c h e r

# is the biggest ragebaiter on paradis island when it comes to you!! asks the most ridiculous questions just to see your reactions. “if titans could marry people do you think they'd propose with a finger or the whole hand?” she watches your face light up with annoyance like it’s the most fascinating thing she’s ever studied.

# gets really nervous when you’re mad at her but secretly also thinks you’re so hot when you’re worked up. like she’ll be apologizing while also thinking wow yeah that's my girlfriend..

# hates when the others tease her about you. when someone makes a comment, she'd just immediately goes “shut up.” and walks away with bright red ears.

# biggest softie ever in private. loves cuddles more than she’ll ever admit out loud. she’s always the small spoon, arms wrapped around you while she talks about whatever random thought pops into her head at 2am.

# absolutely adores when you wash her hair for her. before she met you, she was so busy with experiments that she’d forget basic things like that sometimes. her hair used to be greasy half the time 😭😭 (this is canon btw) because she’d just push it off for “later.” but now you’re the one who drags her to sit down and washes it for her properly. she melts every time, eyes closed, leaning into your hands like a very content cat. sometimes she’ll mumble sleepy little thank yous while you rinse the soap out.

# loves it when you show even the tiniest bit of interest in her titan research. if you ask one question she will talk for HOURS, eyes shining like a kid who just got their favorite toy just like back when you still weren’t dating. she once managed to keep you up until dawn rambling about titan experiments, even though everyone had warned you not to ask her about it.

# will randomly grab your hand mid-conversation because she just likes feeling that you’re there. sometimes she doesn’t even notice she’s doing it.

# constantly forgets to take care of herself (skipping meals, staying up all night working) but listens immediately if you tell her to rest. like the moment you say “hange, go to sleep,” she just sighs and dramatically collapses beside you.

# once tried to measure your heartbeat while you were cuddling and got distracted halfway through because she started thinking about how warm you were.

# she drag you one time to watch her experiments because she genuinely thinks you find them fascinating. she gets way too excited explaining things while you’re just standing there like “hange… that titan is literally screaming.”

# gets weirdly competitive when it comes to who loves who more. if you say “i love you” she’ll immediately go “well i love you more actually.” and if you argue back she starts listing evidence like she’s presenting a case.

# when she’s stressed she gets quieter than usual and ends up seeking you out without even realizing it. she’ll just sit next to you, lean her head on your shoulder, and suddenly she’s calmer.

# absolutely lights up when you laugh at her jokes. then she’ll keep repeating the joke or making new ones just to hear that sound again.

# when she’s reading or writing reports she absently leans against you. sometimes her head ends up in your lap and she doesn’t even notice until you start playing with her hair.

# when she’s half-asleep she gets veryyyy very clingy, arms wrapped around your waist, face buried in your shoulder, mumbling nonsense while refusing to let go.

# loves the fact that you’re someone she can be completely ridiculous around without being judged. she already acts wild with everyone, but with you she lets herself be even softer.

# sometimes forgets personal space exists. she’ll lean way too close while talking, push her glasses up with your finger instead of her own, or casually rest her head on you mid-conversation like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

# if someone ever flirts with you in front of her, she doesn’t get jealous in a dramatic way. she just casually slides an arm around your shoulders and starts talking way too enthusiastically about titan anatomy until the person leaves.

# if you ever get hurt during a mission she becomes terrifyingly serious. the usual chaos disappears instantly while she’s checking you over, hands careful but quick.

# but the moment she realizes you’re okay she goes right back to dramatic mode. “don’t ever scare me like that again!! my heart almost exploded!!”

# will occasionally talk about you to the titans she’s studying. you’ll overhear her saying something like “you see that soldier over there? that’s my favorite human actually.”

# sometimes she studies your face the same way she studies titan behavior. when you ask what she’s doing she just says “observing. you’re my favorite subject.”

You shrugged. In all your years at this university, you’d never once cared about the football team or any sports team, honestly. Jocks were background noise. Loud, sweaty background noise.

But now?

Now he was foreground. Loudly.

Two days later you’re in the campus coffee shop, half-dead from a late-night study session, waiting for your iced latte when you catch sight of him through the window. He’s outside on the quad, laughing with a couple teammates, helmet tucked under one arm, practice jersey clinging in all the right places. He turns his head just as you do, eyes meet again. This time he doesn’t look away immediately. Neither do you. It stretches until the barista calls your name and snaps you out of it.

You grab your drink and practically flee.

A week after that, you’re in the library during dead week, buried in a corner carrel with your headphones on, trying to cram for econ. You stretch, glance up and there he is. Two tables away. Back to you, hunched over a textbook, one massive hand scrubbing over his face like he’s fighting sleep. He’s wearing glasses. Thin wire ones. Of course he wears reading glasses. Of fucking course.

He shifts, turns slightly, and catches you staring. Again. His mouth quirks like he’s amused. Or maybe he’s just tired. You duck your head so fast your neck protests.

It keeps happening.

The dining hall line, he’s two people ahead, loading his tray like he’s fueling a tank. Your eyes snag on the broad line of his shoulders, the way his hoodie stretches across them. He glances back, like he can feel it, and your stomach flips when his gaze slides right over you. Holds. Then he gives a small nod. You nod back like an idiot and suddenly can’t remember what you came here to eat.

In the gym, he’s there on the weight floor, earbuds in, bench-pressing what looks like your body weight plus another person. Sweat darkens his shirt in a line down his chest. You pretend to be very interested in the treadmill settings while your pulse hammers in your throat. When you sneak another look, he’s sitting up, wiping his face with the hem of his shirt. A flash of toned stomach. He catches your eye in the mirror. Doesn’t smile. Just… looks. Long enough that heat crawls up your neck.

You leave early.

The worst is the random hallway encounters. You’re rushing to class, phone in hand. He’s coming the other way, backpack slung over one shoulder, talking to another friend. Your shoulders barely brush. But enough that static shoots down your arm.

“Sorry,” you mutter.

“No worries,” he says. His eyes flick down to yours, soft but searching. “You good?”

You nod too quickly and keep walking, heart thudding so loud you’re sure he can hear it.

It’s stupid. It’s just eye contact. Lingering looks. Accidental brushes. But every single time it happens, something tightens in your chest.

You tell yourself it’s nothing. He’s just… noticeable. Big, golden, tired-eyed, everywhere.

But deep down you know better.

Because the next time you see him at another party, this one smaller, someone’s off-campus house. He’s leaning against the kitchen counter, red cup in hand, talking to Bertholdt and Annie. You walk in for a refill and freeze when his head turns.

This time he doesn’t just look.

He pushes off the counter. Starts walking toward you.

And suddenly the room feels too small, the music too loud, and every single glance you’ve traded over the past few weeks crashes into this one moment like a linebacker blindsiding a quarterback.

Your breath catches.

He stops a couple feet away. Close enough you can smell clean sweat and whatever body wash jocks use that shouldn’t be this distracting.

“Hey,” he says quietly, ike he’s been waiting to say it.

You swallow. “Hey.”

A beat. Two.

He rubs the back of his neck, the same nervous gesture from that first party. “I’m Reiner.”

“I know,” you blurt. Then wince.

His mouth twitches into something almost shy. “Yeah… figured you might.” He glances down, then back up. Those tired hazel eyes lock on yours again, steady this time. “You got a name, or should I just keep calling you ‘the one who keeps staring’ in my head?”

Heat explodes across your face.

He laughs and it does something dangerous to your stomach.

“I’m kidding,” he adds quickly. “Mostly.”

You exhale a shaky laugh despite yourself. You tell him your name.

He repeats it like he’s tasting it. Likes the flavor. “Wanna get some air? Kitchen’s getting loud.”

You should say no. You barely know him. You’ve spent weeks avoiding actually talking.

But your feet are already moving.

“Yeah,” you say. “Let’s go.”

He leads the way out the back door, holding it open for you like it’s nothing. The night air hits cool against your flushed skin. He doesn’t stop until you’re both leaning against the porch railing, far enough from the thump of bass that you can actually hear each other breathe.

He’s quiet for a second. Then:

“I’ve been seeing you everywhere too, you know.”

You glance sideways. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He looks out at the dark yard, voice dropping. “Thought maybe I was losing it. Kept hoping you’d say something first.”

You laugh despite of yourself. "I was hoping you'd say something first."

He just stares at you for a moment before both of you are bursting out laughing, even throwing your heads back for how dumb the situation is.

"Oh my god!" he says, still between laughter. He runs both of his hands through his face and hair, you can peek at his abs for that.

"This is probably one of the most awkward situations I've ever been," you comment, letting the laugh die.

Now you're back at staring at each other, but it's different. Your eyes are glowing, his cheeks are faintly red from laughing and you are... maybe too comfortably close to each other. He smiles quietly at you, you smile back, tilting your head to the left.

"Ask me something," he says, breaking the silence.

"Hm?" you arch your brows.

"Anything! I want you to know me," he adds, pressing his lips together.

You huff a laugh, squinting your eyes at him. What are you even gonna ask him? Everything sounds awkward and weird.

"Do you actually like football?" you tested, pouting your lips slightly because you didn't know how he was gonna react.

Reiner blinks at you once. Twice.

His whole expression freezes, like you just asked him if the sky is green or if he secretly collects porcelain dolls. The easy, warm smile he’d been wearing slips right off his face, replaced by something stunned and unguarded. His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.

You watch the exact second realization hits him that this wasn’t the question he’d braced for.

He’d clearly been expecting the usual script: You got a girlfriend? Seeing someone? Anyone special keeping that big frame warm at night? The kind of thing people always lob at guys like him.

Not this.

His throat works. He looks away fast, out into the dark yard again, one hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck so hard you’re surprised he doesn’t leave a mark. The porch light catches the flush creeping up his ears.

“Uh…” His voice comes out nervous in a way you’ve never heard from him. “I…”

He lets out a short, shaky laugh that has zero humor in it.

“Shit. You really went for the throat, huh?”

You stay quiet. Just watching. Giving him room.

He exhales hard through his nose, shoulders dropping like he’s deflating. The hand on his neck slides forward until he’s scrubbing over his face again, fingers dragging slow.

“Honestly?” he finally says, almost like he’s talking to himself more than you. “Nah. Not really.”

The admission hangs there between you, raw and surprising even to him, judging by the way his brows pinch.

“I mean… I’m good at it,” he continues. “Been playing since I was six. Everyone’s always telling me how lucky I am, how it’s my ticket, how I was made for this.” He shrugs one shoulder, but it looks heavy. “And maybe I was. Once.”

He glances at you sidelong, like he’s checking if you’re judging him yet.

You aren’t. You just nod once.

Reiner swallows again. “I don’t know. Somewhere along the line it stopped feeling like mine. It’s just… pressure. It’s not fun anymore, it’s a job. A really fucking violent, high-stakes job that I’m terrified of failing at.” He lets out another humorless huff. “And the worst part? I’m still really good at pretending I love it. Act like I live for Friday nights under the lights. But when I’m alone? After the adrenaline crashes? I just feel… tired. All the time.”

He finally looks at you fully again. Hazel eyes searching yours, vulnerable in a way that makes your chest ache.

“I’ve never said that out loud before,” he admits, almost whispering. “Not to anyone. Not even Bertholdt. Definitely not my dad.”

The silence stretches.

You tilt your head, voice gentle. “Then why keep doing it?”

He laughs again—small, cracked. “Because I don’t know what else I’d be. Football’s been my whole identity since I was a kid. If I walk away… who the hell am I?”

You don’t have an answer for that. Not yet.

Instead you just shift closer on the railing until your shoulder brushes his. He doesn’t pull away.

After a long beat he turns his head toward you again. His eyes are still wide, still a little stunned, but the knot in his chest just loosened the tiniest bit.

“You’re dangerous, you know that?” he murmurs, half-smiling despite himself.

You raise a brow. “Me?”

“Yeah.” He nods once. “Most people ask if I’m single. You asked who I actually am.”

Your stomach does a warm flip. He lets out a breath, like he’s been holding it for years. Then, quieter:

“Ask me something else.”

You smile.

“Okay,” you say. “What do you like? When it’s just you.”

His eyes soften. The tension in his shoulders eases another fraction.

He opens his mouth to answer.

Has it been a week? You suppose it has been– the days blend together when you’re struggling to stay afloat. 

“Why aren’t you in Italy?” You ask. His presence is almost a mirage. Have you forgotten to take your medicine in the whipping passage of time? 

“I booked a flight to see you.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I haven’t heard from you. You haven’t texted back, you haven’t called, you haven’t updated your Instagram story. I’m worried about you.” 

You have to bite your bottom lip because you can feel it start to tremble. Still, your chin wobbles a bit. 

“You came all the way here to check in on me?” You ask, voice quiet and meek. 

Shouei nods. “And I took care of the spider by the stairwell.” 

“Really?” Tears well up in your eyes. 

“Yeah, he’s down in the bushes now,” Shouei says, gesturing towards the parking lot of your apartment complex. “Can I come in?” 

You shake your head. It’s not that you don’t want him in, it’s because he can’t come in. The place is a mess and you know how Shouei feels about messes. You’ve been using a dirty cutting board to slice up the store-bought pre-cooked chicken for the past however many days. Onions, too. And strawberries. You rinse the knife off between uses. You don’t remember the last time you cleaned out the litter box. When you made your bed. There’s a pile of now-wrinkled clean laundry on it that you’ve been sleeping next to. 

“It’s really bad,” you say. Glasses riddle your coffee table with straws stuck to the bottom remnants of morning coffee. Dishes sit unwashed in your sink, there are a few clean bowls in the dishwasher. 

“I know,” Shouei says gently. “Let me in, baby.” 

“It’s so bad,” you repeat, voice thick. 

“I’m not here to judge,” Shouei assures you. 

Pressing your lips together, you nod. You slowly move back from the door, and welcome Shouei into your apartment. 

He dips down first, however, to grab a few grocery bags. Reusable ones, ones that look brand new. He sets them just inside your door to the left, by where your shoes are. Then, stepping into the threshold, he wraps one big arm around your shoulders and pulls you in close for a hug. The other arm quickly circles around your waist, and you can’t go anywhere but into him. 

“My cats–” you begin to say, but he’s already closing the door with his foot. When you don’t have anything to further add, so your body relaxes for you against Shouei’s broad form. 

And then it’s tears. You press into his chest and his other arm wraps around you. His cologne and deodorant and aftershave and soap runs over you like a waterfall. Each inhale brings comfort and more tears— he’s here. His shirt dampens with them. And he rubs your back and rocks you side to side through it, cheek on the top of your head. 

“Gonna make it all better, baby,” he promises, voice water over rough stone.

Tiring yourself out is easy. You come to a finish with a sigh, a few more tears, and then embarrassment. Hiding your face in his chest, you can’t bear to make eye contact with him as you mumble out: 

“Please don’t break up with me.” 

“Not doing that,” Shouei says into the top of your head before leaving a kiss there. “I’m here to help.” 

Of course he wouldn’t. To buy a ticket on such short notice, to show up with open arms— of course he wouldn’t. 

When you pull away, Shouei moves some of your hair away from your face. He cups you, delicately, thumbs on your cheeks. You get a fresh wave of his cologne when he leans in to press a kiss to your forehead. 

“Let me start with giving you somewhere nice to sit. Where do you want to be?” He asks. 

“On my couch,” you murmur. “My bed is too messy.” 

With a straight expression, Shouei sets forth tidying. He removes all the cups from the coffee table, he folds the throw blankets, folds your weighted blanket like it’s nothing. You watch, standing to the side and playing with the fat of your lip. 

He straightens up the books on the coffee table and removes the opened, half eaten bag of chips. 

“You still eating these?” He asks. 

You shake your head. He throws them away. He throws a lot away, actually. The bag of chips, the candy wrappers, the soda cans. His eyes land on the way there’s a big sticker placed over the nutrition label of the can, but he doesn’t say anything. 

He fluffs the pillows on your couch, including the stuffed animal you use as a pillow, then goes over to his grocery bags and pulls out a tub of Clorox wipes. He wipes down the coffee table and the end tables, reaching behind them to grab a can that one of your cats must have knocked over. He even gives the remote a wipe down.  

“Have a seat, baby,” Shouei says, throwing away the wipe. 

“That took you so little time,” you say, a little embarrassed. 

Shouei shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. I’m happy to do it.” 

You watch as he pulls out another cleaner and some paper towels. As he wipes down the TV, taking months of dust off it. He’s also sure to get the table, with all the cat hair. All you can do is rub your hands over your face. 

“Hey,” Shouei says, coming over to you. He places a hand on your shoulder, slowly moving it down your arm in a firm, reassuring pass. “Have a seat. It’s okay.” 

“But there’s so much to do,” you pout. 

“And it’s nothing you have to worry about now.” 

He leads you over to the couch, to your side of it. Unfolding a throw blanket, he drapes it over you and hands you the remote to the TV. 

“Like I’m not even here, okay?” There’s so much assurance in his tone, trying to mitigate your embarrassment. 

“Can I have the weighted blanket too?” You request, slipping to lay down. 

Shouei nods and drapes the heavy fabric over you, and you relax under it almost immediately. 

Then he sets about the rest of your space. He starts a load of laundry with your stripped bedsheets, putting your only other set on. You don’t enjoy these as much, they’re jersey instead of linen, but they’ll manage for now. He collects all the glasses out of your room, pleased that it seems the worst of your depression has at least hit you in the living areas. 

When he emerges back into the kitchen, you’ve got the TV on with reruns of your favorite reality show. Shouei grabs one of his bags, pulling out a few of the snacks he had bought you. He finds the stash of black Sharpies you keep in the kitchen and scribbles out the calories on the bags. The snacks find a home dished out onto a little plate: dark chocolate covered pretzels, apple slices with a little package of caramel, and lemon Oreos. 

He comes back to the living room and sets the tray on the table, along with a glass of water. Crouching next to you, and tucks some of your hair behind your ear. 

“Doing okay?” He asks quietly. 

You nod, hand slipping out from under the blankets to hold his wrist. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” you admit. 

“I wasn’t lying when I said I was serious about you,” he says. 

Sighing, you nod and nuzzle your head further into your pillow. Shouei leans in and presses a kiss to your cheek. 

“I’ll be quiet until I have to vacuum,” Shouei promises. His tone urges you to fall into the slumber of a nap. That would be so nice… the blanket is so heavy and Shouei is so close… 

When you wake, it’s to Shouei scooping you up off the couch. You blink awake as you’re nestled against his chest. He always lifts you like you weigh nothing. 

“Just moving you to your bed,” Shouei murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “‘M gonna vacuum.” 

“Will you bring me my cats?” You ask. 

“If I can find them,” Shouei says. He sets you on your bed, cupping your face in one big, broad hand, “You know they’ll find their way to you. Once they realize you’re in their favorite spot.” 

Your smile is a little watery. “And then will you come join us?” 

Shouei nods, though he has other plans. Ordering in food, probably sushi, getting you to take a shower or a bath, going for a walk around the apartment complex. 

He presses another kiss to your forehead before heading back out to the living room. There’s a bit of commotion as he gets out the vacuum, knocking it against the wall as he wrestles with the long nozzle of it and his broad frame in the tight hallway. 

You lay there, awake, scrolling on your phone. Video and video pop up and you don’t watch them through all the way, no, being alone with your thoughts is too much to manage. The constant beginnings of songs or greetings or directives drowns out the sound of the vacuum. 

Vacuuming takes a while. You have two cats in a small space— hair piles up. Sinks into the rugs. It takes multiple passes over the same spots to suck up all the hair. Shouei should just get a cleaner to come back twice a week for you, there’s no reason you need to be living like this. 

Stupid, he should have gotten you one a long time ago. Too little too late. 

He empties the vacuum for the nth time, finally pleased with the lingering result. Pleased, he heads into your bedroom, sighing softly through his nose at the sight of you glued to your phone. He remembers the summer you met, where when he would take you out and leave to go to the restroom, he’d come back to the table to see you on your ereader, phone forgotten. 

He comes over to the side of your bed, gently tucking some of your hair behind your ear. 

You put your phone down for him. The same video plays on loop. 

“Just coming to check on you,” Shouei says softly. “How are you doing?” 

You hum, shrugging. 

“Do you want to take a bath? I’ll blow dry your hair for you when we’re done,” he suggests. 

“My bathroom is a mess,” you mumble. “I don’t want to sit in my tub.” 

“I’ll clean it,” Shouei offers immediately. “Clean it all up, light a candle for you. How’s that sound?” 

You nod, closing your eyes. Exhaustion rests all over you. Shouei leans down and presses a kiss to your temple. 

“You want me to put on a show for you? The living room is all clean and vacuumed, your cats are on the couch.” 

“I don’t feel like moving.” 

“I’m here, I’ll carry you.” 

You give Shouei a big, pitiful look. Nodding, you halfheartedly push off your blankets. 

Shouei scoops you back up, squeezing you tight. He carries you back out to where your cats are in fact lounging about. He has to set you upright to avoid them, but you don’t mind. You wrap your arm around one of them and cuddle up behind him, pressing your face against his soft fur. 

Her merps and adjusts against you. 

Shouei stands with the remote in one hand and other on his hip. He flips through the apps, selecting your comfort show and putting it on without any question. 

Then he sets about the bathroom. First, he clears off the counter. He puts anything that is mostly empty into a box for you to deal with later, or for him to repurchase. Anything dusty goes in another bag for you to look at later. Everything gets thoroughly cleaned and wiped down and rinsed. You don’t own a mop so he swiffers the floors thrice. 

Shouei pats back out to your living room to grab a candle— they’re all scented similarly. He picks one that’s almost finished and grabs a lighter, heading to the bathroom. With the candle lit, he begins to run the bath, using the last of some epsom salts and a bath bomb he found tucked away. The water turns a comforting milky color. 

He sets up a few things in the bathroom, including an ice cold soda for you to enjoy. He’s not sure how this is going to go— he wants you clean but he wants you to relax too. A fresh pair of pyjamas sit out for you, along with a fresh towel. 

When he comes to get you, he almost doesn’t want to disturb you. You’re focused on the show, cats nuzzled against you. But he needs to. You deserve to be clean and smell like oats and honey. 

“Is it time?” You ask, slowly pulling your gaze away from the television. 

He nods, holding out his hands to you. You sigh and use them to pull yourself up. With his hands on your hips, he leads you to the bathroom. It smells delightful; warm, comforting, clean in the best way. Shouei helps you out of your clothes, placing them in the hamper. There’s a big bruise on your hip and thigh that draws his attention immediately. 

“I wore some yoga pants that were too tight for me,” you explain as you climb into the bath. It’s hot, but in the best way. 

“Did you put them somewhere to get rid of them?” Shouei asks. 

You’re quiet for a moment as you sink into the water. 

“They’ll fit again.” 

Shouei doesn’t say anything. It’s not a battle to fight right now. He offers you the glass of soda that you happily take, sipping it. 

“When’s the last time you went to the spa?” Shouei asks, pulling the stool over to sit on beside the tub. He looks comical there, knees practically to his chest. One of his hands dips into the water, gently bringing the hot water up your chest. 

“A while ago. I just don’t have time for it,” you murmur. “And it’s so busy on the weekends, I get so anxious.”

Shouei nods. His broad hands come to your shoulders, your traps, gently massaging into the underused muscles. 

He doesn’t speak, just lets you sit there and soak for a bit. He massages your hands for you, gently rolling your wrist to open it up, gently cracking your knuckles and massaging all the pressure points. 

He scrubs you down the best he can. Had you been any less vulnerable, it would have been humiliating. Had you been any less exhausted, you would have insisted you could do it yourself. But Shouei is diligent. He gets your body, washes your hair. Massages your scalp. It feels so good, you let out a sigh of relief. 

He rinses your hair out with the shower head, carding his fingers against your scalp. He clips your hair up out of the water, giving you the opportunity to sink deeper into it, up to your chest. 

Shouei checks the time on his watch. His stupidly nice watch. 

“It’s just about dinner time,” Shouei says. “We should order something in. What would you like?” 

You hum. “I’m not hungry.” 

“That’s not what I asked.” 

With a sigh, you shrug. “I don’t know.” 

“Want some sushi?” Shouei asks. 

“Just sashimi,” you murmur. 

“Rice won’t kill you,” Shouei says. His fingers dangle in the water. “You don’t want a spider roll? Spider roll and a Diet Coke…” 

It’s tempting. You loll your head to look up at Shouei with a little pout. 

He doesn’t want to ask when you ate last. 

“I love you,” Shouei says, cupping your cheek. 

Resting the full weight of your head against his hand, you nod a bit. 

“Love you too,” you murmur. 

“Is that a yes for sushi?” Shouei asks. 

“Yeah.” You can’t ignore the gnawing in your stomach. “As long as we can watch something on TV.” 

“Of course we can,” Shouei says. “What do you want to watch?” 

“Anything.” You close your eyes. “I’m almost out of lotion.” 

“I’ll scrape it out for you. Do you want to shave?” 

You stick a leg out of the tub and rest it on the edge. Suds collect against your shin and calf, on the hair there. 

“Yeah. But I’ve got no shaving cream.” 

“We can find something,” Shouei assures you. He reaches back to one of the boxes, plucking an almost empty tub of hair mask up. He cracks it open, then finds your razor. 

Your face heats up. Yes, you didn’t want to shave but wanted to be shaved. Yes, Shouei would do it for you without asking. Somehow, the prospect of him doing it has your mind reeling. 

“Stop thinking,” Shouei says, rubbing a hand along the side of your thigh. He lathers your leg in the mask, before starting on his work. He’s soft and kind the entire time, more careful than you are. As he shaves, one of your cats paws at the closed bathroom door and meows with his broken heart. 

Shouei ignores it, in favor of bending your knee slightly to shave over it. As he’s shaving, he’s thinking through the rest of the evening. Finishing laundry, eating. He wants to ask you to move in with him, but now doesn’t feel like the right time. Moving you to Italy is like a proposal, you deserve to be wined and dined outside of your depression apartment. 

Maybe he can start leaving seeds. Just here and there. Talk about how he wants to provide for you. More than he already does. Wants you to wake up in his bed. You could go on walks in the morning. 

The two of you should probably go on a walk tonight. Maybe between drying your hair and when the food comes. 

Shaved and wet, Shouei helps you out of the bath and into a dry towel. He pats you down, lotions you up, combs your hair. 

You stop him with a hand on his side as he reaches for the blow drier. 

“I can’t handle that sound right now,” you admit. 

Shouei looks at the old, orange device. He could get you a quiet one, he just got a quiet one for his sister. She gets overstimulated too easily, easier than you do. 

It cost what used to be an arm and a leg. But it’s worth it. 

“Okay,” Shouei says. He doesn’t want you walking around outside with wet hair. He takes the towel in his hands, turns you back to face the mirror, and gently scrunches your hair to pull more water from it. 

Your ‘jams are this soft, waffle knit off white. You had been so excited to find them at TJMaxx. Shouei wraps you up in another Maxx find, a soft blanket, on the couch. He grabs his phone from where it rests on the kitchen counter, coming to sit beside you. He lights the candle in the middle of the coffee table. 

Settling back, he opens up the food delivery app on his phone. One of your cats immediately makes himself at home on you. You slump to rest your head on his shoulder. 

“I’m going to order a variety of things,” Shouei says. He rests his hand on your thigh. “You don’t have to worry about it at all.”

Humming, you shift a bit more to rest your head in Shouei’s lap. 

“How many Diet Cokes do you want?” He asks. 

“Two,” you murmur. 

Shouei nods. Three Diet Cokes for his princess. The TV clicks on, and with it comes reruns of Hell’s Kitchen, which are white noise by this point. 

Shouei leans over and places his phone on the coffee table. He cards his fingers through your wet hair, lulling your eyes closed again. 

“I think I want to quit my job,” you whisper softly. “I’ve spent my past few therapy appointments complaining about it.” 

Shouei’s ears pick up and he fights the urge to turn down the volume on the TV. If you quit your job you don’t have to find another, your full time job can be as his partner— pampered and loved. 

“What’s going on, baby?” Shouei asks, trying to keep his voice steady. 

You sigh softly, gently squeezing his knee. It doesn’t hurt, thankfully. “Just being run ragged. I’m not smart enough for what I’m doing.” 

“You’re plenty smart,” Shouei says immediately. “You’re the smartest person I know.” 

You sigh softly. “Not really, not if you saw me…” 

Shouei gently shushes you, continuing to play with your hair. “That’s not true.” 

With a soft sigh, you nod. “I think I’m burnt out.” 

You are. It’s obvious. Shouei could tell from the state of your kitchen, from the way you hadn’t messaged him back. It’s the ADHD too, what’s out of sight is out of mind. And unfortunately, he’s fallen victim to that. 

“What’s been going on?” Shouei asks, but he thinks he knows. “Is it the preps?” 

“Yeah,” you exhale, turning your head to face Shouei, the rest of your body following. “I just don’t know if I can do it.” 

“It’s nothing you can’t handle,” Shouei says, trying his hardest to comfort you. 

You laugh, a little wet, a little self-depriciatingly. “That’s what my coworkers say.” 

“They’re right,” Shouei says softly. 

“I know,” you bemoan, “I wish they weren’t.” 

“You don’t mean that,” Shouei says. His fingers find their way to the back of your head, where he scratches ever so gently. You’re probably just hungry, he wants to say, but he doesn’t want to stoke what seems to be a sore subject at the moment. 

All you have for him is a sigh. That concerns Shouei a bit. 

“Do you want to watch something that’s not reality TV?” He suggests. 

Another sigh. “What, do you think I’m rotting my brain?” 

“I do, actually,” Shouei says bluntly. He reaches over and grabs the remote, exiting out of the show. He scrolls for a bit, flipping around before landing on what he knows is your favorite TV show. 

He doesn’t miss the way you relax further against him. 

With the sushi spread out on the coffee table, you and Shouei sit on the floor around it. There’s still your show playing in the background. Shouei has a Coke Zero with his meal, to make sure you don’t feel alone in having a soda so late into the evening. 

“You know, I’m looking to buy a place in Italy,” Shouei says casually. He’s been renting for the longest time. “I’m thinking that I want an in-home gym of some sort. There’s the villa I’ve been looking at… it’s got this spare bedroom that faces south so the sun is always really pretty in it. I think it could make a really nice place for you to paint.” 

“I’m not a real artist like that,” you murmur, using your chopsticks to play with your wasabi. 

“Well, not right now,” Shouei says. The words slip out: “But you’d have time if you moved in with me.” 

You pause your playing. “What?” He must be joking. Though, upon further inspection, his face is dead serious. Not that Shouei jokes often, anyways. 

“Just something to think about.” He reaches for his phone, pulling up the photos app and handing it over to you. “It’s got a hot tub and a wine cellar.” 

You accept the phone and flip through the photos. The sunlight is amazing in each one, and the main living area is almost open concept, with big, wide arches that give an illusion of separation. 

“There’s a nice nail salon and a yoga studio within walking distance,” Shouei continues. “And a sushi place, and a park. There’s enough space that you could have a little studio and Mom and my sisters could have rooms too. They wouldn’t live with us, but they’d be able to visit.” 

“Shouei, I can’t just quit my job and freeload off of you,” you say, still swiping through the pictures in disbelief. 

“Who’s to say you’re freeloading?” Shouei asks, leaning back against the couch. He sets his chopsticks down and reaches over to place a hand over your free one. He manages to make eye contact with you, still serious as can be. “Did I say you were freeloading?”  

“Well, not exactly, but that’s what it would be, wouldn’t it?” 

Shouei shakes his head. A face framing strand has fallen out from his bun, and he tucks it back behind his ear. 

“Absolutely not.” 

You bite your bottom lip and hand the phone back to him. The worst crosses your mind: “What if we break up, Shouei?” 

“Are you planning on breaking up with me?” He asks. 

“No,” you respond quietly. 

“I’m not planning on breaking up with you. Ever.” 

You play around with your food, removing a piece of fish off the rice it sits on and eating it. Fuck it tastes so good. Your stomach rattles against you, desperate for more. 

“It’s just something to think about,” Shouei says. “You don’t have to make a decision right now.” 

You want to, though. Italy? Milan is gorgeous. Shouei is already pretty vocal about how he wishes you could come to his away games, how no matter which way the game turns, he just wants to see you. And if you weren’t working… 

But God, the world needs teachers, don’t they? And you’re in such a good position, where you aren’t reliant on your measly paycheck because you scored big with your boyfriend after years and years of claiming you’d marry right. 

Well, you and Shouei aren’t married yet, but…

Shouei doesn't interrupt the mental battle that you appear to be fighting. He knows at the end of the day, you love your job. Stupid kids over stupid adults. But what if there was no more stupidity? Granted, Shouei could be plenty boneheaded himself, but…

“What about my cats?” You ask. You use your fingers to disrobe a piece of nigiri and break the salmon in half, giving one side to each of your fluffy, four legged boys who have been eagerly hovering and sniffing. 

Shouei watches with careful eyes and you rid yourself of a piece you would have to eat. “They could come with you, of course.” 

You hum. He knows how much they mean to you, paying for a good cat sitter that comes and sleeps over with them when you’re visiting him. 

“South facing windows… imagine all the good sunlight they would get to lay in…” Shouei says. 

You smile softly at that. “Falling asleep every night with you is already convincing enough.” 

Shouei’s eyes light up. “Yeah?” 

Putting your chopsticks down, you nod. “Yeah.” 

Shouei leans over to place a kiss to your lips. He certainly hasn’t kissed you enough since arriving. A gentle hum leaves your lips at the contact, which you automatically flutter your eyes shut and lean into. One of Shouei’s big, broad hands cups your cheek, deepening the kiss for only a moment before pulling away. 

Slowly. So, so slowly. Just so he can flutter his eyes open and watch as your eyes slowly open. 

“Oh, I’ve missed kissing you,” you whisper. 

Shouei smiles at that. “I’ve missed you.” The long distance is taking a toll on him. It’s nothing he wants— love is best shared close by. His family is already so far away and you’re even further. It’s not fair. 

You hum softly, disbelief on the notes. 

“What’s that?” Shouei asks, furrowing his brow. 

“I don’t know.” You don’t make eye contact with him. Instead, you’re focused on his knee. 

With a gentle hand, because that’s all Shouei is to you, a gentle giant, he tilts your head back to force eye contact. 

“I missed you,” he says firmly. When you shift your gaze to the left, he follows it. Slightly hunched over, eyes meeting yours, a serious expression on his face. “I missed you because I love you. I love hearing from you, I love spending time with you, I love being in your presence. I missed you.” 

You swallow so thick that Shouei feels it on his bent knuckle beneath your chin. 

Tears well up in your eyes at the declarations. Shouei presses a kiss to your forehead, before shifting to open up his arms. 

“I just want to cuddle on the couch,” you murmur. 

Shouei’s eyes bounce to your takeout tray, which has a few pieces remaining on it, including the pat of rice from the nigiri piece you gave to your cats. 

“Alright,” he says, putting his hands behind him so they rest on the couch and hoisting himself up effortlessly. He looks over at you, where you’re still sitting on the floor. “Do you want me to spend the night?” 

“Yes,” you reply instantly, nodding. You shift on your knees and rest your temple against his thigh. His hand comes to gently scratch at your head, through the still-damp tresses. 

“Do you want to sleep here, or at the hotel room I got?” Shouei asks. 

The hotel room seems tempting. Anything to get you out of the apartment. But your cats…

“I’m already in my ‘jams,” you say. 

He smiles softly. “Why don’t you come walk with me to the car so I can get my ‘jams on?” 

Soon, you’re by the door slipping into your outside slippers. You hold Shouei’s hand as you head towards his rental car. 

“Maybe tomorrow we can go on a walk?” Shouei suggests as he shoulders his bag. “Just a quick one.” 

“I’ve been walking,” you say defiantly. 

“But what about with me?” Shouei rounds the car to grab his water bottle out of the cupholders. You trail behind him. “We could go downtown, to the coffee shop you like. Walk around a little bit there.” 

Once he closes the car door, you turn to walk into your apartment. Shouei now follows behind you, but quickly falls beside you to take your hand. 

“No?” He asks. 

“Maybe,” you say. “I don’t have anything cute to wear.” 

“I’ll finish your laundry tonight, before we go to bed,” Shouei says quickly. “Put it away and everything.” 

“Do you want to see the updates I've made to my Animal Crossing island?” 

“I do,” he says.

The two of you cross back into the threshold of your apartment, and it feels so good. All clean, with Shouei behind you. 

Your man helps you get comfortable on the couch again, this time with your Switch controllers in your hands and a mug of tea on the coffee table. He cleans dinner up, does another load of laundry. He folds your clothes while you show him around your island. 

It only takes him a few trips to put your clothes away and change into his own ‘jams, then he’s settling in beside you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. He presses a soft kiss to your temple. 

“Wanna play something with me?” You ask, blinking up at him. 

“Yeah,” he says. “What are you thinking?” 

Humming, you close out of Animal Crossing and open up Smash instead. Shouei chuckles and you can feel the rumble of his chest from where you lean against him. 

“Let me get a mug of tea, too. I get too competitive playing this,” he says good naturedly, standing up. 

“Okay!” You chirp, watching him go into the kitchen. “Maybe tomorrow we can go shopping? I think buying new underwear will make me feel better.” 

“Whatever you want, princess,” Shouei says. “You want anything else?” 

Humming, you turn back to the screen. “I’m sure I do.” 

Shouei comes back and sits on the couch once more. He accepts the pastel controller from you, which his dwarfs in his hands. 

Look, he wants to say, look how happy you are when you’re with me.

The day arrives anyway.

Days always do.

The venue smells like flowers and sugar and something warm—

happiness, probably.

Bachira thinks happiness has a smell.

He used to associate it with cheap laundry detergent and canned pineapple syrup and you humming while you folded clothes that weren’t really his.

Now it smells like weddings.

Fairy lights stretch overhead, soft and glowing, like stars that decided to be kind today. Chairs are lined up neatly. Everyone looks… right. Where they’re supposed to be. Wearing expressions that make sense.

Bachira stands at the edge.

He always does.

The music starts.

A hush falls over the crowd.

He feels it in his bones—the way sound disappears all at once, like the world holding its breath.

Then—

You.

For a second, his brain refuses to process it.

You’re too bright. Too real.

Like someone turned the saturation up just on you.

White fabric flows when you walk, catching light with every step. Your hands are steady. Your posture relaxed. Not nervous. Not uncertain.

Happy.

That’s the word people always use.

But Bachira sees the difference between happy and held.

You are held.

His chest tightens.

Not sharp.

Not sudden.

Slow. Crushing. Familiar.

He remembers you in different whites.

An oversized T-shirt you stole from him.

The towel wrapped around your hair after showers, water dripping onto the tiles while you complained it was cold.

You’d never liked dressing up much back then.

You said comfort mattered more.

You look comfortable now.

That realization hurts more than the dress.

Reo stands at the altar.

Perfect posture. Calm smile.

He looks like someone who doesn’t doubt.

Bachira hates that a little.

He hates himself more for it.

Because Reo waited.

Reo stayed.

Reo didn’t need to “find his monster again.”

The officiant speaks.

Words drift by—love, commitment, forever.

Bachira catches fragments.

In sickness.

In health.

Choose each other.

Choose.

The word lands wrong.

He thinks of all the moments he didn’t choose you.

Not consciously.

Not cruelly.

Just… by default.

Choosing training.

Choosing ambition.

Choosing the monster’s voice over yours.

He thought you’d still be there when he turned around.

He thought love was patient enough to wait for him to finish becoming himself.

You face Reo.

You smile at him like you’re not afraid of tomorrow.

Bachira’s throat tightens.

You used to look at him like that—

when you believed he’d come back to you.

Vows.

Reo’s voice is steady.

Your voice trembles just once, then smooths out.

Bachira hears sincerity in it.

No hesitation. No bargaining.

You promise things Bachira was never brave enough to say out loud.

I will stay.

I will choose you.

I will build something with you.

The monster curls in on itself.

Bachira’s hands are clenched.

He doesn’t remember when that happened.

His nails dig into his palms like he needs proof he’s still here. Still solid. Still part of the world watching this instead of dissolving into memory.

He blinks hard.

You don’t look at him.

Good.

He doesn’t think he could survive that.

You may kiss the bride.

The words hit like a final whistle.

The crowd erupts—clapping, cheering, joy spilling everywhere like it’s endless.

You kiss Reo.

It’s soft. Certain. Familiar in a way that speaks of mornings and shared routines and quiet arguments resolved before bedtime.

Bachira claps.

He times it right.

No one notices his hands are shaking.

The monster stays quiet.

Not because it’s gone.

Because even it understands.

You don’t chase what’s already chosen someone else.

Later.

Lights glow brighter as the sky darkens. Music swells. Laughter spills freely.

People move closer together.

Bachira stays near the edge of everything.

That’s where memories gather.

You laugh.

God—

that laugh.

It hasn’t changed.

Still open. Still full. Still capable of filling a room and pushing loneliness into corners where it sulks and waits.

But it doesn’t belong to him anymore.

That realization settles heavy and permanent.

Reo’s hand rests at your back.

The exact spot Bachira’s used to.

He remembers the first time his hand found that place—

how you leaned into it without thinking.

How the monster went still, like it had found something worth guarding instead of chasing.

He wonders when Reo learned that about you.

He wonders how many small things Reo knows now.

Regret is a strange thing.

It doesn’t scream.

It whispers if only over and over until the words lose meaning.

If only he’d stayed present.

If only he’d said I need you instead of wait for me.

If only he’d believed love didn’t weaken him.

He understands now.

Too late understanding is still understanding—but it doesn’t undo anything.

Someone brushes past him.

Someone asks if he’s okay.

He smiles.

Of course he does.

“I’m happy for them,” he says.

It’s not a lie.

It just isn’t the whole truth.

Later, you pass close enough that he catches your perfume.

Same brand.

Different meaning.

You don’t see him.

Or maybe you do and choose not to look.

He’s grateful either way.

He whispers it when no one’s listening.

“She looks happy.”

The monster doesn’t argue.

When the night winds down and the lights dim, Bachira steps outside.

The air is cool. Quiet. Honest.

He exhales.

For the first time in a long while, he lets himself feel it all at once.

The love.

The loss.

The regret.

The gratitude.

Because loving you changed him.

Even if he didn’t keep you.

He straightens.

Smiles again—this time softer. Realer.

Tomorrow, he’ll run again.

Chase goals.

Follow the monster.

But tonight—

Tonight, he lets the ache exist.

Because some loves don’t end.

They just… learn where they belong.

And this one—

This one belongs in memory.

•Masterlist•