft sigh of contentment escaped your lips, inviting rin to explore further. he took the invitation, his tongue gently parting your lips to taste you more, more, and more.  because just when he thought it was too much, it was apparently not enough. he needed more – touch you more. 

when you both finally pulled apart, your breaths were intertwined, and your gazes locked. with a shy smile playing on your lips, still breathless and flushed, you ask, “and if i ask you to stay the night, is that too much?”

rin smiled, teal-eyes reflecting a glassy glint, “no,” he whispered, “i think i’ll love that, too.”

and rin also thinks he wouldn't mind being clingy and admitting he's needy if it's you— only when it's you.

because with you, he's not reminded that he was less, nor plagued that he might be too much.

to you, all of him was just the right amount of love.

Behind a very, very successful man, there's a woman sleeping on a cold bed. The other side empty. A thick blanket over her form yet still there she is. Freezing. The pain in her heart condensing to tears. The room appearing more and more bigger. The walls appearing more and more taller. Loneliness clawing at her chest...

"Is this practice match important?" 

"Yes, love." 

"But what about our date? You said you'll take me to—"

"I'm sorry, my baby bear. Though I promise. Next week will be ours."

Next week comes. And so does another sorry. Behind such a man, there's this woman waiting for him in her best dress. Her legs crossed in the most fancy bar of the city. Hairs pinned up. Her identity nothing but, "oh, isn't she Atsumu Miya's wife!? That famous volleyball player!" There's this woman, gulping another pint of liquor down. Asking the face floating over the yellow liquid in her glass, "who am I?"

"Meet (y/n). The love of my life." 

You don't remember how many hands you've shaken and how many smiles you've thrown so far. Behind such man, there's this woman who has to cling to him so some of the lights in the room can shine on her too. There's this woman, accepting the kisses on her cheeks and hugs lingering on her arms from other men like her man.

"I thought you were different..."

"Men will be men." 

Your jaws hurt. From laughing at this sentence at least once in every party you've ever attended with your husband. From a man with an obnoxiously big belly to the man with two ladies in his arms to the one with scary acne flares on his face. Behind a very, very successful man, there's this woman made to chew those words every day. It's not like she can't spit. It's just that... she loves him too much.

Too much that she's still keeping true to her promise.

"I'll always be there by your side no matter what." 

There's this woman, taking three steps back so her man can take four ahead. There's this woman, whispering to him, "I'm sure you're gonna win this." There's this woman, clapping the loudest when they call her husband's name.

"And the award for 'Most Influential Asian Player of the Year' goes to Miya Atsumu, Japan!" 

There's this woman, recalling every time her man used to come home with a defeated face. There's this woman, remembering the taste of every dish she has cooked to cheer him up. There's this woman... taking care of all the bills and unwanted wedding invitations so that her man doesn't have to divert his attention from his game. 

And there's this woman, nodding her head and crying. Sitting there alone in this big, luxurious apartment. The darkness around her growing more and more dark as she hears her man list all names behind his success. 

"Thanks to my friends, my brother, my parents, and my school that gave me my first opportunity to put forth my talent. My birth town. Hyogo! This award is for you. And lastly, ofcourse... my manager Tina! Tina, thank you for making me shiny. For always standing behind me. They were right when they say, "behind every successful man, there's a woman." That woman is ofcourse you for me. Thank you!" 

She loved him so much that she forgets who she actually was. Behind the podium, on the pedestal, he stood. While there she is. The woman who lost herself to make him. On the same old couch before the same old TV. Ten years of her life gone in loving him more than herself. Sitting here. Alone. All the noise of the world around her. All the memories ricocheting around her. A lonely woman behind a successful man. A forgotten woman behind a successful man.

There she is. There she is... paying for keeping her words.