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The pair of you had grown up together thanks to Cassian being your older brother by only a couple of minutes, he had been gifted the strength and agility of the gods whilst the Mother had sealed your fate long before you were both even conceived.

It had snapped for Rhys first, on your birthday 300 years ago. Mor had insisted upon throwing you and Cassian a joint surprise birthday party at the House of Wind, though she had told you that she had planned an intimate dinner for you all to make sure that you dressed as best as you could. As a thank you for everything you had done for them, from your incessant teasing to your bounding wisdom, Rhys had delved into his mothers trousseau and had hand-picked the most spectacular dress he or you had ever seen; though, he hadn't told you where he had gotten it, you were led to believe that he had it commissioned.

Rhys had kept it a secret from everyone, he didn't want to upset Cassian or ruin anything for you, he wanted it to snap for you on its own.

It only took a year for the bond to snap for you.

It had been one of the more warmer afternoons in Velaris, and you had been tending to the garden at the River House, planting your favourite shade of peonies into the earth when you felt the sensation. Cassian had returned to the garden to find that you had disappeared, leaving your tools buried in the soil and your scent drifting away in the breeze.

You had been transported to a shared memory, but the projection of your present-day body found itself stood behind Rhys, staring inward at the room buzzing with anticipation. Nerves were pouring from him as he fidgeted in his spot, whisky in hand and swirling it every moment his attention wasn't stolen by a passer-by muttering a greeting to their High Lord.

It was a night you remembered very clearly, but you weren't there to live it again through your point of view, you had been taken there to see it through his.

Looking toward the large double doors of the House of Wind, you watched as they opened to reveal both you and Cassian arm in arm. Cassian was wearing his usual lax trousers and open collared shirt, hair styled into a low bun with strays falling over his face; and then there was you, and you watched Rhys inhale sharply as his eyes landed on your frame, scanning you from head to toe whilst joyous shock consumed your angelic features.

The dress he had gifted to you had certainly been the right choice, it accentuated each and every curve and line of your body, hugging your delicious hips and exposing just the right amount of skin. And your wings, gods, they had fluttered and rustled with every compliment directed at your from a room teeming with whispers. The garment was the shade of newly born starlight, a cascade of fine diamonds had been sewn into the skirt and they flowed downward like lazy ocean waves at sunset. Light bounced off of you, your skin held a certain shimmer to it and the warm faelight was making you glow.

The brightest star in a sea of darkness. Everything felt dim in comparison.

It felt as though you were on the first row at the theatre, enthralled in the emotions of the moment; you examined Rhys closely, how his eyes trailed down your body and then to your face, and then they widened, and he stumbled backward, his fingers floating over that particular spot on his chest whilst the past version of you was none the wiser from her spot on the other side of the room, laughing and thanking Mor for all of the effort she had put in to make your birthday as special as possible.

As though you could see the golden thread winding itself around you, Rhys muttered a singular word to himself, a word that made your heart clench in its cage

Mate.

That night was just over a year ago. Why hadn't he said anything?

Before you could fathom an answer, you felt your essence be pulled back to the present, and you landed in the main living area of the River House feeling confused and conflicted, and betrayed to a degree.

Within moments Rhys was on you, standing at your side whilst your gaze bore into the ground, he could see your mind reeling, replaying whatever you had seen from whichever moment you had been taken to. The sky had grown dark beyond the window, telling you that the day had scurried by whilst you had been kidnapped by your power.

"Hey, hey, hey," Rhys cooed to you, trying to gently pull your mind away from the memory or future, "Where did you go, darling?"

Your brows twitched with every thought that flew through you and Rhys turned your body to face his own, resting his large hands on your arms and rubbing his thumbs softly against the skin he found there, lowering his eyeline to yours to try and capture your gaze.

Then you peered up at him, eyes colliding with pools of violet serenity, and it snapped, your own thread dancing outward to meet the end that had longed for it for so long and you gasped when it found its marker, "When were you going to tell me?"

Knowing what you meant due to the opening of the bond, Rhys' expression faltered, but he held onto you tighter, "I wanted you to find out on your own. The bond is a beautiful thing. I just wanted it to snap for you when you were ready."

Rhys' fingers reached for an escaped strand of hair, delicately tucking it behind your rounded ear in a way that made your wings shiver, "You've lied to me for twelve months."

He cringed, his fingers retracting from the shell of your ear, "It was more like avoiding the truth," you gave him a pointed stare, "Which I know isn't good enough. I'm sorry, y/n."

You'd be lying to yourself if you said that you hadn't wondered what a life with Rhys would look like, the High Lord was the most stunning male you had ever seen, and the way he carried himself in front of you and others was so alluring to the point that you often thought of him when you were alone in the confinements of your bedroom. Rhys had always respected you, he had always held a certain tone of humour with you that neither Cassian or Azriel were privy to, and he had always been the one to look out for you the most.

Despite being very well aware of your tactical prowess, Rhys did all he could to avoid sending you on missions, and when he did send you away, it was often on his behalf to other courts, he knew they adored you just as much as he did so much so that you would never truly be in any real danger.

"Say something. Please."

Worry had infected his bones at the possibility that you may not want him, and the longer you stood saying nothing the more tense he became, "My head hurts," and it did, not just from the information, but from the anguish travelling brought upon your body; Rhys knew that little fact better than anyone considering he often tended to you afterward.

A hand rested on the side of your face, his fingers curling around the back of your neck, "Let me look after you," Rhys visibly relaxed when you nodded, exhaustion settling into you and coursing down the bond.

Sweeping you into his arms, Rhys rested his cheek atop your head, inhaling the lavender of your shampoo as he carried you through the house that he had permanently moved into to be closer to you; he paced up the stairs and into your bedroom, laying you onto the pristine white sheets before finding his place beside you and pulling your body flush against his.

Lazily, you traced your fingers over his clothed chest, drawing small circles and tendrils over his heart, "What did you see?" Rhys asked you, his breath caressing your forehead and his digits curling into your hair in the way he knew brought you untold relief.

"Our birthday last year but from your point of view," your voice paused for a moment as you recounted the images in your mind, you craned your head upward to meet his nervous gaze like he knew that all it would take for his dreams to burn would be the mere action of you pulling away from him, "I saw how you looked at me from across the room when the bond snapped for you, I felt the air shift in a way. You were looking at me like I was the brightest star in the Prythian skies."

A ghosting smile quirked at the corners of his mouth, your voice was soft, void of any anger. Rhys dragged his thumb across your lips, resting it at the dimple in your cheek, "You are." Rhys' eyes drifted over your face, drinking in the fine lines of happiness that had embedded themselves at the corners of your eyes, "You are the star which points to home. You are my homeland, y/n. I think that you always have been."

Watching your gaze soften, he had to ask you, "Does the idea of me disgust you? The idea of us?"

A furrowed brow greeted him, but you shook your head softly, your cheek rubbing against the silk of his shirt, "How can I look away now that I have seen you?" Reaching to brush your fingers against his jaw, eye sparkling and brimming with the silent permission he had been waiting for.

In one swift but gentle motion, Rhys rolled you onto your back, cupping your face in his hands and hovering his lips a whisker away from your own. His breath fanned across your face, it was warm but heavy, he was overthinking it and what it would mean, but nothing would stop him from claiming you. Not even Cassian.

You pulled his eyes to meet yours, dragging him from the thoughts that plagued him, and like you were a spring in eons of desert, Rhys drank. Connecting his lips to yours was something he had only allowed himself to dream of, but nothing could have prepared him for how you tasted. Honeysuckle and sea salt, with the slightest hint of sweet spice. Rhys couldn't stop himself from deepening the embrace, running his tongue along your bottom lip and then darting it into your parted mouth, exploring every inch you would allow him to whilst curling the fingers of his free hand around your hip, his other resting at the back of your head.

Reluctantly, Rhys created a space between your lips, feeling himself losing control of his body the longer he was connected to you; he watched closely as your chest rose and fell in quick succession, the curve of your breasts grazing against his shirt and lips sinfully swollen from the onslaught of his adoration for you. He found his place beside you once more, pulling you to him so that your head rested on his chest, "Rest now. We can face the world tomorrow."

What you wouldn't give to go back to that moment. Everything had been so much simpler then. The new nerves and the oncoming anger from Cassian had been the only negativity in your world, though, your twin had taken the news much better than you had expected, he had only beaten Rhys once before the happiness for you had taken over.

If you were going to be mated to anyone, at least it was to the person who doted you and protected you at all costs.

It didn't take long until he was asking when the first babe would arrive.

It wasn't like you didn't want children with Rhys, it had been a topic that made you both excited, but you were also very happy with one another so had decided to not explicitly try for a babe, but if it happened then you would both be overjoyed. It took of mounds of pressure from your shoulders.

The mating ceremony itself had been beautiful, Rhys had truly spared no expense on the intimate ceremony where he had also sworn you in as High Lady of the Night Court in front of your family, and he had cried nearly as hard as Cassian when you saw you walking down the aisle in the dress that you knew belonged to his mother, the same one he had seen you in when the bond had snapped for him with some minor alterations, that being a lace veil that clipped into each loosely wound braid of your hair and matching gloves that kisses above your elbows.

The Inner Circle had succumb to the possibility that they wouldn't see you both for at least a month afterward. You were far too radiant for Rhys to allow from his sight, not only as his newly wedded wife, but also as his High Lady and the future mother of his children. You were exquisite.

Centuries passed and your love and devotion toward one another never waned, if anything it only grew, and you didn't think it possible that you could love anything else more than Rhys, and you were right.

There wasn't a single moment of the day where you didn't want to rip his clothes off and have him fuck you until you couldn't form coherent words, and he was always happy to oblige you. No matter what he was doing, whether working through stacks of paperwork in his office with hair messed from raking his fingers through it or relaxing in the living area after a long day, if you entered his space with that feline speck in your eye, he would be the one throwing everything aside to be pulling those mewls from your lips.

It was a love that Prythian would never see again, a love it would always search for and wither when it couldn't be found.

What you'd give to go back to that. Back to the time before Amarantha happened.

You remembered the feeling as though it happened only yesterday, the tidal wave of love and regret and sorrow, a pleading tsunami that you returned with your own, and you could almost see his sad smile, drowning in that feeling for a heartbeat longer before the bond went cold. Cassian and Azriel had burst into the room after hearing your screams all the way from the training ring at the House of Wind, finding you balled up atop the cold ground sobbing and clutching at the skin where your heart lay.

Azriel had moved to you first, his arms wrapping around your body and shadows peppering your tear-stained cheeks, he coaxed your ire from you, freezing as you told him that the bond had gone cold. It had only taken a few minutes for him to piece it together, of Amarantha no doubt trapping him below the mountain and him playing along in order to protect his court, his home, his y/n.

It had taken weeks for you to rise from the ashes of your bedroom, you had refused to move from the sheets that held his scent deep within them. But you were the High Lady of the Night Court, and Amren was struggling to lead the court on her own. Throwing yourself into your tripled duties was all that you could do, if Rhys ever came home, then that home had to be healthy and flourishing.

The citizens of Velaris pitied you more than they mourned the absence of their High Lord, you were the image of despair, pallid skin and a certain voidness to you usually bright eyes, though it didn't stop you from ruling over the court whatsoever. The only time when you would break would when you would be alone, and Cassian and Azriel couldn't allow you to wither away any longer so moved you into the House of Wind, leaving your once perfect home abandoned.

Before you knew it, 50 years had drawled by, 50 years without your mate and best friend. Life had tried to curl around you gracefully, to will you back into some form of enjoyment, and Azriel had coaxed you to accept the hand offered to you, so you did, but there wasn't a single moment that came and went that you didn't think of Rhys and what he was enduring Under The Mountain.

"Cassian, have you been to Windhaven lately? I need an update on the wing clipping laws we put in place." You entered the study, your pale blue dress dragging behind you from the pace of your steps, the crown growing heavy on your head.

It had always been something you and Rhys had spoken of, banning the archaically brutal practice of wing clipping in Illyria. Once upon a time you had almost been one of those young girls, pinned to the ashen soil with a blade a feathers touch away from taking the most sacred part of you. Luckily it never happened, and you had Cassian, Azriel and Rhys to thank for it.

Not looking up from the reports in your fingers, "Cass?" you gritted, too exhausted to deal with his silence. You had disappeared again that day, it had happened much more frequently over the last 50 years without Rhys by your side, but you weren't allowed to rest when you would return, there was always too much to do. "Cassian." Finally you looked up, finding your twin leaning against your desk with a shit-eating grin on his face and puffy eyes, "Are you going to answer me within the next two working minutes or shall I just go to Windhaven myself?"

"Oh how I have missed that voice."

Frozen in place, you felt your heartbeat rattle in your chest at that voice, the voice that haunted every moment you lived no matter if you were sleeping or walking the city aimlessly. Needing some form of confirmation you looked up to Cassian, your bottom lip wobbling when he nodded once at you and leaned back.

Then you felt him, his hands on your hips and nose grazing the curve of your shoulder, those two things alone making the reports in your fingers float to the floor. His chest met your back, his arms wound around your midsection, "Tell me that I'm not travelling right now."

A chuckle rumbled within the chest behind you, his lips pressed dainty kisses to your exposed skin, "I'm here. It's real."

A sob fell from your mouth and you turned in his arms, you buried your head into the nape of his neck and cried, and you felt bad for it, you weren't the one trapped in that place, but part of you had wished that you had been.

At some point during your crying and Rhys shushing you softly with his fingers running through your hair, Cassian had left the room, closing the door on his exit to give you both the privacy you so desperately needed. Another few moments passed and Rhys pulled away slightly, creating a small space between you so that he could hold your face in his hands and know that it was all real, that everything he had endured had been worth it just to have that moment.

"You look exhausted, my love," his thumbs caressed the skin of your slightly hallowed cheeks, his face lowering to level with your own. He didn't look much better than you did, his eyes were darkened with the things he had seen, his skin rough and pallid from the lack of sun, fine lines of worry and anguish ran along his forehead, "Cassian told me that you've been running this court on your own," he told you with a gentle smile, knowing how difficult it must have been for you to rule without him, to take on that load and also deal with your gift, "You've done so well, darling. I'm so lucky to have you."

Rhys pressed his lips to your forehead like a mother would a babe, loving and certain, and you couldn't help but sob again at the words and his touch, "I thought I wasn't going to see you again. I thought you had left me forever. When the bond went cold, and I couldn't feel you, I thought-"

"Hey. Don't think that. There is no reality where I wouldn't return to you, y/n," he rested his fingers at the base of your neck, relishing at the touch of your skin beneath his fingertips, "You are the only thing that kept me alive down there," his eyes glassed over, replaying memories he would soon rather forget, "I couldn't look into your eyes, but they were all I thought about. I memorised your face long ago, but it was a mirror for me there, or a prayer I had to recite nightly to make me remember who was waiting for me. I told you that you are my homeland, I will always come back to you."

Tears rolled down both of your cheeks when he kissed you, so full of need but also so hesitant, it was tender and light and warm, and you felt the floodgates of your bond crash open, your heart fighting against the tide of his relief and exhaustion, of his love and regret.

"But right now, I would like to bathe with my wife, and hold her until we both fall asleep. That's all I want, to hold you. Can we do that? Please?"

You had never been able to say no to Rhys and you weren't about to start, not when his eyes were weary and heavy with the turmoil of being away from you for so long, for witnessing and taking part in the acts that he had.

Carefully, you took his hand in yours, entwining your fingers and kissing his knuckles, "Of course we can," a gentle tug from you spurred him to move, and you led him through the House of Wind to your private chambers, mumbling to him that sleeping in your shared rooms had been too painful.

The tub was already steaming by the time you entered the bathroom, candles were lit and the window showed the golden valley you both adored so much as well as the snow-capped mountains. A once sultry act of undressing one another held a new meaning, you stripped one another bare with the upmost of care, taking time to touch one another as if you'd blink and it would all be gone.

Rhys lowered himself into the water first, almost groaning at the lavender soak that seeped into his muscles, and he held a hand out to you, positioning himself perfectly to accommodate you between his legs and running his fingers along the membrane of the wings you had done your best to tuck away.

"I love you so much," he kissed the glistening skin on your shoulder, trailing his lips from the spot up to the shell of your ear, and he smiled into your hair when you returned the sentiment, kissing his open palms and drowning in his power.

It didn't take long for exhaustion to settle within both of you, and once it had, Rhys lifted you from the tub and wasted no time in drying you and pulling one of his shirts over your head, pecking your nose once it was secured around your frame and nestling into bed with you for the most tranquil nights sleep he had gotten in 50 years.

It had taken Rhys a few weeks to feel comfortable enough to be intimate with you, he had never given you a reason, but you knew why. There had been many rumours of Amarantha's whore, and you could only imagine how he was feeling. Whether he didn't wish to admit it to you for fear of embarrassment or judgement, you weren't really sure, but you would never push him. Everything had to be done when he was ready and he alone.

You'd wait an eternity if that's what your mate needed.

Settling back into life in Velaris had been strange for him, he didn't know a single thing that had gone on in his court during his absence, but you walked him through it all. From your detailed reports, Rhys realised just how much love you had poured into his, your, city; orphanages had opened in the city offering education to the less fortunate, you had cracked down on the barbaric act of wing clipping so much so that there were very few cases reported in the last three years, and you had funded so many projects that would better the lives of all, from art galleries and theatres to community gardens, the Night Court was undeniably thriving.

"How have you accomplished all of this?" Rhys had asked you one morning as he scanned over all of the reports, flitting through the pages in wonder.

You had nervously picked at the skin around your nails at the question, "In all honesty I never really stopped working," his gaze met yours and he softened, opening his arms to you and pulling you into his lap, "I was scared that if I stopped doing all of this," you motioned to the papers littering the desk, "That the weight of your absence would consume me. I wanted to make you proud."

"I'll always be proud of you, my incredible mate and wife. You are amazing. Truly."

The darkness still gathered beneath his eyes, more nights than not you'd be awakened from slumber by his nightmares, and you would rise immediately to hold him, to remind him of where he was and that she was gone. It was clear that he didn't wish to burden you with the details, as usual, he was protecting you.

After a couple of months, Rhys felt like he was back to his old self, his usual banter with his brothers was rife and he was spending a lot more quality time with you whenever he had the opportunity. Everything had felt peaceful.

Until it wasn't.

The feeling you hadn't been consumed by since the day of his return had slowly settled in your gut, clawing and tearing at your essence, but it felt more sinister, like it wanted to ruin you. Crashing ceramic pulled Rhys from his book to see you in the doorway, your hands turning translucent and eyes full of terror as it travelled up your arms. Rhys was moving to you in an instant, trying to reach you before you disappeared entirely but he was too late, his fingers moving through you like you weren't even there.

It felt as though death itself had come to take you in that moment as you clawed your way to the surface.

You had landed in a place you didn't recognise, dark stone glistening with day old rain, hallways illuminated by lanterns and torches. The halls were wide, so tall that you felt tiny in comparison to them, and you knew where you were, where the Mother had decided to take you.

Under The Mountain.

A faint voice drifted through the air to you, pulling you toward it, and you followed the call, peaking into each room before you found the one where the sounds felt much more powerful. Though, nothing could have prepared you for what you were about to witness.

The room was dark, dressed in hues of black and wine red, faelight illuminated the walls lined with various dark artworks, a curved tub sat to the left, and in the centre was a large four poster bed, and on that bed was your husband and that creature of a woman you knew to be Amarantha.

Rhys' eyes were closed as he thrusted into her, his brow furrowed and face flashing with pain and remorse, you covered your mouth to conceal your gasp, forgetting that neither of them could see you. Amarantha lay beneath your husband, moaning and raking her talons down his spine, breaking the skin and grinning at the blood sweeping across her lips; her legs were wound around his waist, pushing him deeper into her with every rock of his hips.

"Tell me, Pet," she drawled, rolling him onto his back and sinking down on him, riding his cock and muffling her delight at the feeling, "How do you think your precious wife would feel if she knew what we did each night?" Rhys visibly tensed, "Do you think that she would still love you? Do you think that she would still want to be wed to you?"

Everything within you was telling you to look away, but you couldn't.

It was a question that Rhys couldn't answer, mostly because he didn't want to think about what you would do if you knew, which was the reason why he hadn't told you.

Tears streaked down your face, dripping onto the stone cold floor with every roll of her hips, "Who would want to be wedded to a cheating whore?" Amarantha's talon dragged down the column of his throat, "Do you not think that she deserves so much better than a male who would allow this?"

A moment of silence passed from Rhys, a silence that was filled with her moans as she neared her release, "Yes, I think that she does."

The words broke your heart, that your mate truly believed that you deserved better than what he had done, the things she had made him do. Each night she tormented him, made him submit to her against his will, and told him that you wouldn't want him when she was done.

With that soul-tearing admittance, Amarantha's movements jolted around him, her talons tugged at her hair as her moans climbed and she rode out her release, and once she had slowed, she wasted no time in removing herself from your mate and pulling a robe over her alabaster skin, smirking to him wordlessly before padding right past you on her exit.

It had all been to protect his home from her, and by extension, you. And that fact made you feel sick to your stomach, so sick that you felt the bile rising upward. Rhys had endured the unspeakable to protect his court and family, he knew what Amarantha would do if she got her hands on any of you, but it would be you who would suffer the most, and you knew that Rhys would stop at nothing to avoid that.

As soon as she was far enough away, you watched Rhys crumble; he perched on the edge of that large four poster bed with his head buried into his palms, loud, painful sobs causing his body to tremble and quake. His pain roared through him, "I love you," you rushed to him, you tried to reach for him but your fingers passed right through his body that was covered by a thin onyx sheet, "I love you," he repeated but more strained, he looked to the ceiling, his cheeks stained with his anguish and guilt, "I'm so sorry, darling. I'm so sorry."

"Rhys, please," your broken voice pleaded, but he couldn't hear you, no one ever could when you travelled, you were a simple bystander in these types of memories, "I love you."

The loud sobs of your mate continued, he wrapped his arms around himself, it had been the only thing to bring him comfort, and it was clear that he was imagining that it was you holding him and not himself. Rhys carried on apologising to the skies, hoping that his sincerity would reach you, hoping that you knew just how much he loved you and how much he would endure to keep you safe from her.

You weren't sure how long you knelt before him on that cold stone floor, telling him that everything would be alright, that no matter what happened you would never stop loving him whilst your own sobs broke your heart at the sight of your mate looking so defeated and worthless.

Only when that memory began to fade did you realise that the Mother was done with you, that she deemed you enlightened enough to return you to your home.

You landed with a thud, your knees crumpling beneath the weight of your body making you a blubbering mess on the floor. Marred hands found you instantly, shaking your shoulder softly until you found their owner, hazel pools of worry sketched over your face, his shadows frantically weaving between one another with panic. Sound had become muffled, like you were in a daze, you faintly knew that Azriel had called out to someone, likely telling them to fetch your husband as your focus honed in on him, "Where did you go, y/n?" Azriel had never looked so distressed, "You've been gone for three weeks."

Three weeks.

Rhys must have been going insane.

All you could do is cry and fall into his arms, the vision of your mate causing your body to shake, and Azriel folded you into his embrace, rubbing circles into your back, "I was Under The Mountain," you told him between sobs and he froze, like he knew what you had seen, "I'm going to throw up."

Another presence entered the room and moved to the two of you, an angelic touch graced your lower back and a bowl appeared before you, her fingers tugged your hair from your face as you hunched over and emptied the contents of your stomach, "It's alright," Mor cooed to you, rubbing your back to ensure you had gotten out what you needed to, curtly telling Azriel to meet Rhys and Cassian before they entered and saw you in such a position.

Mor held you as you sobbed, your guilt eating you from the inside out from knowing that Rhys had endured all that pain and suffering and abuse to keep you all safe, to protect you from the devil incarnate.

It didn't take long for the doors to open once more, Rhys took one look at your coiled frame, and the bowl to your left, and strode over to you, sliding onto his knees and gathering you in his arms. Knowing you wouldn't be able to tell him what exactly it was that you saw, you felt him caress your mental shields, asking for permission to enter, and you allowed it, you allowed him to sift through the images and felt his grip tighten around you.

Rhys scooped you into his arms and didn't say a single word to anyone on your exit, he carried you to your shared bedroom at the House of Wind, the same place you had accepted the bond centuries prior, and settled you onto the edge of the bed, kneeling before you and kissing your knuckles.

"I'm sorry that she did that to you," tears flowed down your face, landing on the backs of his hands, "I'm sorry that you had to do that to protect us."

Surprise settled onto his face at your words, like he wasn't expecting anything of that nature to leave your lips, "I'm sorry that she made you believe that I wouldn't love you because of it. I do love you, more than you'll ever know. Nothing would ever be able to take me from you."

Rhys picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and perching on the space where you had been seated only moments before; he peered up at you, his eyes the lightest shade of violet you had ever seen them, "Don't apologise for something that wasn't your doing," he wiped your tears, "I would do it all again if it meant that you would be safe, I'd endure the most wicked of punishments to keep you healthy and alive."

"I don't want you to ever feel like that again."

"I won't. I'll never leave you, not until death finds me and even then I will cling onto life with everything I have left so that I'll be able to find you in the next. It's always been you, and it'll always be you. There is nothing that can take me from you, I would burn the world to ash if anyone ever tried it, do you hear me?"

Rhys knew how hard it had been for you even if you hadn't told him yourself. It had been Azriel who had confided in Rhys about your mental state over the years, how you struggled to sleep and that when you did you were haunted by his loss, how you had travelled more often and for longer periods of time than before and how you always returned to them exhausted and little more broken than the last time. Rhys had been told how hard the entire Inner Circle had to work to contain you, to make sure that you didn't journey to Under The Mountain yourself and get yourself tortured and killed right before his eyes.

Desperate to hear your voice, Rhys continued on, "You and I are entwined for eternity, my love. Our life is going to be full of wonder and joy, that is what we fight for. In 100 years when we have our own babe and a life of serenity, I'll know that everything we went through was worth it, to have a chance to create the life we always dreamed of, the life we spoke of before the bond snapped and we were just Rhys and y/n dreaming about the future."

Rhys' fingers ran through your hair, pulling all of the tension from your body in the exact way he knew that you needed, "Tell me how much you love me."

Your palms rested flat on his chest, his heartbeat thumping through the skin to feel you, and he smiled softly, "I love the way your skin feels beneath mine," his arms pulled you closer into his chest, his chin rested atop your breastbone and his eyes bore into yours, "I love the little noises you make in the night when you're getting comfortable, and the little content sighs when I wrap my arms around you. I love the sound of your voice and your laugh. I love your truth and wisdom, and how you've never been afraid to do what is right despite the consequences. The world bores me - it bores me and irritates me when I'm away from you. You're the only thing that makes this life worth living. I love you, I love you more than our insanely irritating family," a gentle laugh passed through your lips, and you sniffled, "I love you more than this court or my power, I love you more than life itself, because what is the meaning of life if you aren't in it?"

"Rhys?" He hummed in question, still staring deep into your soul, "Love me. Please." It was a whisper, one you weren't quite sure he had heard, but he nodded gentle and placed you onto your back, ensuring that there were enough pillows beneath your head before he lowered his lips to meet yours.

Rhys made sure that he showed you how much he adored you and everything that you had given him, his lips covering every inch of your skin in a night filled with passion and the purest or adoration. And, unbeknownst to either of you in that moment, it seemed that your collective dreams were going to come true a lot sooner than you thought.

Author's Note

Brb crying x

You and Chuuya Nakahara stand side by side, squinting down a narrow alley that reeks of old ramen and questionable life choices. The tension in the air is thicker than a badly cooked stew, but it’s not because of the mission. No, it’s because you’re stuck with Chuuya—the guy who seems to have skipped the tutorial on how to chill out.

“I still don’t get how we became friends so quickly,” you mutter, glancing at Chuuya from the corner of your eye.

Chuuya huffs, adjusting his fedora like it’s the crown jewel of his entire aesthetic. “You think I get it? The last thing I expected was to actually like one of Dazai’s friends.”

“Wait, are we actually getting along now? I should definitely blog about this—‘Unexpected Friendships: How I Learned to Tolerate My Frenemy.’” You said with an exaggerated british accent, your head tilted slightly to the side, giving a flirty pout and holding up a peace sign with a wink.

“Don’t push it,” he warns, though there’s no real heat behind his words.

The truth is, working with Chuuya is surprisingly easy—once you get past the short temper, the constant complaints about Dazai, and the occasional death threat. You had always thought you’d be in over your head dealing with someone from the Port Mafia, but instead, you found yourself enjoying his company. His straightforwardness was a breath of fresh air compared to Dazai’s endless scheming.

As you two began your search for the culprit who had pilfered sensitive information from both the Agency and the Port Mafia, you couldn’t help but throw a bit of sarcasm into the mix.

"Okay, but imagine stealing information only to figure out that the most feared Port Mafia member has a whole wardrobe collection of fedoras. heeehh," You sighed, rolling your eyes playfully.

Chuuya shot you a sidelong glance. “If you keep making jokes, I’m going to start thinking you’re the one who stole the files.”

“Please, I wouldn’t risk getting on your bad side,” you replied. “You’ve got a way of making even paperwork seem like a death sentence.”

“I’ll torture you one day,” Chuuya said with a sigh, more exasperated than serious.

“Oh, absolutely!” you said with mock enthusiasm. “I've always wanted to experience the classic ‘tortured by Chuuya’ scenario. Make sure to use ropes and belts, though—nothing says 'fun' like an impromptu S&M session.”

Chuuya’s eyes widened, and he froze in place, his face flushing bright red. “What?!” he stammered.

“Bestie, I’m kidding,” you said, stepping closer and whispering in his ear with a mischievous grin, “Even though I’m not entirely joking... I’d love to see you try it someday.”

Chuuya’s blush deepened, and he turned away, clearly flustered.

You chuckled and patted him on the back. “Come on, lighten up. Let’s get back to finding that bastard before you actually get the chance to use those ropes and belts.”

You and Dazai were hanging out at Chuuya's house, enjoying some wine and the rare moment of peace that didn’t involve life-or-death situations. However, you should’ve known better than to leave these two motherfuckers alone together, even for a second. As you walked back into the living room, you were greeted by the sight of Chuuya looking absolutely furious while Dazai was laughing like he had just heard the best joke of the century.

As they both turn to look at you, their expressions shift from whatever chaos they were engaged in to sheer confusion. Why? Because you’re now wearing sunglasses—at 10 p.m.

Chuuya, barely containing his anger, is the first to speak. “Why the hell are you wearing sunglasses indoors? At night?”

You strik a dramatic pose, placing two fingers under your chin and lips bitten like you’re about to slide into someone’s DMs with a “Hey, baby girl, you up?”. With all the confidence in the world, you sit down across from Chuuya, leaning back nonchalantly.

“I’m wearing sunglasses,” you say, your tone oozing fake coolness, “so no one knows what I’m looking at.”

Then, you slowly shift your gaze to Chuuya’s crotch, your eyes completely hidden behind the tinted lenses. The room goes silent for a moment, tension hanging thick in the air. Chuuya’s face turns from angry to completely flustered, his eyes widening as he realises where your focus is.

“W-What the hell are you doing?!” Chuuya splutters, clearly thrown off by your audacity.

Dazai, who had been watching the whole thing, finally loses it, bursting into uncontrollable laughter. He nearly spills his wine as he clutches his stomach, tears forming at the corners of his eyes.

“Oh my god! y/n you did notttt!!” Dazai gasps between laughs.

Chuuya shot Dazai a glare, his face still bright red. “Shut up, Dazai! This isn’t funny!”

You stand in the middle of a crime scene in Yokohama, your head pounding like a drum solo gone wrong. Sleep? Who needs it when you’ve got coffee—enough to make your system hate you for life. You’ve been running on caffeine and sheer willpower, and it’s a miracle you haven’t started seeing pink sheep dancing on the rooftops.

Dazai is strolling around like he’s on a casual walk in the park, while Kunikida is already knee-deep in his notebook, scribbling down everything with the precision of a man who’s too serious for his own good. Meanwhile, you’re squinting at the crime scene, trying to piece together the puzzle through a caffeine-induced haze.

After what feels like a marathon of connecting the dots, you sigh heavily, shaking your head as the realization dawns on you. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you mutter. “It’s the dead guy’s girlfriend. Classic case of ‘hell hath no fury.’”

Dazai glances at you, an amused smile tugging at his lips. “Figured it out, have you? And here I thought you were too sleep-deprived to function.”

“I’m running on three cups of coffee zero hours of sleep I'm ready to fight god or become him, but I still have more brain cells firing than you, Dazai,” you shoot back, earning a chuckle from him.

The investigation leads you to the suspect’s location. Turns out, she’s an ability user, so the police are out of their depth. It’s the Agency’s mess now, and you’re not sure if that’s a good thing or if you’re just about to add another layer of mess to your already weird day.

The three of you burst into the room where the suspect is holed up, only to find her cozied up with another woman, their fingers interlocked like they’re the leads in a sappy romance drama. It takes you all of two seconds to figure out what went down: she killed her boyfriend because he cheated, and now she’s got with the girl he cheated on her with.

Before you can say anything, Kunikida charges in with the no-nonsense attitude of a man who’s had enough of everyone’s crap today. He knocks her out cold and cuffs her with swift efficiency. Meanwhile, Dazai’s just standing there, hands in his pockets, watching the whole thing like it’s the best entertainment he’s had in weeks.

As the suspect curses under her breath, you can’t hold back the joke that’s been bubbling up inside you. It’s too good to waste, and your brain is running on autopilot now.

“Well, well, well,” you say, grinning like a maniac. “It’s obvious she did it for the plot. You go, queen! Honestly, you better spill the tea when we get to the investigation room.”

Dazai loses it completely. He doubles over, laughter echoing through the room.

Kunikida narrows his eyes as he tries to process what just came out of your mouth. “This is serious! How can you joke about this?!”

“Come on, Kunikida-san,” you say, patting him on the back. “She’s in cuffs, the case is solved, and we’ve got a hell of a story to tell back at the office. Chill a bit, yeah?”

Kunikida just shakes his head, muttering something about needing a vacation. But despite his irritation, there’s a tiny, begrudging smile tugging at his lips.

After what felt like an eternity drowning in paperwork at the Agency, you finally hit send on the last report and tossed your pen aside like it had personally wronged you. The boredom was suffocating, and you needed a break—preferably one that involved good company and even better wine.

You grabbed your phone and shot a quick text to Chuuya: “Yo, I’m crashing at your place before you head out. Got wine. Don’t argue.”

With the wine bottle in hand, you made your way to Chuuya’s place, already picturing the relaxation ahead. When you knocked on his door, it only took a few seconds before it swung open, revealing Chuuya in nothing but his black pants, the belt hanging loose, and his chest on full display.

You blinked. Then blinked again. It wasn’t every day you got to see Chuuya Nakahara shirtless—okay, maybe this was the first time, but still.

“Hey,” he greeted casually, as if this was the most normal way to answer the door.

“Sheeeshh, hot mama!” you giggled, not dropping your gaze off of him just yet.

He rolled his eyes, a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks as he stepped aside to let you in. “Shut up. I was just about to get dressed.”

You sauntered past him into the living room as if you hadn’t just been blessed with the view of the century. You tossed your jacket and vest onto the nearest chair and unbuttoned the top few buttons of your shirt, trying to fight off the sudden wave of heat.

“How hot is it in here? Ugh, must be the humidity,” you muttered, though you knew damn well the real reason your face felt like it was on fire.

Chuuya, seemingly oblivious to your internal chaos, started yapping about something—what, you couldn’t quite tell. Your brain was too fried from the paperwork and the unexpected view to keep up. He eventually headed towards his bedroom to get dressed, leaving you to pour two glasses of wine. You took a deep breath and followed him, wine glasses in hand.

When you entered the bedroom, Chuuya was already half-dressed in his usual getup, adjusting his choker in the mirror. You couldn’t help but stare at his waist, so slim it could rival that of a top model. The words slipped out of your mouth before you could stop them.

“How many bicycle crunches do you do? Ain’t no way your waist is that slim.” You pouted, genuinely baffled at the injustice of it all. Like, seriously, what the hell?

Chuuya shot you a look that could only be described as utterly confused. “Say what now?”

Ignoring him, you walked over, setting the wine glasses aside before placing both hands on his waist, feeling the firm yet unfairly slim muscles beneath your fingers. “Ain’t no way you’re not wearing a corset underneath. Be honest.”

Chuuya froze, his face turning a shade redder than his hair. “Are you serious right now?” he sputtered, his voice rising slightly as he smacked your hands away. “Get a grip!”

You pouted dramatically. “I’m just saying, Chuuya. It’s not fair. I can barely do a sit-up without collapsing, and here you are, looking like you walked straight out of a fashion magazine.”

Chuuya headed over to his glass, holding it to his lips before drowning his wine in one go, probably regretting ever opening the door. “I seriously hate your guts.”

"Nahh, you love me," you say, raising your glass in a mock toast.

“Only because you bring wine,” he quips back, finally allowing a small smile to break through.

You clink glasses with him, both of you taking a sip. For a moment, you just stand there, enjoying the quiet. The mission can wait; right now, it’s all about enjoying the moment—and maybe, just maybe, teasing Chuuya a little bit more.

You: [sends a photo of yourself in the arcade, holding an AK and posing beside the score] “Honestly? SLAYED 💅🏻"

Bandages Whore: Ah~,😫 my bella, it would be an honour to meet my end by your hand—your tight black dress has me mesmerised.

Tainted Wine: I will kill you, Dazai! And y/n delete that photo right now!!!

You: Too late, it’s already immortalised in the group chat, babe.😚

Bandages Whore: got my first death threat online ngl the world is healing.

Tainted Wine: Piss off shitty Dazai! But seriously, y/n you look absolutely gorgeous and with that gun? A real spitfire. (ꈍᴗꈍ)

Bandages Whore: Spitfire??? Chuuya, what century are you from? 😭😭😭

You: Spitfire? 😭😭 Where’d you dig that one up? I CAN'T- KSJEJWIW

Tainted Wine: Hey!!! I was trying to be nice! At least I don’t go around asking to be killed in every conversation, you damn weirdo!😠

Bandages Whore: Maybe, but at least I know how to give a modern compliment. You gotta keep up with the times, Chuuya!😭

You: It’s okay, Chuuya. I appreciate the effort. But next time, maybe skip the spitfire line and try something that doesn’t make me feel like I’m in a black-and-white movie. 😭😭😭😭

Tainted Wine: I HATE YOU GUYS! 😤

Bandages Whore: [sends a photo of Chuuya doing yoga, looking very zen]

Look at Chuuya here, so zen and peaceful.

You: Aww look at him, very demure, very considerate, very mindful. ๑(◕‿◕)๑

Bandages Whore: Very demure? I'm dying 😭😭😭

Tainted Wine: Stop with that trend and those slangs. You’re older than that! Seriously!!🤦🏼

He peeked at you from behind his papers, a lazy grin on his face, and raised a brow at you in question.

“I’m serious, it’s like you’re a plushie. Or maybe you’re actually an alpaca demon instead of a deer. It’s as if you’re all fluffy or something.”

Alastor let out an amused laugh.

“Ha! Maybe it’s because I am.”

You raised your head to look at him. Now it’s your turn to cock an eyebrow at him.

“What? An alpaca demon?” Another laugh escaped him.

“Goodness, no! That’s a stupid notion, my dear.” He let his papers fall to the floor and gave you an amused smirk.

“It’s winter, darling. Not only do I have to deal with shedding my antlers, I also happen to grow a bit of a thicker coat of fur.”

His brows furrowed a bit in annoyance as he told you of his situation. He was obviously displeased by it, but by god, if you weren’t intrigued. You made a mental note to squeal about how openly he talked about it with you later. But for now, you needed answers.

Your gaze shifted down to his chest, now noticing that it did seem a bit fuller than it used to.

“Can I see it?” - “I beg your pardon?”

Your eyes widened at your impulsive request, as did his. Only now did you realize that that would include him dropping a layer. You’ve never seen one another in a state of undress, except perhaps in your night clothes. And even then you had both always been fully dressed.

But you made your bed, now you had to lie in it.

“U-uhm, I mean…I kinda…wanna see it..?” You stammered. You could feel your face heating up under his gaze, while his grin only grew wider. You were sure he was enjoying how flustered you were getting.

“Well, since you asked so nicely! Only because it’s you.” A dark glint flashed in his eyes as he said it. He then nodded to his shirt, challenging you to undo the buttons. “Go on, darling. Don’t be shy now.”

You sat up in his lap, head reeling and ears buzzing as if all your blood had risen to your face. You couldn’t believe you were doing this. Your shaking fingers undid his bowtie first, neatly folding it and placing it on the back of the chaise. Then you reached for the first set up buttons, so close to his neck. You could swear you heard a soft chuckle as you undid them.

Your eyes flit up at him for a second, before quickly snapping back down as you caught him watching you intensely with narrowed eyes and his wicked grin.

“Stop looking at me while I do this…” 

“No~.” Alastor teased.

If you could bush any further, you would.

You decided it was enough after three more sets of buttons. Now no longer focused on the task at hand, you spotted what looked like fur peeking from the gap in the shirt.

Without thinking, you spread his shirt open, even startling Alastor with your bold move. Eyes wide, you gazed at what you could only describe as soft looking brown fluff right in the middle of his chest.

If you had looked up, you’d see Alastor’s smile twitching. Now he was the one being stared at so thoroughly, and it unnerved him. He suddenly felt…exposed? Insecure, maybe? No, not him, never!

He stiffened up as he felt your fingers slowly moving through the tufts of fur, essentially stroking his bare chest.

The fur was dense and soft. Certainly made to keep him warm during the cold seasons - and possibly to serve as a pillow for yourself.

You thought it was so cute. It didn’t go at all with his reputation as the big bad Radio Demon, so it’s no wonder he keeps it a secret. A secret only you knew now.

“Wow, it’s really soft, Al! No wonder you’re so comfy all the time.” When you looked back up at him, you could see the faintest of blushes along his cheeks. You were sure your own blush was still there as well, but you felt reassured knowing that he was also affected by your intimate position.

You batted your eyelashes at him in an attempt to butter him up some more. He probably knew what you wanted to do next anyway.

“Can I..?”

He let out a theatrical sigh, but opened his arms to welcome you in.

“Fine. Since you’re being oh so sweet, my dear.”

You hummed in satisfaction and slowly laid your head down into his chest fluff. It smelled so much like him. You could hear his heart beating much faster than it had before and you grinned to yourself.

You let out another hum as you felt his arms come to rest on your back, his chest rumbling as he spoke.

“I hope you understand that this is to stay between us, darling?”

.

Flash. Flash flash.

The light drowns you. You cover your eyes with your hands, shielding yourself from the bright glow from your window. The lamps in your room are switched off—of course they are—and you have been trying your hardest to sleep. Tossing and turning is the worst part of stressful nights. 

Behind the beaming light, you see a pair of pearly whites. Alastor watches the smile grow on your face. 'Smile,' that's how he likes to describe it. It's more of a smirk, one that twitches whenever you try and hide it. If he wasn't so close to you, he'd think you were plotting against him, which makes his heart even more drawn to that smile of yours. His closed-off, stubborn demeanor threatens to crack, though he's waiting to see if you'll initiate a peril to the friendship: companionship. His internal struggle, torn between his defensive nature and growing affection for you, is a constant battle. 

"Alastor," you breathe out before opening the window and sliding it up. The night wind shakes his hair, and his button-up is buttoned to the collar. He throws the flashlight aimlessly and it lands on the bed. Once he fully steps into your room, he unbuttons the top and rolls up his sleeves while you close the window behind him. He flicks the lamp on.

"It's midnight," you sign while his eyes lock on your hands. 

"And I wanted to see you. Were you sleeping?"

"No."

"I thought so."

You let out a laugh through your nose. 

Not even an hour pasts before Alastor sits cross-legged on the floor, his gaze fixed on the walls. Beside him, you hold a handful of playing cards, staring intensely at them to see your next move. He has already put his card down. 

"When do you leave?" He signs, gaining your attention. "In the morning or afternoon?"

You sigh, your expression changing, your hands dropping the cards. "Don't think about that right now."

"I will. You know you don't have to go."

"This movie is my chance. My chance to do something extraordinary, something that could change everything."

He just nods. "I understand. And I'm happy for you." The quietness of the room starts to bother him. The only sound is the slight hum of the lamp. Each moment stretched like an eternity as they played cards.

Finally, you reach out, your hand finding his. "I'll come back if living in a damn movie trailer is that bad." You sign, the smallest smile on your face.

"Stardom." He signs.

"Win some, lose some." You chuckle, the sound a bittersweet melody in the stillness of the night. "Beats the weather here."

His smile forms into a lopsided, childish grin. Louisiana summers are the worst, both for the weather and how during that time, your mother would whisk you away to introduce you to filmmakers. Alastor would look out the window at the empty house. Even as a teenager, he imagined you'd return to whisk your childhood toys into his yard. 

More hours pass, after he wins the game (as usual), the weight of goodbye hangs heavy in the air; you find solace in knowing that your absence won't be forever, however long it may seem. You both sit on your bed and read in perfect silence. Your eyes constantly flicker at him, the curve of his nose and the sharpness of his jaw. He's attractive; it almost draws you in.

Before he leaves, you finally go through your closet and throw him a shirt he left behind the last time he was in your room. He doesn't catch it immediately, and it hits his chest; he hugs it.

You lift your chin. "I'm giving it back before it becomes mine."

"Oh, no worries there." His eyes sparkle when he notices the combining smell of yours and his. When you turn to face the closet again, he holds it up to his face and inhales an extended dose. His eyelids droop, his grip tightens. What a lovely scent. He even lets out an audible growl while eyeing the back of your head. When you face him again, you find his eyes locked on yours.

His aura looms within the confines of your bedroom. His eyes are round and youthful, and his forming smile lines are even more visible in the yellow-toned lighting.

"The days are coming to an end." He signs. Your lips tighten, a juxtaposition to his. Beneath your calm exterior lay an intensely beating heart and a distant mind. One person had managed to pierce the armor around your nature.

Alastor, stop thinking about that damn movie.

But the movie is always on his mind. The weight of impending farewells feels like thorns. You're going to disappear from the neighborhood, while your face and your body will be on his mother's tiny television; Alastor knows he won't be able to see the light in your eyes or the individual hair on your brows like he can when he stands close to you. 

When dawn paints the sky in hues of pink and gold, casting long shadows across the room, Alastor stares outside, opening the window, his brown eyes reflecting the colors. 

"Don't fall," you sign while helping him swing his feet past the window seal.

"Will you stay if I do?"

"I don't know, but if you injure yourself my mom will definitely think I did it."

Alastor tilts his head with a twisted grin, which forms into a smile as you squint at him. He slides a bit forward, his thighs off of the ledge, watching your expression. His feet dangle dangerously before his fingers close around the wooden seal. He slides back towards you, lifting a hand to sign. "Just kidding."

With your voice, you jeer sarcastically, "Ha-ha-ha."

After he safely drops next to the tree he used to climb up, his head started spinning, he carries with him the memory of your voice; he had never heard it before.

.

Gosh, did you make it big. Every time Alastor walks to school, he can see your face plastered on the front cover of newspapers. He tosses a nickel at the storesmen, buying a copy each week.

You never ended up coming home, staying in the city to live out your ever-blooming career. But thankfully, your mother adored Alastor and was appreciative that you had such a close friend. Every time you moved locations, she let Alastor know. Both your and and his mother dreaded the idea of you two losing contact.

His mother teases him about you all the time. 

"She's so pretty." "How could you not tell she liked you?" "So, how's that little charmer?" "Maybe you should be in movies, too." "How about you send her some fan mail?"

By his mother's advice, he started writing you letters.

Your mother hands you them whenever she finds them in the P.O. box. With how hot Houston has gotten, the letters are warm once you get them. The stamps were 32 USA, the same image of a timey radio. He definitely has a doctor's handwriting. You've kept each letter in a drawer under your bed, ensuring their safety.

.

Cameras stand poised, ready to capture the magic of the scene about to unfold. Among the hustle and bustle of crew members and actors, you are the one that stands out the most with your fake, radiant smile and the judgment in your eyes.

As the director calls for action, you step into the scene, slipping effortlessly into your role. You immerse yourself in the story. In these silent movies, you have your own unique shine.

Meanwhile, Alastor paces nervously in his hotel room, constantly cleaning his glasses—a nervous habit—and smoothing his hair behind his ears. He has been counting down the days until he can surprise you, a result of teamwork between his mom and yours. With a bouquet of flowers and an old (and very tacky) friendship bracelet, he makes his way to the movie set.

The director waves his hands to signal a cut. All he gives you is a thumbs up. He doesn't know anything else. You breathe, your face falling into its usual, aggressively neutral look. 

With his voice, the director announces to the rest of the crew the schedule for the rest of the day and the time: noon, which means the beginning of the lunch break. All you can do is stand impatiently waiting for a signal of dismissal. The dress you have on is holding your diaphragm tightly, and your headpiece is pinched too close to your skin. This movie is testing your limits.

One motivator that keeps you staying in these uncomfortable positions is representation. You're blessed to be able to be both loved and openly deaf; in this era, others are not as fortunate. In your imagination, one day, you can stand beside Charlie Chaplin and Granville Redmond.

Gosh, what a dream.

As Alastor arrived, he marveled at the grandeur of the production—its sheer magnitude was enough to amaze him. Alone, he navigated through the maze of trailers and equipment until he found himself standing at the edge of the set, watching you and keeping an eye on your crossed arms and hard stare. 

"Cher..." he whispered to himself. And at this moment, he knew he had to see you, see you close, and tell you just how proud he was. Seeing you within a fantasy realm while maintaining your usual glare is beautiful. Your costume makes you look like a princess, but your face makes you look like a queen.

Alastor waited for the perfect moment to make his entrance, ha. And as the director called for the break, he seized his chance.

Once you turn to leave, your eyes widen in surprise, and you see Alastor standing before you, a smile lighting up his face.

"Alastor!" Your hands sign his name quickly. With the grace born of pure joy, you take a step closer, testing the boundaries of contact. You haven't initiated touch with someone in a very long time. Your eyes are locked on the flowers in his hand. He holds them out, and with elegance, you take them. 

"I had to see you," Alastor signs with his now free hands, his face filled with admiration. "I couldn't bear to be away from you any longer."

You gaze up at him through your eyelashes, overwhelmed by the depth of emotion coursing through your veins. You can almost kiss him. "Thank you." After signing, your fingers touch the petals of the bouquet. "What a lovely surprise! What's the occasion for the flowers?"

His thoughts of you are more than just friendly, but for now, he is content to bask in the warmth of your presence. His eyebrow twitches. What's the occasion? You always say the strangest things.

"Just wanted to brighten your day," he replies, his eyes dropping to the flowers. Their vibrant colors perfectly match the costume. 

"They're beautiful, Alastor. Thank you."

You walk towards the door he entered through, and he follows you, letting you lead the way. 

Your cozy trailer now smells of fresh blooms. 

A familiar, harsh glow of fluorescent lights casts shadows across the room, painting your temporary home in hues of yellow and gold. You sit perched on the sofa's edge, fingers tracing delicate patterns on the fabric, your heart fluttering like a caged bird.

Beside you, Alastor sits with an air of casualness that disguised the storm of emotions within him. There's a newfound curiosity; perhaps his mother's words are getting to him. His feelings are uninvited, unintentional, and unwelcomed. His gaze lingers on you, drinking how your eyes sparkle in the dim light, the curve of your fingers soft and inviting. The minutes last for eternities as you sit quietly. There is a faint sound of the people walking outside, and for Alastor, it heightens the tension of you two being alone together.

You have nothing to say. If you even look at him, you worry that your face will flush. His words, I couldn't bear to be away from you any longer, repeat in your mind's eye. His signing is always so delicate, so beautiful. Oh, how you've missed him. You didn't even realize how much you cherished him.

Finally, unable to bear the weight of the silence any longer, he puts a hand on your knee and keeps it there while his other signs. "Your thoughts are loud."

Are they?

You turn to him, your eyes searching his for any hint of truth. "You've caught me off guard," you admit, hesitant to show what you'd consider vulnerability, something you refuse to display. He instantly notices how different your demeanor is from what he knew.

Your gazes lock, the air crackling with electricity as you dance around the ridge of something unspoken, plain, and nowhere near sudden.

With a tentative hand, you grab his wrist and remove his hand from you. You don't let him go. The air seems still. And then, in the space between heartbeats, you bring his hand up to your lips and place a small kiss along his knuckle. The world around him fades into insignificance, and he loses himself. His mother is going to think she's psychic.

You release his hand, noticing the friendship bracelet you had made all the years ago, and it takes him a second before he returns it to his lap.

You sign. "I greatly appreciate this... and you."

Is there a but?

There's a significant pause before your next sentence as if you're going through all his possible responses. "I've missed you dearly."

He smiles. "I'm glad."

The look on your face reads as if you're confessing a secret. All you can do is nod and stand, adjusting your costume. "Good, so how long are you staying?"

.

You found yourself embarrassed at how you acted when he had come to visit. You were closed off in a way you promised you'd never be to him, you know it's due to the months spent away from him (and with annoying strangers). You embark on a mission to express your affection in the most simple, traditional way. On the nights you can't sleep, you spend hours crafting a heartfelt letter, each word carefully chosen. You don't want your intentions to be obvious, but you also want him to be able to infer what you're spelling out.

The summer heat gives you a headache as much as your mother's cocky smirk does when you hand her the letter. You roll your eyes, "Just send this to him."

She looks over the envelope, signing with one hand. "A love letter, huh?"

"Maybe."

She lifts her chin and shakes her shoulders.

His mother opens all of his mail except for the ones you send. Days after your mother sends it, his opens her mailbox and immediately she recognizes your handwriting and the regular postal stamps you use.

When she tosses it on the table in front of Alastor, a bright smile lights up on his face. He opens it carefully to keep your current address intact and his mother watches with a calm smile. His expression softens as he reads the words penned with care, soft poetry that only an artist can write. 

"Is it what I think it is?" His mother asks. 

"Mother." He grits his teeth, and she giggles, giving him mercy for his attitude, but only this once. She's happy to have won in the continuous teasing.

.

Amidst the falling leaves and the whisper of the autumn breeze, when his response letter gets handed to you, you open it as soon as you can. Your forbearing attitude remains intact but your breathing noticeably quickens with the silent symphony of love. It's as enduring as the changing seasons. Fall has begun; you're going to see him again.

"Dazai . . . "

"Dazai."

"OSAMU!"

Dazai twitches, awakened by the familiar sound of a yelling voice. "Huh?" his voice slurs as he sits up slowly, his body clearly in pain. You sniff, groaning the thick smell of alcohol stuck in his clothes. "Don't yell, hangover . . . " he grumbles. "Or maybe I'm still drunk."

"Get up," you say firmly, looking down at his slumped body resting against the wall.

He must've been downing drinks last night, though, at least not to the point where he couldn't figure his way home. Though, it seems he couldn't get into the house as his keys are resting in his hand and he's sitting onto the concrete next to the door.

"Huh? Wha—What, I'm getting- huh?"

You sigh and loop your arm underneath his, carefully pulling him inside of the house. You carefully grab the keys and set them on the rack near the door. Dazai let's out a drunken giggle as you pat him down, making sure that everything he left with is still with him.

"You are so fucking irresponsible," you hiss, tugging Oda's coat off of his lanky body. After forcing him to sit down, you walk to the kitchen to get him a much needed glass of water.

"Oh, coooome on," he hiccups, "You love me though.

An exasperated sigh leaves your lips, "Your lucky no one found you black out drunk like that and stole your shit. Or worse, killed you." You emphasize your woods, setting the cup ( you don't trust him with a glass ) of water in front of him. "Or have you forgotten, you just left the Port Mafia?"

Dazai sucks his teeth, rolling his eyes at your statement.

After months of hiding, you'd think he'd get it. Maybe that he'd follow suit of you. Stay low, stay quiet, and say lawful. Apparently not. He can't even stay clean.

There's a thought of wanting to punch him, maybe it'll knock some sense into him you think. Taking a deep breath, you bend down, slipping off his shoes and putting them next to the door. "Drink your water, please," you grunt," I'll run you a bath."

"Mhm~!" Dazai sings. He's been mumbling and humming tunes, kicking his feet as you attempt to clean him up.

After a couple of minutes, you walk down the hallway toward him, "Alright, c'mon!" Dazai giggles, hurriedly getting up from his seat. Though you see the scene happen in slow motion. As if he had low iron ( which he probably does ), the blood rushed down towards his feet and he immediately stumbles, hanging onto the table as he tries to gain his bearings.

"Osam—" you pause when you see his puffed cheeks. You sigh and dash for the small trashcan in the bathroom and hold it below his mouth. And a second later, you hear the gross sound of vomit.

You rub his back, waiting for him to finish before you even attempt to bring him to the bathroom. You almost gag as you bring him carefully to the bathroom and strip his clothes, unraveling his bandages as well.

A wave of both guilt and disappointment passes through you as you see him flop into the filled bathtub. He's thin. New scars have appeared a top the old and ( incorrectly ) healed ones. He's too pale, his hair is back to the state it was when he first appeared, and he reeks of the bar. Even after your efforts, it seems as if you can't get him out of this slump. "Osamu . . . "

Dazai lifts his head, silently responding to your voice. All of the mumbling, sound effects, and humming are stopped as you carefully clean his skin.

"What is going on with you?" There's a deep frown on your face as you inspect his forearm. "No matter how much I try, you only clean yourself up when I make you."

"I work, you sit in a bar, come home and plop yourself on the couch without a fucking word," you hiss. Dazai flinches, though your not sure if it's your voice, or your movements. Regardless, a sense of guilt floods you and you take a deep breath.

"What is it?" You pause and look at him, "I know you're still recovering from Oda, I understand grief. But you refuse to talk about it and then drown yourself in alcohol, no matter what I do."

There's attempt to keep your voice calm and level, though he can hear it. The underlying emotions of annoyance, worry, and disbelief.

His eyes are downcast, focused on the water covering his lower half. They're dazed, pupils dilating as they stay focused on the one spot. "Osamu?" You frown, eyes flickering to study his face. Your face falls when you hear the quiet sound of his breathing.

His chest shakes as he breathing increases, his jaw shaking in an attempt to say words.

"Oh . . . Osamu," you mumble as tears swell in his eyes, rolling down his cheeks and onto the arms resting in his lap. His arm flinches at the sting of the salty tear to the cuts on them.

You carefully get into the bathtub fully clothed behind him. He feels the warmth of your skin touch his as you carefully grab onto him, holding him close with pressure on his chest from your arms. "You're alright, I promise. It's okay," you whisper. His trembling hands touch your arms.

The silent tears continue to fall, the sound of the drops hitting the water, and his ragged breathing fill the air.

"Hey," you whisper, "Can you do something for me? The bathroom is kind of bland, but can you point out 5 things you see?" Dazai gulps, your voice sounding distant despite how you're hugged to him. Nevertheless, his eyes dart around the room, he attempts to find something to grab onto to.

His jaw ticks, "The- The shampoo," he croaks. You nod with a small smile growing on your face, "Good. It's okay, try to breathe," your hand rests against his chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat. "Tell me some more . . . "

Dazai sniffs, chest stuttering rapidly, "Your— s-s- sweatpants." His grip tightens on your arm as more tears slide down his face. "That's it, can you give me another one?"

"The," he gulps, "Clock."

"Come on, you got it. Can you give me another one?"

His lips tremble, teeth clacking together in an uncomfortable pace. He sucks in a breath, vision fuzzy as he focuses on your voice. "Uhh, the toilet," he whimpers, glossy tears clouding his view before they spill. You nod, "Good job, one more."

Dazai squeezes his eyes shut before blinking, to search for something else. "Soap, the soap."

You help him attempt to breathe, "Good. Now breath, just feel the way my chest is moving."

For the next few minutes, you talk him through the 5-4-3-2-1 method until he's relaxed in your hold. The water has gone cold, and the uncomfortable feeling of wet clothes cling to your skin. "How about . . . " you start, "I clean you up, then we judge what to do hm? You just— you need a good bath and some food."

Dazai nods silently. He's not entirely in the room. His eyes are unfocused as he feels your careful hands gliding along his skin, though everything feels muffled to him, the room beginning to blur once more before your hand slightly pulls him from his disassociate state.

You pull him from the tub, drying him off, cleaning his arms and legs, wrapping his wounds in bandages, and cutting his hair again. ( Making sure he brushes his teeth )

No matter how many times he attempts to tune in on your voice, he can't do it. Nor can he focus on anything. His hands don't feel like his hands. The table doesn't feel like it's familiar texture. The room doesn't smell right. He doesn't sink into the seat correctly. And the chopsticks send tingles through his hand. None of it feels real.

He feels your warm hand touching the back of his neck. "Breathe," you whisper, "Touch it again. Hold it and breathe, it'll feel right."

His world is fuzzy, except the static quiets when you touch him. He slowly eats, the entire time with you keeping a warm hand on him.

Dazai starts to wake up as you carry him to the bed, pulling him into your embrace. There's silence throughout the room, not a sound unleashed to part the quiet atmosphere. Well, until you speak. "Osamu . . . " you whisper, fingers dancing in his head of curls as you carefully think of what to say. "I love you."

The man's eyes widen at your soft words. "No matter which way you choose to interpret that. I do."

"Which is why I have this urge to take care of you. It's what drives to clean up your empty bottles and canned food. And it drives to wonder what can I do to help you?"

Dazai gulps, his fingers entangled in the fabric of your new shirt.

"Your two years of hiding are almost over," you whisper, "Im selfish, you've known that since we were kids. So please, just promise me something. I don't need your thoughts, your feelings, nothing. Just two words."

"Hm?" Dazai looks up at you, having a feeling as to what you'll say.

"I'll sound cringe," you roll your eyes with a faint smile on your face, "but—promise me you'll tell me when you feel like your falling again. Doesn't matter how much I have to do it, I'll pick you back up. Cut your hair, change your bandages, whatever. I just—I hate seeing you like that. You just have to tell me."

Dazai remains silent, simply laying against you.

"I sorry," he whispers. You sigh, "Don't say sorry, just promise. I said I'd protect you when we were little, I mean that, even if you are older than me ( by a year ). I just need you to promise."

"I promise," he whispers.

You smile and mess with the small hairs on the back of his neck. "Good."

A faint smile appears on Dazai's face, one you can't see of course. "Well, first order of buisness," you speak. Dazai frowns, looking up at you.

"You're banned from all bars."

"Hey!" Dazai shrieks, shooting up to look down at you.

"You throw up on me, I'll kill you," you say firmly.

"Thought you were supposed to protect me," Dazai frowns, with a teasing verse.

"I can knock some sense into you."

"Asshole."

"Mhm," you hum, pulling him back on top of you, making sure he's comfortable beneath the sheets. "Also . . . " He mumbles.

"You love me?"

A couple of months later, you walk with Dazai to the four-story building of your workplace. Before the man can even open his mouth as you walk through the door, "Do not flirt with her."

Dazai whines as you drag him upstairs and to a door that reads 'Armed Detective Agency.'

A hum leaves your lips as you walk in, lugging Dazai along by his collar. Your eyes drift to a grey-haired man in traditional Japanese clothing, a green haori draped over his kimono.

You throw Dazai forward, walking to the side of him.

"President, this is the one I was talking about."

the ending was kind of ass. i think i lost the concept a bit lol. i hope you appreciate this a little. reblogs r appreciated!!

dazai thinks he shouldn’t be here.

not only was it past midnight but he has never appeared out of blue like this on your doorstep either.

with a quiet breath he knocks on your door. a moment passes and nothing happens. he expected this because why would you be awake right now? this must be his last chance to leave and the temptation to do so grows with each second. dazai doesn’t see a point in knocking for a second time if you really were asleep. yeah, he should go, stop bothering you and get a hold of himself. just what was he even—

as dazai is about to turn around, he hears the sound of fiddling from the door lock and freezes in place. were you not asleep? 

the door opens and he’s greeted by your noticeably sleepy figure. so you actually heard his one time knocking through your slumber.

“osamu?” you break the silence with your soft, somewhat confused tone. while he did hear you say his name, all his mind could focus was on you. god how did you always manage to look so perfect? your hair is rather messy, your face seemed tired, you were wearing an oversized shirt with pyjama shorts that had strawberries on it. all of that and you still looked breathtaking to him. he then quickly realises that he needs to say something.

“hey, sorry i woke you up.” dazai responds shortly, hoping you didn’t notice his staring. you blink once then twice, his words not giving you any sort of explanation. “did something happen.? it’s the middle of the night right now…” you question while slightly leaning against the doorframe. he can hear the sleep in your voice. 

“well, i guess i was wondering if you were feeling up for a double suicide?” a familiar, subtle yet playful smile appears on his lips, his tone calm. it doesn’t phase you in the least. your brows furrow and you give him an odd look, not falling for his antics.

“you think i’ll actually believe that? what’s the real reason?” you respond with a tired sigh yet the small concern is there. of course you wouldn’t fall for that, you knew him better than anyone else. but it was worth a try.

dazai isn’t certain what answer to give you right away. he swears his mind has gone blank the moment you appeared before him. 

“can i stay here tonight?” he asks instead, dodging the question. his voice came out softer than he expected and he’s sure he seems pathetic now, the regret coming here slowly returning.

your brows raise a little in surprise. you were still sure something is up but the way how different he was acting from his usual self made you even more worried.

“you can but I can’t guarantee that my couch is the comfiest thing to sleep on.” you say after a moment, a yawn escaping past your lips afterwards. dazai lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. he couldn’t bring himself to care where he was supposed to sleep, if it was at your apartment that alone is already enough for him.

he comes inside and when he makes it to the living room, you speak up: “i’ll get you a blanket and a pillow.” you mention before going to the bedroom.

dazai returns his gaze to your living room, noticing all the small parts of you decorating the space: different scented candles on your window sills, fairy lights hanging on the wall, a phone charger laying on the floor, a vase of lilies placed on the table and next to it a plate with a few muffins on it. reminds dazai of the time you told him how you sometimes liked to bake in your free time and that he should definitely taste them on another day. you really had a bright personality for someone who works for the port mafia.

even from far away and the room still being rather dark, he could tell they looked delicious and probably tasted even better. dazai believes anything made by you would simply be perfect. he has seen the way your eyes shine whenever you talk about things you’re passionate about and he feels like he could listen to you forever. just your voice was enough to make his day better.

you come back with the bed linen that you promised to get, setting it down on the couch. you almost immediately notice dazai’s glance directed to your muffins and a smile grows on your face.

“go ahead and try it, i promise they’re the best muffins i have ever made.” you say with a pleased tone, clearly proud of yourself. he turns his gaze back to you, letting out a soft chuckle. “i’m sure they are, i just don’t really have an appetite right now.” he’s aware that he hasn’t eaten anything in the past few hours because he just can’t bring himself to do so.

but dazai regretted saying that instantly, seeing how your smile faltered.

“that’s fine.” you tell him calmly and shrug it off but he knew that wasn’t entirely true. he really hoped you didn’t take this the wrong way since the last thing he’d want is to upset you. his lips part to say something but no words come out. however, you have already decided to change the topic.

“so, are you going to tell me why you’re actually here?” your eyes are tender yet a little serious at the same time as you look at him. you really weren’t letting that question go but he couldn’t blame you. you had every right to ask that.

a moment of silence passes before dazai replies: “felt like it.” it’s not like he can tell you the real reason. he’s not ready to explain how corrupted his thoughts were back at his dull and cold shipping container, how his own mind started overwhelming him and how he needed to leave from there just so he could breathe normally again. everything seemed meaningless and tiring before the thought of you entered his head. 

he found the fact that thinking about you helped him calm down kind of ridiculous. over time he has gotten more attached to you than he likes to admit. you are the only person who has managed to get this close to his heart, heart that he thought was incapable of feeling anything other than emptiness.

your features softened after hearing him. dazai is not sure why because surely you have no idea what he was feeling. did his expression give him away? he hopes not.

“if you don’t want to tell me then just say so, okay?” dazai will never comprehend how understanding you were. he was being unfair to you and yet here you were not pushing anything out of him with that kind look in your eyes. making it seem as if he deserved any of that. 

“anyways i’m going back to bed now. good night, osamu.” a yawn leaves your mouth as soon as you say that and you send him one last glance before walking to your bedroom. dazai replies with a quiet good night as well and you close the door behind you.

he sighs before putting his black coat away and deciding to lay down. he stares at the ceiling and even with closing his eyes from time to time, falling asleep is near impossible as always. and you were right, this couch is starting to feel uncomfortable. dazai lifts himself up and looks at your closed door. he guesses that about half an hour has passed since you left, you must be asleep by now. dazai can’t help but envy you for getting sleep so easily. the rest he receives is usually by passing out from exhaustion.

staying the whole night here was hopeless, he’s already aware of that. but then he gets a new idea. he stands up and stops in front of your door. dazai hesitates because what if you were awake? that would make this more awkward but he could complain about the couch and that’d give him an excuse. an excuse to sleep next to you.

he stops himself from dwelling on the matter too much and very gently opens the door. the moment he steps in, he’s greeted with your peaceful state, vague moonlight shining down on you. dazai can feel his heart swell because how is someone simply sleeping able to look this stunning? he slowly moves next to your bed, to the left side that had more space and, as carefully as he can, slips between your sheets. this is much more comfortable in comparison to your couch.

dazai lets his head rest against the pillow, his eyes locked on you since fortunately you were facing his side. there is a soft glint in his eyes as he gently tucks some of your hair strands behind your ear. your face features were even prettier close up and after a while he realises something. a part of him wishes to wake up like this everyday, your face being the first thing he’ll see, the chance to be this close to you. a true luxury that dazai thinks he would never be deserving of. after all, why would a person like you be with someone like him?

a subtle noise from you is enough to snap him out of his trance. he wonders if you’re about to wake up but before he could come to a conclusion, you shift a little and slightly nuzzle your face to the palm of his hand that was laying beside you. dazai’s body tenses as he isn’t sure if he should pull his hand away or not. there was no way that you knew he was here. looks like you just stirred in your sleep. he let out a relieved breath, gradually relaxing again. just the warmth radiating from you is more than enough to ease his worries. 

dazai wonders if you know how much you mean to him. probably not. he could never express it enough anyway. but it also scares him because that means the world can rip you away from him in any moment and he literally doesn’t know what he’ll do if that were to happen. dazai told himself from the beginning that he should avoid you at all costs but he has already failed that part. you had him hooked around your finger in a way that you didn’t even realise.

he closes his eyes, now focusing on your touch and faint breathing. maybe if you are right next to him he could doze off for a little while. he can imagine your reaction once you’re aware he’s in your bed in the morning but it will be worth it. anything is worth it as long as it’s with you. dazai decides to make one small promise before trying to focus on sleeping.

he will definitely try your muffins later.

The battle had been planned over the series of a day, everyone practicing and learning how to defend themselves

Being an overlord and promised watcher over the hotel, Alastor was of course given a tall order; he was to take care of Adam

While he acted as if it were nothing and swept it by as if it'd be another easy task, you weren't so confident in his abilities against such a powerful angel

Not that you didn't trust him, just that it's scary to think he'd be doing it all alone

Though you offered support, he outright refused it

" Can't have you in the way! You are just so distracting! "

Yeah right

As much as you wanted to protest, you knew he wouldn't budge on it

But as Adam parted the battle and Alastor was nowhere to be seen, you assumed the worst along with everyone else

He'd been killed so easily? Certainly not, would he really give up his life like that? Your anger boiled up in you as you fought, and it carried you past your limit until everything was rubble

While you had the chance, you quickly whisked away to his tower, which now lay broken in the soil, though still partially intact

You had to kick the door a few times before it finally broke open, having been blocked by some debris

You hoped to all gods that you'd see him in there, but it was as silent and empty as you dreaded

You figure Husk would have said something if he felt his chains come loose, though, so you crawled up into the chair which he normally sat to broadcast and waited

And waited

Until finally, your looped prayer was answered when he came limping through the hatch

You could tell he was panicking or overwhelmed; you weren't entirely sure what, but you scrambled towards him

" Alastor! You're okay- "

" Get away from me. "

You stopped in your tracks, staring at him with bewilderment

He'd never sounded like that, especially not towards you, it frustrated you beyond belief that he refused you at a time like this

" No, no! I thought you died out there! All because you thought you could handle things on your own when you clearly cannot! "

Hot tears welled in the corner of your eyes, the silence only intruded by creaking, and the sound of your hissing breaths

It took him a moment, but the overlord straightened himself out, a shaky breath leaving his lips as he soaked in your reply

It wasn't fair of him to say that to you, and you were right, but something in him felt so shaky; his smile felt more forced than ever; he felt as if his wings had been clipped

" Dearest, you know me better than anyone, but unfortunately, there are things I cannot tell you—even if I want to. "

You knew he was bound by someone and chained, and as he spoke with such a lost desperation, you couldn't help but cry harder as the guilt consumed you

" I'm just glad you're alive. "

While you stood with what felt like an infinite space between you, the crackle in the air started to come back to him, which followed with his arms reaching out to you

You found yourself burying yourself in them, clinging to his shirt until your knuckles strained, and you cried

With no one else around to witness it, he wrapped his arms around you, ensuring you were secure

He'd do whatever it took to find a way out, so he could promise you an eternity by his side

Alastor gets intetested in you once he takes notices on your powers.

He did try voodoo when he was alive but never got a response so he let it go and decided to focus on killing.

He loves seeing the different colors that surrond you when you do your magic. Whatever it is from do damage or make a new object.

Your shadow has a mind of its own and so does the one from Alastor and since you two are too rock head to act on your feelings for each other then your shadows do the work.

They dance together getting annoyed looks from both of you.

Alastor may ask you to know more about how your powers works, and even offer a friendly fight.

That ends destroying half the hotel.

But worth it!! You two bonded over it.

Its going to take so long for one of you to act on your feelings.

Its worse when Alastor starts to questions them and even wonders if you did something to him.

No you did not but you did a voodoo doll of him to hug him when you are feeling down.

Creepy but sweet.

The day Alastor sees you going full beast mode to kill lots of sinners at the same time....man he is in love and deep now.

You are his. No questions.

In fact, Alastor already thinks you two are together. You two are just pertect? And you must see it!! You are an intelligent creature after all.

Side note, the little voodoo dolls that follow you around (like Sir.Pentious eggs) are fun to mess with, specially the one eyed one.

"Alastor did you just kick Mochi?"

"I have no idea what are you talking about"

Dazai chronically neglects his physical health.

You don't know if it's on purpose or not, you don't think it really matters either way, although some of your coworkers beg to differ in the way that they chide you for "encouraging" his behavior when you go out of your way to take care of him when he refuses to do so himself. Kunikida thinks that he’ll never learn to take care of himself if he constantly has you there as a fallback, but you think it's a bit ridiculous to not extend a hand to someone who is clearly struggling. You know Kunikida means well for Dazai, and he often goes out of his way himself to help the man in his own ways, but sometimes it's not as simple as having to "learn to take care of yourself" and you fear that if no one's there to set him straight when he starts to disregard his health, it'll just turn into another suicide attempt and you'll all be scrambling to help him when his body gives in because it's too weak to sustain itself. 

Sometimes, he neglects himself in major ways. Frequently, you catch him going all day without eating, sometimes days if you don’t notice it right away, all because he claims that he’s not hungry. He rarely cleans his wounds properly after missions and they end up getting infected, and that’s always a mess because then he starts whining about "this type of death being too painful" and Yosano has to spend hours treating him.

Days like today, he neglects himself in minor ways—ways that he thinks he can get away with because no one cares enough to scold him over every little thing.

No one except you, at least.

It’s bitterly cold outside, the wind is harsh and dry, and the heat in the office has utterly failed. Usually, the president would let you guys go back to the dorms rather than let you suffer in the cold, but the case the office is handling is time-sensitive, and you need to at least set up the preparations for the infiltration mission that’s going to take place in a few days. 

Dazai is late, of course, and Kunikida is even more irritated than usual because if all hands were on deck for this, you’d all be able to head back to the dorm earlier. You’re a bit annoyed too, honestly, because your fingers are freezing and your nose is cold, but you figure that Dazai is going to get enough shit from Kunikida anyway.

The door to the office cracks open—speak of the devil, you think to yourself—and your eyes cut upward to where Dazai is peeking into the office, as if to see if Kunikida was waiting for him. Luckily, the president called the irate blonde and Tanizaki into his office to go over the specifics of the infiltration.

“Dazai,” you say, shooting him a flinty look. “You’re late.”

“Bella,” he tosses you a charming smile—one that never works, mind you, but he never fails to try. “I have a good excuse, you see.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Oh yeah?” you press. “Let me hear it”

“Ha, well…” he trails off, and your expression drops when he finally steps into the office and you see he’s only wearing his thin tan trench coat.

“Dazai, what are you wearing?” you ask, appalled. You’re bundled up in your winter jacket and a scarf and you’re still freezing—and you’ve worn Dazai’s coat often enough to know that there’s absolutely zero insulation or protection from the winds. 

Dazai gives a look that’s eerily reminiscent of a dog that knows it did something bad, brown eyes just a bit too wide and the corner of his lips turned downward. He makes his way over to his desk, right next to your own, and you notice how he’s violently shivering, face bright red and lips so dry and chapped that they seem to be bleeding.

Your eye twitches in irritation, Dazai gives you a sheepish smile and then winces as his bottom lip splits and blood dribbles over his lips. 

“You’re an absolute moron,” you hiss and rise to your feet. “Sit down.”

You all but storm over to the break room, rifling through the closet to find the blanket you stored in there a while back for Kunikida when he decides to stay over at the office to finish up work. It’s fluffy, and warm, and entirely not meant for Dazai’s idiocy but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Yosano gives you an amused look when she sees you gathering the blanket in your arms as she passes by the break room. 

“You know, I bet he does this just because he likes when you fuss over him,” she says offhandedly, leaning against the doorframe as she watches you kick the closet door back shut.

“Well, it’s either fussing over him or letting him go off and get himself killed,” you scowl, making your way out of the break room back toward Dazai, who’s sitting dutifully where you left him.

“That’s so unfair,” Ranpo immediately complains. “I asked for the blanket earlier and you said no, you can’t just give it to Dazai because he’s your boyfriend.” 

“First of all, I can give my blanket to whoever I want, maybe you shouldn’t have stolen my tootsie rolls, Ranpo,” you say, ignoring the way Ranpo raises his chin indignantly. “Second of all, Dazai is not my boyfriend, he is just incompetent at life.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Ranpo scoffs. “The day you two get together is the day the entire office can finally be at peace. We’re sick of the pining.”

You gape, picking up a stray desktop tape and flinging it at Ranpo’s head. Ranpo dodges with a cackle, letting it soar past him and into the wall. You glare at him and return your attention to Dazai, not even saying a word as you bundle the fluffy blanket around him until it’s fully covering his thin, shivering form. 

You notice that his neck is still uncovered, both skin and bandages visible—red and frigid from the wind outside. Brows knit together, you unwrap your scarf from your neck and wrap it around his neck neatly.

You think it’s a bit cute the way he’s staring up at you, bundled in thick blankets and your scarf, but you’ll never admit that.

You frown as your eyes dart down to his chapped, bleeding lips. You dab at the wet blood with a tissue before letting out a sharp sigh, wandering back over to your desk and grabbing your lip balm from your drawer. You take a step closer to Dazai again, he watches curiously as you reach out to tilt his head up.

The skin of his cheek is cold beneath your fingers and you stroke it absently, trying to warm it up a bit, before you bring the lip balm up to your lips, biting the cap to take it off before dropping it back down in your hand and placing it in your pocket. 

Dazai is uncharacteristically quiet as he watches you bring the lip balm up to his lips. You trace the outline of his lips with the balm, gentle over where they had cracked from dryness and the cold. You can feel his warm breath against your hand and you try to ignore his proximity because no, Dazai is not your boyfriend, but sometimes you wish he is—for all of his quirks and as much as he frustrates you, you care for him desperately. 

And when he’s like this, pliant under under your touch as he lets you take care of him, watching you with wide eyes filled with an indecipherable, adoring emotion… You feel it all the more intensely.

Your touch lingers for a moment as you finish coating his lips with the lip balm before you finally let your hands fall to your sides. 

“Not dating my ass,” Naomi snorts from across the room, still blatantly watching the two of you, as if you were some reality entertainment. You scowl at her and throw a pen in her direction, she only giggles and tosses you a wink. 

You shake your head and take a seat back down at your desk, putting your lip balm away and about to go back to working on the research for the infiltration mission. Before you can focus, Dazai scooches his chair closer to you. 

His cheeks are still flushed pink from the cold, hair tousled from the wind, and his lips are shiny from your lip balm. He leans in a bit and you raise your eyebrows a bit in amusement. 

“Yes?” you ask quietly, lips tilted up in a small smile.

Dazai doesn’t answer for a moment, his eyes are glittering in a way that you know is dangerous but you don’t move away like you probably should. Instead, you stay still as he leans in a bit more and captures your lips in a soft kiss. It’s brief and gentle, no more than two or three seconds long, and his lips are terribly chapped and tasting of your lip balm, but it has your heart stuttering in your chest and your face feeling hot. You can hear Naomi gasp in delight, clapping her hands together, Yosano let out a deafening whoop of a cat call and Ranpo cry a loud finally!

Dazai leans back—his eyes are still shining and his lips are turned up. He looks as if he’s about to say something but before he can, the door to Fukuzawa’s office slams open and Kunikida storms out of it: “You shitty waste of bandages! You’re two hours late!” 

“Not now, Kunikida!” Yosano says loudly, intercepting the man before he can rip Dazai right out of his chair. She pushes him toward the break room, throwing the two of you a grin and a wink. You shake your head a bit in amusement.

The moment is ruined, but Dazai is undeterred, finally speaking up.

“Let me take you out later, bella?” Dazai asks, voice quiet and teasing as he rests his chin on his hand, leaning on his desk as he looks over at you.

You laugh. “The only place you’re going later is back to your apartment because you’re going to be sick, Dazai.”

Dazai pouts, over-exaggerated and dramatic but then he amends, a bit more softly, “Take care of me later?”