sei

The meeting he had just left was running late, his afternoon had been disrupted and the chaos he had yet to dispel was surely about to be unleashed on some unsuspecting intern.

"I've worked here far too long for superiors to still be unable to summarize a damn meetinggg~" Gojo hummed around a mouthful of croissant he had stolen from the client table. The editor that typically sat beside you would have flinched at Gojo's current gesticulation mid-rant.

You missed the peace she brought you when Gojo came around. Crumbs fell as the man licked his fingers. "Wasting my time like that, someone's gotta let them go."

You spun in your chair, looking back to see if Yaga, the company's publishing editor-in-chief, the very man Satoru Gojo was badmouthing over a sip of smoothie, was hearing his insults.

You didn't even blink when the very 'superior' exited from the conference room, waving Gojo off. The interns seemed even more worried. "The office doesn't revolve around your snacking schedule, Gojo. If you want perfect synchronicity, you might as well quit."

The apprentices looked between each other and you smiled them off, silently telling them to get back to researching the projects they were supposed to be putting together.

"You would like that, wouldn't you?" Satoru squinted, judging your very existence with his gaze.

He sighed theatrically, lounging himself across an open swivel chair of the empty editors cubical as if sitting through an assembly was the greatest waste of his precious- "They should know how important my time is-"

You roll your eyes, cutting him off, "Oh yes, so terribly important that you're spending it eating and bitching to me."

If you were being wholly honest, the shareholders in that meeting should be grateful. You'd never say it aloud, but Satoru Gojo wasn't just a writer. He was a cultural phenomenon. In his early twenties, he had already been revered for his reporting and interviewing skills, his name had graced more publications post-grad than you had even after building your portfolio.

His rate per word was outrageous as well as his schedule: a true nightmare. The Tokyo Times was beyond lucky to have been able to keep him on the team for as long as they had.

He sighed, rolling his eyes, the drama queen. He reached across you, stealing one of your pens and spinning it around amidst his fingers. "'The only reason I haven't jumped ship is because it brings me." He glided out of the chair and leaned against your cubicle, sliding the pen along the decor you had there, observing it, "so much pleasure", you wince at his seductive tone, "to bring you…annoyance." You smack his hand before he can poke the fat of your cheek with the writing utensil.

Satoru grins, spinning away with your pen, scraping up a donut before making the way back to his office. His very own, if you were curious.

One of the trainees from earlier was watching this interaction. He had a look of shock on his face as if he couldn't imagine someone smacking The Satoru Gojo.

You'd like to imagine he just couldn't fathom such a well-revered writer being so immature, but alas, that was less likely.

If it was possible for someone to be more critical than yourself when it came to work, it was Satoru. He had this sadistic urge in him that made it impossible to not call out the mistakes of others. It stung. That was the truth, but you would rather he tell you his thoughts then lie to your face and laugh behind your back.

Working with him was more of a challenge than a motivation most days. The salary was a great motivation, though. Yaga and his team paid you well. More than that though, was the rage to outlive that white haired tantrum of a man.

You could see it in the way he smirked at you, in the way his eyes found yours when you would slip up, the way he never seemed to take you seriously. This might just be the worst aspect of your personality; you just couldn't help but want to impress people, even if they didn't respect you.

"He seems like fun to work alongside." One of the interns had left the side of his fellow novices. Making small talk, telling a joke.

You shrug at the young man, "Most can't tolerate him for longer than a fiscal quarter. I hope you have what it takes."

He looked down at his shoes suddenly, "Me too."

He was tall, or taller than you at least, sweet, and earnest. He dressed up for every day at the office, he was never late, and he greeted every employee by name - to put it simply, he made a good impression. You turn your chair to him, "How are you liking your internship, is it the experience you hoped for?"

He smiled again, and his eyes practically twinkled. "I'm very grateful for the experience, I'll continue to work hard."

"I have no doubt." You nodded encouragingly at him and turned to face the screen before you. You figured he would move onto his fellows, go work on his project maybe, but he stayed standing there for a moment too long.

He heaved a breath as if steeling himself to say something risky. "Actually, there's something I wanted to ask you."

He looked suddenly shy, "I've read a lot of your stuff, you've been a real inspiration to me, and being able to work here has been-"

You know where this is going, you give him an understanding nod. Reading off the name on his chest, you lean in conspiratorially, whispering "I'm sorry, I won't be able to sway the decisions on who gets offered jobs after your program is up. But you're a hard worker, I'm sure y-"

He startles suddenly, waving his hands frantically, "No! Oh, no, no, I'm not... asking for anything like that... I'm sorry I came off that way, I was just... well," He swallows, and you attempt to track his eyes as they wander, confused about what he could possibly want from you.

"I just... I admire you a lot. You're bright, and...you're beautiful...and I was actually wondering if I could buy you a meal sometime?" He sounded so unsure of himself but he was standing up straight, breathing through his nose.

You weren't sure what to say. You knew you weren't unattractive but to be completely frank, people didn't ask you out. You chalked it up to being intimidating or perpetually busy, or a control freak. Whatever the cause, you were not accustomed to people liking you in that way.

You flush.

"Oh..." You had to replay his words over and over again. Your mouth opened and closed, and you tried to weigh what he was asking. He was cute, but also… he was an intern at the company you worked for.

Before you could even formulate a response, you were jerked back to reality when the gentleman who had just so adamantly confessed his feelings made an "aagh!" noise.

Yaga was tugging him by the ear. "You, young man, better get back to work before I deduct points from your final presentation for fraternization."

He looked overcome with embarrassment, rubbing the back of his neck while apologies spilled from his mouth. Yaga flicked him gently before he could bow anymore and rolled his eyes your way.

Dumbstruck, you stared at the screen of your computer for a long while. A dozen tabs were open, your task bar was still full of items you needed to get to today, even so, you found yourself cupping your cheeks, feeling the blood that had pooled there.

"Please don't tell me that was your type."

You're not sure when he appeared, but Gojo Satoru was staring at you with discernment. He had a judgmental eyebrow raised and he was tongue-ing at his cheek.

"Jesus." You huff, stretching your jaw, trying to brush off the flush you felt atop your ears. "What on earth are you doing?"

You made a brave attempt to type something onto a notation sheet. Dispelling the embarrassment that came with someone actually liking you.

"What am I doing? Look at yourself, you're all sheepish over some kid hitting on you."

You choke, "He's not a kid! He's graduated."

Satoru squints at you now, moving even closer. "Oh my gosh," he pulls a 'I'm-grossed-out-by-you-but-intrigued-all-the-same' face and continues, "are you actually into younger guys?"

"No!" You pant, your hands spread. He wasn't even that much younger than you, but being pressed about anything romantic, especially from Gojo was embarrassing.

"What's with this face you're pulling then?" He tapped the pen he had so rudely stolen earlier atop the wall of your cubicle, "I've never seen you all-" he fake gags, "-shy like this."

You huff, trying to find the words. "I'm-" you scoff, trying again, "not all of us are so used to...that sort of thing."

He straightens up suddenly, pulling his lips together, "Are you saying like... being flirted with?" He chuckles at the idea and you grit your teeth.

Breathing in, you try to laugh, trying to sound nonchalant, but it comes out annoyed. "Yes, Gojo, not everyone has people falling at their feet all the time."

Have I mentioned that Satoru, on top of being an incredibly talented creative, was a painfully striking individual to look at? Well, sure, he was very symmetrical. And tall. And he had...nice teeth. Veins too. It’s fair to say he wasn't lacking when it came to attention.

"So...you like him then." Somehow, he seemed offended at the idea.

"No, not necessarily." Was he trying to insinuate you were some kind of creep? He couldn't have been more than two years your junior. "But he was nice..."

"Nice?" Satoru wheezed. You didn't move. This whole interaction was ticking you off. Gojo's guffaws continued until he noticed you were just silently staring at him. "Are you serious?" He wiped a faux tear.

Why this was so upsetting for you, you couldn't quite place. "Yes, Gojo." You had a bit of an insulted tone to your voice, you wondered why he didn't seem to care about wasting his precious time with you suddenly.

"What... that's all it takes with you?"

Gears began to turn in Satorus' brain as he observed you now, taking in the new information.

"Normal people like niceness, Satoru, crazy, I know." You refuse to meet his gaze but he stands infuriatingly still, arms crossed, before his head canters to the side as if considering the concept for the first time.

"hmm..."

He shifts on his feet. You grow more tense by the second, waiting for his next snide comment. He clicks the pen a few times before slowly, setting it back on your desk. And then he was finally gone.

You didn't understand it at first. You think it might be because of the fact he helps you study, or maybe it's the way he shares his food with you when he would normally gobble everything up in one go if he could.

You probably think you're special because of that, huh? You almost came to that conclusion. Until you saw him help his best friend with his own studies too. The food he'd give you? It's only because Geto told him to give it. Though, for some odd reason you ended up with a crush! A big crush that doesn't have any proper explanation whatsoever! It's stupid and you know it!

He's so out of your league and you doubt he even looks at you that way. He displays a tinge of indifference towards you whenever you're around him while the others are present. He goes quiet when it's just the two of you too, as if he's bored when a moment forces you both to be in a spot together. Yet, here you are having overwhelming feelings for him that keeps you awake at night.

Your heart is aching right now. You'd assume the answer is heart failure if the real reason for it wasn't located at a distance from where you sit on the field. Drinking a juice box with the second best flavor (in your opinion) from the vending machine. Your elbows stay propped up on your lap, supporting your head while your gaze lingers to the white haired man who happens to be training with his best buddy. You can see them arguing from a distance, although you can barely make out what they're saying. 

He's sweating. His hair sticking to his forehead, the sunlight reflecting on his cheeks. Normally no one would notice from where you sit. But you're weirdly fixated on his features to the point you almost notice every detail of him.

That's creepy. 

Then again, who wouldn't be fixated? His features are godsend. Unique eyes that replicate the sky, dashing white hair that rivals the snow, and on top of all that a handsome face. You doubt anyone can compete with him in terms of looks. If he wasn't a sorcerer, he should try modeling. He'd make it big.

His looks aren't the reason you fell though, that's what makes it frustrating. There's something about him, you just can't pinpoint what. Yes, he's good looking, but you're not that shallow to the point where you'd have a deep crush over someone's appearance.

You sigh, pushing the thoughts away. Standing up from your spot, legs feeling a bit heavy now that weight is present. Your juice is empty again, you need another one.

You made your way to the vending machine, footsteps echoing on the concrete floor. You prepare your coins in your hand while the other stays empty.

Just when you arrive at the rectangular metal box, your mind flashes images of him. 

Get away, damn it! 

You try to avert your attention, an attempt to stray away from any thoughts of him. Seriously, your heart can't stop beating from all these imaginary scenarios!

Like, how he'd hold your hand while you two go shopping together, even have a date at a cafe while you both are at it. Buying you your favorites on the menu no matter the price. He's probably the type to give gifts! Something he knows you'll definitely like.

Yeah, those thoughts are eating at you. Not because you dread them, but because you want that to happen. So bad, actually.

You hear the sound of footsteps approaching you, breaking you from your inner mind for a moment. You look up to see who the culprit is, and what a pleasant surprise it's Shoko. You consider her to be your closest in this batch, despite her not being the social or expressive type.

“You've been standing there for a while now.” Her hand points to your hand. The subject is unmoving, positioned to put coins in the slot, but it stays hanging between your fingers instead. 

“Ah.” You let out. Finally pushing the coin inside the machine. Your digits pressing on the buttons for your ideal drink.

You let out a nervous laugh, trying to brush off your awkward stance. “Sorry, I was deep in thought.”

“Of what?” She tilts her head, arms crossing. For once in your time together she shows genuine curiosity for you. 

You stay silent, contemplating whether to tell her or not. You move to the side, letting her take the next turn of getting a drink.

“Um…”

“Uh-huh?”

You think you should say it, you can trust her, after all. She won't snitch and plus, what's the worst thing she can do? Laugh at you? That's so immature!

“I was thinking about Gojo.” You blurt out in the midst of her entering her drink number. Her eyes widen just so slightly, though noticeable to your keen eyes. “In a ‘he did something wrong’ way, or a different way?”

“A crush way.”

“Ew,” her face contorts as she cringes, “Seriously?”

The sound of a metal can dropping announces itself, along with a look of disgust. She takes her drink from the machine, opening it as soon as she gets the fizzy substance. “I had my suspicions, but the confirmation of it makes me want to puke. Blegh.” Her eyes roll, not taking this seriously.

This reaction is worse than you thought. Now you feel ashamed for even having these feelings over a man like him.

“Sorry?” Your face scrunches, your brows furrowed. “I can't control what I feel?”

“You should learn how to. Starting from now. Get over him, there are better people out there.” 

You scoff, but nevertheless she's right. There's a huge problem though; you can't do it.

Falling out of love is harder than falling in love. At first you thought it was a simple infatuation, but turns out to be bigger than that. Gojo hasn't done anything to make you feel outright hatred for him. No matter what you do it can't simply go away like wiping a smudged window in your bedroom. Having a damp cloth polish the transparent display can't be something comparable and easy as love.

“I've tried, but…” Your lips purse for a split second, as if that would help you explain. “...I don't know how to. It keeps coming back no matter what.”

Your revelation receives a puzzled look from the girl in front of you. You can tell that she finds it unbelievable, the concept of it being completely foreign to her.

“Okay?” She just stares at you, making you almost believe you said something ridiculous. Then she continues as if her words were the most obvious things ever. “Then just keep trying till it happens.” 

You would let out a loud groan, but you aren't rude, “Have you ever had a crush before?”

“No.”

“Makes sense.”

You wonder if there were really higher beings who controlled your every move. If so, then you'd beg them to reset your entirety in order to not harbor anything for one of the strongest men alive. Erase the existence of it, so you can go on with your life without anything bothering you.

Those beings probably don't exist, but if they do then they just don't care and are simply using your misery as the source of their entertainment. Watching and laughing while you chug on the juice box you took out from the machine a while ago. Letting the flavor distract you even if it is momentarily.

Shoko takes a sip of her drink, the liquid staining her lips, prompting her to lick it up. An imaginary lightbulb suddenly comes up from her head, making her give you a not so reliable smirk.

“I have an idea. Why don't you confess and get rejected?”

You almost spit out what's in your mouth. “Are you crazy?!” 

“What? I read that it works somewhere.” She shrugs at the thought, convincing herself that it's a good one.

This is the most humiliating idea you have ever heard. A bad one—no, nefarious even! Who on earth does that?! A crazy person, I tell you! No one in their right minds would confess just to get rejected, everyone does that to get accepted! At least, the expectation of it.

“I'm not doing it. If I were to, then consider me dead!” You stand firm with your declaration, the whole thing beyond what you consider reasonable.

Shoko raises a brow, finger tapping on the can she's holding. “Listen, think about it. If you get rejected then wouldn't that be a motivation for you to fall out of love? That should make your predicament easier.”

“I…” You're at a loss for words. That is reasonable. The idea is almost genius! Excellent even! Nevermind, your senses are coming back, realizing a drawback to this. “Wait, wouldn't it be awkward between us after that?”

“Only if you make it awkward.”

“Good point.”

—

Wow, you're really considering it now that it's night. Brainstorming ways to get the perfect moment between the two of you. A good weather and calming atmosphere would be nice, perhaps somewhere beneath the cherry blossoms? Something straight out of a cheesy highschool romcom would make it comical.

All this planning is keeping you awake. Your eyes won't stay shut and your body is strangely energetic. You don't recall having any naps in the afternoon nor drinking any caffeine. 

You decided to go for a walk on campus. You stand up, finding your slippers under the bed. The night happens to be a freezing one, which made you decide to take a jacket out from your wardrobes. Picking the most comfortable one amongst the handful of options hanging.

It's a quiet night. The moon is full and bright with barely any clouds covering it. Radiating a serene ambience from the illumination. You continue your walk, the only sound available is the small shuffling from your feet. 

You pause when you notice someone in the field. There's no mistake in knowing who it is, the bright white hair says it all. Despite the darkness he still has his round glasses on, you know it's for his technique, but you want to know what it's like being him with how he puts it on almost 24/7.

There it is again. Your heart is beating fast from just the scene of him under the moonlight. You touch your chest, taking deep breaths to calm you down. It's a slow process, still it's a working one.

Now that you think about it, a setting like this would be a perfect time to confess to someone. Especially since the moon is out and no one is awake to witness and tease you about it later.

Which is why you walk up to him at this very moment, with newly fledged confidence.

“Hey.” You greet, a bit too stiff to your liking. It's not often you two get alone time together, which is why it gets you clumsy. Almost slurring your words from just being near him. “Can’t sleep?”

“What does it look like?” Impolite as ever. He doesn't even look at you, eyes glued to the moon. You can't complain, it is beautiful.

You sit down next to him, keeping a safe distance so your mind doesn't go haywire on you. You're surprised you can even keep this up and not stutter at all.

“I was just asking, jeez.” You bite the inner corners of your mouth. The silence that comes after starts to become deafening with the way he doesn't answer. It's like you're not even there, just some dirt on the ground that lays around.

“Should I leave?” You ask, your voice higher than you wanted it to be. You're nervous, it really is apparent that he doesn't like you.

“You can stay.” He lowers his head, eyes flickering towards yours before looking away.

You're stunned. It's the first time he's ever said something like that. It doesn't help from the fact his voice was sultry, soothing, or whatever it is. It has an effect on you, for sure!

“O…okay then.”

Now the beating isn't stopping anytime soon. You're an idiot for subjecting yourself through this torture. You can't exactly leave, it wouldn't leave a good impression on you. You have an image to maintain as a kind and respectable classmate that anyone should admire and ought to be.

The quiet music of the night continues. You're just sitting there beside him, nothing on your mind. No words come out of you, it's almost like you forget how to speak. Small talk would be nice and appropriate. The silence was too much to bear.

“Are the glasses even necessary when it's dark or are your eyes that sensitive?”

“Doesn’t matter if it's dark or light. Someone like you couldn't even see with these glasses on if you were to wear it anyway.” His reply was quick, methodological with witty remarks. Waiting for you to take the first step in this conversation.

Your brows quirk up. His inability to not insult someone is an astounding one, you must say that. “How so?”

With one swift motion he takes his glasses off and hands it over to you. Hesitating, you take it from his hand, fingers brushing. Causing the tips to receive an electrical spark that was only exclusive to you from what you can see. You twitch, looking down at the sunglasses you're holding right now.

“Go on, wear it.”

You don't move, eyes just looking down at the shape of it. You're a bit shy to do so.

“Oh, come on.” He grabs it and does it himself. Slotting it on your face, the circular lenses taking over your view.

It's dark. In fact, you can't see at all. The whole sight of it is black and the only light you see wearing it is from your peripheral vision. Nothing, just nothing, but pure darkness. This really emphasizes the difference between the two of you, power and skills being miles apart. Something you find…extremely awesome.

“Woah…”

And with that, he takes the glasses off of you. His gaze averted from yours till he put it back on himself. It was easy to miss the slight color of his cheeks due to the dim light surrounding you both.

“See? Told ya.”

He lets out a yawn, stretching his long limbs. A blank unreadable expression comes back to his face once again. His usual demeanor makes its way to present itself, the one that gives the mix of indifference and disinterest.

You should leave. You really should, you have nothing to say and he isn't initiating anything. He doesn't bother to, actually. What's the point in letting you be seated next to him if he's just gonna stare at the sky and not utter a single syllable?

“Are you sure you don't want me to leave?”

“Like I said, you can stay.”

You try to remain unperturbed. Is this special treatment? No, you're overthinking it. Maybe? No, no, seriously you are. He acts this way to others too, especially his best friend, Geto, for example. They're close and you two aren't. The distinction between how he treats you and him though is that he's loud and obnoxious with the man, while with you…he's quiet and somewhat reserved. You're torn whether or not a proper relationship you have with him is existent outside the whole tutor sessions you have going on.

You want to understand him more. What goes into his mind and what makes him tick. Anything for him to look more human in your eyes instead of an exceptional superhuman who could kill you with one single touch. A death like that would be pathetic, but predictable.

You let out a puff of air, watching the crescent moon in the sky glow its nightly rays. A question pops up in your head, a very peculiar one at that, you almost considered to not utter it at all.

“Do you have any opinions about me?”

That caught the bespectacled man off guard. Making him turn his head back at you in a haste. “Should I?” He wonders if that should even matter. People can live and avoid having specific outlookings on others since it isn't relevant to their everyday activities. That's what you assume from him, at least.

You click your tongue, biting the urge to punch yourself for such a stupid question. “You don't have to answer that—”

“I think you're nice.”

This time, you're the one who's caught off guard. Took you at least five seconds to comprehend what he said before you covered your cheeks. “R-really now?” You curse internally, the stuttering finally makes its way to your throat. The possibility of it being a dead giveaway to your flustered state is high.

Who knew a simple compliment can cause a surge of emotions. You're absolutely smitten for a man who you only ever talk to for school work and whatnot. It's strange, no? Any normal person would be enamoured with their love if they've known each other on a deeper level. That's what you lack, the inner knowledge of each other's whole self.

Which is why your feelings don't have any proper explanation for how it suddenly blossomed in your life.

“Thank you.” Your voice involuntarily cracks, causing you to bite your tongue. Hard enough to feel the soft pain as punishment for such a minor mistake.

“What about you?”

“Hm?”

He straightens his back, blue eyes boring at you, peeking out of the sunglasses he wears, “What's your opinion about me?” He looks so calm and endearing. If you could, a pinch of his cheeks would satisfy your greed.

The first thing that pops up in your mind is this; should you confess?, would this be a good time to? A simple ‘I like you’ should be enough.

Easier said than done.

You open your mouth and it stays agape, nothing coming out from it. You look like an idiot who's trying to articulate their words to the best of their abilities. Numerous phrases and sentences jumble within your mind, knowing that all of it is true and reveals a part of yourself. But only one can taste the victory of escaping your tongue.

A debate is being conducted inside of your mind, all happening within just a few seconds. The tiny yous in your head arguing over whether you should beat around the bush or outright display the undeniable affection you carry. 

Then, a winner was decided.

“I like y…your company.”

Stupid, stupid, stupid! So close, yet so far from the goal at hand!

That receives a hum from the young man. Turning away from you now, attention directed to the field in front of him. “What else?” 

“You only said one thing about me. Why should I say more?”

“Because there's a lot to say about the greatest and most handsome man on the planet.” He says, in the most matter-of-fact way ever.

You almost scoff at the statement. Instead, you shake your head, laughing at his arrogance. This is what you fell in love with? A man so confident in his abilities that he doubts that no one can compete with him. That is considered an unattractive trait, yet you're drawn to that. The silliness of it, carried with the way he presents himself makes it all the more charming in your perspective.

“I won't say anything unless you say something about me again.” You playfully said. Shoulders relaxed, breathing finally steady again.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Easy, you have a nice personality.”

“That's basically the same thing as earlier!”

“What? No it isn't.”

You can hardly contain it, the sound of laughter escapes you once again. You're awfully flighty tonight. The sound of it gave Gojo a slight fright. The man was confused with the sudden burst of elation. “What's so funny?”

“Nothing, it's just…” You stare at his eyes, the radiant ones you will always admire, “For someone so smart you act stupid sometimes.” 

Gojo acts offended, a hand plastered on his chest the moment he heard ‘stupid’. “Excuse me? Fine!” He's warming up and it's conspicuous because his personality is mostly reserved when around you. It's completely welcomed, you get to see the side of him that's usually displayed around others. Now he acts comfortable enough to do it with you, when alone at least.

“Your face,” He points with his index finger, “It's a nice one.”

“Is “nice” all you can say?”

Defeated, he sighs, “Beautiful then.”

With cheekiness you replied with a simple gratitude. The shyness and timidity are all gone just for this.

Until you actually process what he said.

That heat rushes up and you cover your face in a hurry. This is getting repetitive. You're lucky it's dim, if not he could see the shift of hues on your skin. 

Ouch, does it tug on your heart strings. Over some basic compliment he probably said to others before. You already hammered into your mind that finding someone pretty doesn't equal attraction. You think Shoko and Geto are attractive, but in no shape or form are they the victim of your unwanted affection.

“Great.” You stand up, wiping any excess dirt from your behind. “I'll be off then.”

“Where are you going—” 

You start to make a run for it. Wacky and weird, but you need to get away from him or else you'll actually explode.

You can hear his yells from a distance, distraught in his tone for your sudden attempt at fleeing away, “It’s supposed to be your turn!” 

“Tomorrow!”

“Jerk!”

—

Now you've done it. 

Leaving like that is the most childish and crude thing you've ever done. What are you, 12?! You're beating yourself over what happened last night, he called you a jerk. Oh, to the beings above, may someone tell you that he didn't mean it like that. You're endlessly overthinking about how disrespectful and pointless the whole night was with the lack of reasonability there is to your escape. 

What's the price to pay for doing all that you might ask? Avoidance! Mostly you, not him, he doesn't look like he cares at all, but you? Having to be in the same room as the man gets your limbs uncoordinated and crooked, as if you were some robot in disguise.

If there's one thing to describe you is that you're pathetic when the time comes. Here you are, begging Shoko to sit next to him instead of your normal sitting arrangement where he's located to your right.

Hands clasped together, knees buckled against each other instead of the typical kneeling on the ground to salvage what remains of your dignity. “Oh, please, please, please, just do me this one favor! I'll buy you cigarettes and not complain over the smell for a week!”

She gives you a jaded look, one hand on her hips while she looks down on you like she's someone above status.

“I would if you got on your knees.”

“I'm not doing that.”

“Deal’s off.”

In one swift motion you get on your knees as told, bowing down to her as you continuously beg over and over for something so insignificant. Tears almost shed from your eyes by how dedicated you are to this role of a good for nothing bum.

Shoko lets out a laugh of contentment. Offering a hand to lift you up to your feet. “That's enough! What a splendid performance.” She raises her palms together to clap, regarding you for the show of desperation.

From your agreement, you get to sit one seat away from the almighty Gojo Satoru. Though, even he isn't oblivious to your unmistakable attempt at dodging his presence. For now, he just listens to the teacher, making quick remarks here and there as any student would in the middle of a lesson.

You just have to do this for a few more days until you're ready.

—

You're so dead.

You think he's forgotten about the whole ditching thing four nights ago. Oh, no, no, no! He didn't! In fact, he has you cornered on a wall, not letting you escape his tall and lean structure with his hand right besides your face, not allowing any sort of escape at all.

What a life, you think. Getting pinned against the wall by the most annoyingly handsome man you've ever met was a dream written on your non-existent bucket list. 

In your thoughts it would be a sensual scenario where he'd lean over and capture your lips with his thumb. Swiping left and right to feel the texture with his calloused pads. Admiring the color with his bright blue eyes before he leans in and partakes in his desires—

That's enough. You're getting a bit too ahead of yourself.

“We didn't finish that conversation we had.” He pouts, how cute. Like a puppy begging its owner for a treat. “You just left me hanging, how dare you?”

Why is he like this? Someone help you! Save you from this evil offender who continues to unknowingly attack you with his indisputable charm beams!

“I…don't know…what you're talking about.” Arms crossed and steady, you turn your head to the side. Acting defiant to his claims. In actuality, you can't give him a single look or else all hell will break loose on your face. “Why are you so hung up on it?”

“I find it distasteful when something is left unfinished.” He pulls away for a second, adjusting his glasses, before going back to you. Closer than before. His voice goes lower than what you expected. “And you're avoiding me. I don't like that.”

You're confused, finally giving him another piece of attention. “We barely talk as it is, why does it matter now?”

He lets out a groan, frustration seeping in. “You didn't ask for any help as usual. It's bugging me the heck out.”

You're speechless. Is that really his perspective? Who knew the big and almighty Gojo Satoru would ponder over you dodging his presence. A sensitive side to him, a reminder of his human qualities and proof he isn't some all-knowing super monster.

“I understood the lesson better than usual.”

“Are you sure? I saw you complaining about it to Shoko.”

“You were looking at me?”

“I always look at you—” 

He clicks his tongue, retracting his full body from you. Face red, evident in his pale, poreless skin. With a grimace on his face he grumbles to himself. Saying something incoherent, but you can make out the words ‘dammit’ and ‘fuck me’ from his mouth. What an odd guy. 

He then proceeds to put on a show of immaturity and childishness. To your surprise, he inches closer to the wall next to him, back facing towards you.

Then… he slams his head onto the concrete. 

For about…one…two…three…five times? More than that.

“What are you doing?!” You walk up to him, hand on his shoulders to stop the man from any further damage. There's a dent from where he keeps butting at—you're more concerned to the wall itself than the bruise that's forming on top of his forehead. You might get in trouble for that even if you have no play in this. You're just a witness!

Is your life a comedy? If not then, who on earth is stupid enough to do this till they bleed?! You don't know RCT and have nothing on you to give basic medical care to the smartest, yet most stupid man besides you.

“What’s up with you?! Are you crazy?!” You take out a handkerchief from your pocket, stopping the minor bleeding that's seeping out of his head. There it is again, that unreadable expression.

“I hate you…”

You pause, stumped. “What?”

He pushes you away, hands going up to cover his face. He lets out a loud groan as if he was exasperated.

“You…you witch.”

“W-what?” Your voice shakes. Nervous by his demeaning tone. It's the first you've heard of it from him. One that's directed at you too. You wanted to hear him out first, reasoning behind the sudden name and attitude that you're getting yourself into.

Until…

“I hate you so fucking much.”

Your heart drops. All colors in your face slips out. In just milliseconds you become a lifeless ghost. In no way in this goddamn world did you think he’d just blurt it out so casually. The underlying hatred he has for you, true feelings shown in just six little words that have so much impact. 

All those times he shared food with you really was just forced obligation. The appropriate kindness you ought to show to your classmate was really all he was doing. 

You clutch up your chest, biting the insides of your mouth. Hoping to let out a response that doesn't result in lashing someone out.

“Okay…” Is all you can muster up. Weak and simple.

Just when you were about to make your leave, he finally speaks. A whine coming out from his lips, the most pitiful one ever.

“You make me insane…” Voice hoarse as he turns around, sliding onto the floor. Resting on his behind while he slouches on the ground. Hands on top of his head, sheltering himself from the unknown. He doesn't look up, too shy and embarrassed to even do so. 

“You make my heart beat so fast, it's driving me nuts. Just say you hate me and so I can get rid of these feelings.”

Then, a sigh, as if it takes every ounce of his strength to admit everything.

“Reject me, please.”

…

………

…………..????????????????????

“What?”

The third time you have said that. A rollercoaster of emotions surges through you. A mixture of delight and confusion plastered in your mind. At first he hates you and now he's declaring that he has feelings for you and now he wants a rejection?! That's your plan, not his! This is…utterly ridiculous! You're in disbelief of it all because this scene is…seriously, what even is this?

All this time you've been hiding your feelings, planning the time you get the courage to ask him out in hopes he declines your motives. The tables have turned, what a sweet moment!

“You're not joking?” You had to ask, you need multiple affirmations before you get to move on from this.

He sinks deeper into his arms, begrudgingly replying, “No. I'm not. Why would I lie about this?” 

You shrug, “I don't know, you're Gojo Satoru.”

He lifts himself up, dusting away any dirt that catches his clothes. “The Gojo Satoru doesn't lie!”

The corners of your lips turn up right, a sound of bliss escapes you. A loud one at that. Hands on your stomach as you process every single thing that has happened within these few minutes together. 

Old couples would laugh and comment about how this is the peak of youth. The essence of time and love with how idiotic teenagers can be when faced with the person they admire the most. The days where fumbling your words and tripping over them is a common route.

You hear a groan from the man, a frustrated one at that, “Stop laughing!”

How could you not? This situation is just hilarious, plus, you don't know how you should respond to his unforeseen confession. Now you know what it's like having to make a big decision in your life. Reject him and nothing comes out of it or…try it. See where this goes. It turns out to be mutual, after all.

“I…feel the same, y'know. I just didn't think you liked me too.” You lift your hand up to the back of your head. Scratching it due to your indecisiveness. “I never thought you out of all people would like me.”

“What's there not to like?” Gojo steps closer to you, swiping some dust from your hair. As if preserving an ancient artifact that's meant to show its beauty to the world. “You're everything.”

He lets out a deep breath, the tips of his fingers twitching. Controlling himself for what he was about to do. He looks rigid, complimented with a look of sincerity on his face.

“One last question. Are you accepting me or do you want to stay as friends?”

You can't help, but tease. The sudden confidence in you just by knowing the truth is egging you to do so, “We were friends?”

“Just answer the question.”

“I thought you wanted a rejection?”

He scoffs, not wanting to play this little game any longer, “Not anymore now that I know you feel the same.”

You give him a smile, ready to say with the most eagerness you ever had in your life. The words dancing around your tongue and playing who knows what before you finally give him a proper answer, “I accept.”

“Great.”

Your eyes widen from the sudden action. In a quick haste, he catches you by surprise. The soft feel of fresh sweet lips crashing against your own. You gasp in shock, fingers grasping his sleeves as he deepens the kiss. You let out a moan, breathless by how passionate he is to swoon you from your feet.

This was your fantasy, one of them at least. You had a lot, but actually experiencing it is like lighting up fireworks for the first time. The thrill and excitement to do something that lasts merely seconds in your life. But with this, you can relive it as many times as you want for free if you just ask.

Then something tries to protrude in your mouth, wet and a bit slimy. You pull away, panting. Hot breath coming out of you from how warm your upper body has turned.

“Don't…don't do that.” You smack his face, trying to cool down the blush on your cheeks with the attack. “Ask next time. Was that your tongue?”

He nods, unashamed, “I thought it'd be more romantic.”

You shake your head, rolling your eyes because of such a daring approach. “I'm so not ready for that…”

Still, his display of affection gives you a smile on your face and a fluttering stomach. What a sweet gesture in order for you to not have any doubts in what he wants the most from you. You have a feeling this will happen often with him.

“Are we official now?” He bites his lips, anticipating your approval.

“Sure.” You giggled, “Whatever you want.”

—

Treating his small injury by Shoko was supposed to be a quick one…but this bastard can't shut his trap for one second with how giddy he is.

“One more thing about true love and I'm not giving you any ounce of healing.” Shoko says, irked out of her mind.

“You don't understand! I'm ecstatic!” He chases her around the classroom, trying to convince her to heal him.

Watching as the scene plays out, you stay in a corner with Geto. With him revealing all the little secrets Gojo had kept from you in these months of being classmates.

“Y'know, he had a hard time making the first move.” 

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, I had to push him through it all or else that coward would never say anything.”

“I see.” You nod at the revelation, pleased to know you aren't the only one who's the scaredy cat here. “Were you the one who told him to get rejected by me?”

“No, that was all him.”

“Ah.”

laxus was always a jerk but never to you. even when he came back to the guild after being exiled he was still a jerk but not as he used to be but even then he treated you with respect and warmth and no one knew that besides his closest friends within the thunder legion. evergreen caught on to his feelings for you rather quickly, bickslow was too busy hitting on you to realize and freed had a feeling but didn't want to believe his theories even with evergreens protest of love.

even with the disbandment of fairy tail, you kept in contact with evergreen. she tried to convince you to join blue pegasus with her, bickslow, freed and laxus but you always declined. as much as you wanted to be by laxus's side you couldn't, you didn't want to be that lovesick puppy following him around...you wanted to be stronger, stronger for him and stronger for you. when he saw you again you'd be a different wizard, a stronger and more independant wizard.

on the other hand laxus thought of you everyday since the guild disbanded. he kicked himself everyday for not asking you to stay with him, he wondered how you were and what you were doing. he wanted to ask evergreen a million questions about your wellbeing, he knew you two spoke on a daily basis since he could hear evergreen's loud voice booming through the bar talking about you.

she did it on purpose.

he missed everything about you. the way you'd get flustered whenever he'd tease you, your loud voice when you'd try to stop natsu and grey from fighting and the way you'd nag him for his laid back nature when it came to the importance of the guild.

he missed it all.

when he'd be able to ever to see you again was a mystery to him and to you but all he could hope was that it would be soon.

You almost scream, but your intruder quickly wraps a hand around your mouth, muffling any noise that would wake the household.

Phinks would want you to hurt anyone who touches you without consent, but you’re a bit too high to remember that the moment you need to. You hear a familiar boyish laugh behind you the moment your senses kick in and you elbow the devil himself directly in the stomach. His hand moves away from your face as he clutches his side, groaning in pain.

“Chrollo?! What the fuck are you doing in my room?!” You whisper yell, turning around and making your way to your nightstand. You turn on your lamp and look at him, still rubbing the spot where you had maimed him. It’s been months since you’ve last seen him, and neither of you expected his welcome back to be such a snafu.

“I think I have the upper hand here, sweet girl. what were you doing sneaking in at 3 in the morning?” He interrogates. You feel yourself petrify, shit. He’d tell Phinks… he’ll never let you escape to York New now.

“On top of that, you reek of weed. And…” he makes his way to you, and you take a step back. “Stay still,” Chrollo whispers. You don’t know why you listen, but you do (and you always have, you can’t remember the last time Chrollo had to ask more than once for a favor). You stay put as he politely moves your hair to your back, revealing something even you weren’t aware of; a hickey. “Phinks is gonna lose his shit in the morning.” He smirks. He rube his finger against it, applying light pressure that made you wince in return. I told him not to leave anything, dammit!

Doesn’t Chrollo know it’s not nice to play around with a very high girl?! You always hated when he’d mess with you as a kid, his teasing felt too personal at times.

“Please don’t tell him Lolo!” You only use the childhood nickname when you want something from him now, nonetheless it pleases him to hear it. Chrollo chuckles and sits on your bed, removing the pillows inside your blanket first. Were these honestly going to fool anyone? You couldn’t have bothered buying a wig to make it look more realistic? He pats the spot next to him and you obey, sitting down without hesitation.

“I won’t tell him, but you do need to explain some things to your old pal Lolo first.” He grins. “First, who are you buying weed from?”

“Hisoka? I think that’s his name.” Chrollo rolls his eyes and shakes his head. Hisoka? Damn, he hates that guy. He always harassed Machi back in high school, and tried to steal Chrollo’s spotlight during theatre. Oh, he’d never be able to forget the time that Hisoka pushed Shalnark into a cactus either- his poor friend never recovered emotionally. Suffice to say, you should stay far away from that clown. It’s what’s best for you; your safety is his priority.

“If you want anything tell me, I’ll give it to you for free and I buy from dispos, not whatever the hell Hisoka sells.” He demands. “So quit buying from him. Same thing when you head off to York New, don’t trust anything dealers give you. You can rely on Nobunaga and I for weed there.”

You’ll be going to uni soon, the same one that Chrollo attends. He convinced both you and Phinks after his first year, saying he’d watch out for you and always always have your best interest in mind. Phinks was skeptical of his only sister going off to such a large city on her own, but who better to keep you safe than his own best friend?

You nod in agreement, opening your mouth before you could think of what you’d say, “you’re a drug dealer?” You blurt. He lets out a small scoff, but smiles anyway.

“No, I have my medical card and I don’t want you smoking anything that could hurt your pretty self.” He explains, not giving you enough time to ask what he meant by that. “Second, who were you with tonight?” He continues. You look away, feeling your cheeks and ears warm.

“Can’t you just leave it at that…”

“Tell me, or else I’ll tattle tale to Phinks.”

“That’s not fair, I’m 19!”

“And you’re still his baby sister, that labels never going away in his eyes and we both know it.”

You sigh, covering your face with your hands.

“I was out with Nino…” you admit in defeat. You feel him tense for a moment before placing a hand on your side, moving you closer to him.

“Sweet girl… don’t mess around with him.” He warns. “You do know what he’s like, right?”

“What are you talking about Lolo?” You’re so embarrassing! Getting caught and telling him about your almost hookup…

“Nino likes sleeping around with lots of girls- even Machi got played by him.” Chrollo elaborates.

“I thought Machi was a les-“

“She was figuring it out still, give her some slack.” He rushes out. “What I’m trying to say is that you don’t need some slimy boy who’s only going to use you for your body.”

“But he said he wanted something deeper than that…” you mumble, looking down at your lap. The disappointment fills your aura, he can sense it.

It’s not like you could have the person you truly desire, and Nino wasn’t bad to look at.

You feel Chrollo’s hand rub up and down your side as he lifts up your chin with the other. Your droopy, red eyes looking into his grey orbs. “I’m merely looking out for you, sweet girl. I know how he thinks, you’re not the first he’s lied to about his intentions. Did you two…?”

He didn’t have to finish the sentence, you know what he means.

“No! We didn’t have sex, I just- he started kissing my neck and I- ugh!” You’re too high for this… “it didn’t feel right and I told him to take me home. I didn’t wanna lose my virginity to him!” You rush out.

“Good girl,” Chrollo barely whispers. You felt your thighs clench as the words leave his lips, and you pray to God that he doesn’t notice. “There’s gonna be a lot of guys like that when we head off to Uni, so make sure you stick with me, okay?” You nod, unable to trust your words right now. “Good, don’t sneak out to see him again either. I’ll definitely tell Phinks next time.” Chrollo winks, and you wish you could slap that smirk off of him.

But frankly he looks handsome and sexy when he does it.

“Wait,” you remember how this whole thing started… “what were you doing in my room anyway?”

“I was using your bathroom, Uvogin passed out in the tub by Phink’s room.” You both laugh, it wasn’t the first time it had happened. Uvogin swears to God that it feels good when he wakes in the morning. Your suspicion leaves your body almost immediately. “Alright, I’m heading to bed, Good night, sweet girl.” Chrollo kisses your forehead before standing. You don’t know if it’s the weed or the exhaustion, but you stand and pull him into a hug.

“Thank you Lolo,” you whisper against his chest. His arms wrap around your body, tightly might you add. “Besides Phinks, sometimes I think you’re the only guy I can trust.” You admit, pulling away. Chrollo pulls back too, but ruffles your hair before walking towards the door.

“Good, I’d never do anything to betray that trust. Get some rest, sweet girl.” He closes the door to your bedroom and you’re left alone with an intense pounding in your head.

Phinks would kill him if you even thought about it. You’ve spent years putting those feelings aside, it’s not as if he feels the same way.

Chrollo probably has a girlfriend back in York New anyway.

~~~

Chrollo sighs as he enters the spare guest room, quickly locking the door behind him as a shit-eating grin spreads across his pale face.

He was so fucking lucky, if you had came in a minute too soon he would have been caught with his prized possessions.

Speaking of, chrollo takes off his compression shirt and flings it towards the ottoman. He turns off all the big lights and heads to the soft bed in the center of the room, laying in the middle as he pulls out two pairs of panties from the pockets of his shorts. One black, another pastel pink. Chrollo had to be the world’s most fortunate man, there’s no doubt about it.

A moment too soon, and you would have caught him taking a deep sniff of your freshly dirtied panties he spent months fiending for while in York New.

You must have showered before sneaking out, he could still feel a bit of moisture on the inside. His tongue slowly darts out to savor the taste of you, earning a twitch from his cock. What were you thinking about that made you this wet? If it was anyone but him- especially Nino, he would surely lose his mind and kill them all.

Well, perhaps not, yet he can’t shake the feeling that he’d be more than willing to kill for you.

Chrollo took a deeper breath in, you with someone else… he didn’t want to think about that ever again. Your scent can only do so much to relax him, but your sweet juices… they were a delicacy he considers himself lucky enough to finally relish in. No one else has ever had a taste- that alone made his cock ache with desire.

He lifts up his hips and quickly lowers his shorts and boxers, his tip hitting his stomach in relief. Another breath in. Chrollo grabs the black pair of cotton panties- they’re lacy on the edges, he doubts he’d last long if he saw you wearing them. With his right hand, he delicately wraps the pair around his needy cock, stroking up and down carefully.

He personally didn’t enjoy the feeling of cloth around his dick, but your scents mixed together drove him feral, and that’s exactly what he wanted after feeling your thighs clench next to his.

Chrollo picked up his pace, you were too high to put up the usual facade you had towards him.

You were his good girl, and you knew it. Your eyes dilated the moment the words escaped his lips, so he’ll forgive you for the makeout session you had earlier with his high school rival. Chrollo didn’t even know if Nino was the type to use you like that, but you obediently took his lies as truth anyway. Good girl.

He switches panties, breathing in the black pair now. It held enough of his musk and your dried wetness to ease a deep moan out of him. He discards your pastel pair to the side for now. he’s definitely keeping it for his collection. He pulls your underwear away from his face for a few moments, quickly spitting on his left hand before going back to stroking himself.

Your his, his alone. You’ll bare his last name by the time you graduate college, and hopefully Phinks gets over whatever ‘protective brother’ bullshit he has going on.

There will come a day that Chrollo undresses you every night, kisses every square inch of your body, and finger fucks you while his mouth sucks on your clit. You won’t have to work- you won’t have to lift a finger. Hell, he’d make sure you never so much as have to walk- he’d carry you everywhere you desire. If you want something, he’ll give it to you. Just as long as you let him drown between your legs every day and night. Thats all Chrollo will ever ask of you.

He’s so so close. The thought of your sloppy pussy over his glistening face earns another groan from him. Chrollo could eat you out for hours, he’d die a happy man between your legs. Maybe he’d tie you up so you can’t move once you’re overstimulated from all of your orgasms. Maybe he’d only stop once you’re screaming- no, begging him to fuck you raw until you forget everything but his name. That’s all he’d hear for hours, you moaning his name again and-

“Chrollo?”

He cums on the spot, erratically breathing in your scent as thick ropes of cum hit his abs.

He’s panting now, growing soft once more. Chrollo hasn’t came like that in months, it was almost as if your voice-

“Lolo?” There was two knocks on the door.

Damn, there’s no tissues. He quickly wipes himself off with your black panties (he may as well keep both) and pulls up his bottoms. He stuffs both panties into his pockets before standing up to unlock the door.

If you needed him, he’d answer, no matter what.

Yandere! Student who is a son of a high ranking official. His family name wasn’t the most powerful, but it was powerful enough. Enough to let him walk through the halls like he owned them. Enough to make others look away.

Yandere! Student who you hated so much despite being a teacher. Not because of personal reasons but because of what he does. Drugs, parties, cheating, harrassment and the worst among all of them---bullying where he almost drived a student to kill themselves.

He was a real piece of work. Yet because of his family status and money, he was able to avoid all of the consequences.

Yandere! Student who alway likes to get under your skin. Attempting to humiliate you in front of the class but you already see right through all of his tricks and you were lucky enough to dodge them.

Yandere! Student who always likes to push your buttons just to get a reaction out from you. Whenever he was successful to do so, he would tease you further, laugh at your face while he calls you "unprofessional".

Yandere! Student who would lay on his king sized bed every night. Smiling like a love-strucked idiot while he would repeat that scene over and over again---where you're looking up at him with those narrowed eyes with murderous intent gleaming behind them and when you're looking down at him like he was some piece of trash that glued their way into your skin.

He always felt so giddy everytime he thought about his lovely professor. He couldn't help the heat that was rising from his face and the desire that's growing underneath his shorts.

You were so cute...

Yandere! Student who would often go to your private office. Looking all helpless and desperate. He would kneel beside your chair rather than to sit on the comfortable seat infront of your desk.

"Professor! Can you please help me with these question?" He would whine. You would pinch the bridge of your nose because you know damn well that he isn't stupid as he looks. Though, you would still help him.

Yandere! Student who tests you in the middle of class. He would rip a piece of paper and write something inappropriate before passing it to the student infront until it finally reaches you. As if they were playing pass the message. No one dared to peek at what he wrote, and to be honest he doesn't really care.

You glared at him and he just smirked while whistling a tune, his friends chuckling. You opened the paper and  your glare deepened.

'Are you wearing a pink bra? We can see it right through your dress shirt:P'

It said in neat, clean writing.

You quickly marched infront of his desk and smacked his face. You didn't care anymore. This was too much.

Yandere! Student who shivered the moment your palm touched his skin. You touched him... gosh, you really did touch him. He couldn't help but giggle and look up at you as if you just gave him something he thought he couldn't have.

Yandere! Student who sat in the principal’s office with an unsettling calm, as if nothing had happened. His expression didn’t waver---not even when your report was read aloud. He already knew it wouldn’t matter. You were just a teacher… his teacher.

Yandere! Student who, upon being suspended for a week, reacted with barely contained fury. He demanded answers from his father, questioning why he would allow such a thing. But his father only met him with a cold, unreadable stare before calmly announcing their sudden one week trip to America.

Yandere! Student who found himself more irritated than relieved. One week away meant One week without seeing you. Even a single weekend without you was unbearable---he always found ways to follow you then, unseen, unnoticed. Summer had never been an obstacle either; he enrolled in classes he didn’t need, requested tutoring he didn’t require… all just to stay close.

And now, a week miles away from you? It was suffocating.

But no matter how much resentment simmered within him, he knew better than to defy his father.

Yandere! Student who found no joy in the trip at all. The days blurred together, meaningless without you. Instead, he clung to his phone---flooding you with messages, one after another, desperate for even the smallest response. Every delayed reply felt suffocating. Every short answer made his chest tighten. It drove him to the brink.

Yandere! Student who would sob on his pillow every night while fucking his dick with his fist. He scrolled through endless pictures of you in his gallery.

Oh, how he missed you so much. He missed pleasuring himself in front of your sleeping figure---completely unaware and vulnerable for him to do anything he desires.

Yandere! Student who felt alive again the moment he returned to Korea. By Monday morning, he was already at school---far earlier than necessary---his steps quick, impatient, heading straight for your classroom just to see you again.

But what he walked into made something inside him snap.

You stood by your desk, arms crossed, a genuine smile resting on your lips. A smile he craved---one he wanted directed only at him. And yet…

Someone else was sitting there.

An unfamiliar student occupied the chair in front of you, looking up with bright, eager eyes behind thick lenses, completely absorbed in your presence.

Yandere! Student who didn’t hesitate. The door slammed open as he stepped inside, his gaze sharp, dark, and fixed on the unwanted stranger. The other boy blinked in surprise---before smiling.

That sinister smile.

It mirrored something far too familiar. Something that was supposed to belong only to him.

Then, as if he were nothing, the stranger turned back to you, eyes soft and innocent once more.

“Who are they, professor?” he asked, voice light with curiosity.

Yandere! Student who trembled where he stood, rage coiling tightly in his chest. Who was this transfer student? This intruder? And why were they sitting there---talking to you like they know you more than anyone in this world?

Like they were replacing him.

No.

That wasn’t allowed.

He wouldn’t allow it.

You were his and he was yours.

he hummed in thought, finger tracing lightly over the skin of your thigh. “you’ve mentioned it once or twice.” his eyes met yours, signature grin tugging at his lips, and he tilted his head in question. “why? have you had a change of heart?”

“no, i just wanted to let you know i hate you even more now.” (that was a lie. you absolutely loved shinya but murder charges weren’t looking so bad at the moment.)

“i can’t say i feel the same,” he laughed, light and airy, from where he lay between your legs. “you just look so pretty like this. i personally love the sight.” it was a simple brush of his lips against your clit that followed the statement but one that had you locking your legs around his head all the same, his silver hair soft against your thighs.

you gripped blindly at the bedsheets, a tremor running through you at the simple action. “f...fuck...” how long had he been edging you like this? switching from pumping his fingers in and out of you to refusing to touch you how you wanted as he let the heat in your stomach cool just a bit, shinya wasn’t giving you any rest.

you’d already came twice but he wasn’t one to let you off the hook that easily—you knew that much (you felt like anyone could tell that by looking at him... the sweet facade was so clearly an act).

“shinya?” your voice was shaky. you tried to sit up just a small amount to see him, head a little dizzy and his breath hot against your aching cunt. you were going to kill him. you really were.

shinya hummed in acknowledgement, tearing his eyes away from the mess you were making on the sheets to your face. “what’s wrong?”

“please let me—”

“beg for it.”

your mouth gaped open in surprise.

a beat passed—shell shocked, you blinked and then fell back onto the bed with a dull thump, staring blankly up at the ceiling; a silent admittance of defeat. you both knew you were far too proud for that.

ugh, that... that... that dummy. the bright smile and saccharine lilt shinya had uttered those cruel words with should have been illegal.

you threw an arm over your face to cover your eyes in embarrassment, trying to ignore the laughter that bubbled out of him at your expense (the same laugh that made your heart burn any other time), and stomach curling at the knowledge that you were once again at his mercy.

Honestly, it was probably a concerning sight for anyone passing by. Because from their perspective, it looked as though you were moments away from hurling… unfortunately, you weren’t that lucky: your glimpse of anguish destined to stay perpetual.

What was worse, though? You had spent the last ten minutes shifting into every awkward position imaginable, desperately hoping one of the odd stances would ease the agonizing throb clawing through your body. You tried bending forward, squatting, even sprawled out on the concrete below. Yet, none of it worked. The pain only grew, the sharp keen to your stomach worsening with each movement. 

“I’m tellin’ ya, I’m gonna be his next setter!” Atsumu’s voice was the first to echo off the pavement. And you fully meant to move, to stand upright and pretend that the knife dug into your lower stomach was nothing more than a scratch. But you couldn’t. Your body only shuddered with effort, cheeks red with warmth, soft whimpers trapped within your throat. “Oh god… ya look awful. What’s wrong with ya?” 

Your head tilted slightly, eyes peering toward the group gathered a few feet away: Four volleyball players stood frozen near the gym entrance — horror etched onto three of their faces. Kita, however, remained expressionless; his narrowed gaze dropped toward the hand you had pressed taut against the fabric of your skirt. 

“Y/n, did ya eat anythin’ today?” Osamu bent slightly at the waist, lips pulling into a small frown. 

“Not everythin’ revolves around food, Osamu.” Suna rebutted. 

“It does when people look like they’re about throwin’ up.” 

You grunted at their banter, a string of curse words etched into your mind at the imbecilic behavior you were faced with. Fuck… you should have just walked home earlier. “I’m not,” you groaned lightly, nose scrunched and breaths uneven. “Going to throw up.”

“Then what are ya doin’ on the floor like that?” Yeah. You’re going to punch Osamu. You shifted your body, brows pulled inwards as you prepared to shout at the moron stood nearby. But the moment you tried to lift yourself, another sharp ache ripped through your stomach, the sheer pain forcing you back against the brick wall. 

“Oh shit. Do we need to call somebody?! Is it appendicitis?!" Atsumu was fumbling with his phone, the sweat built on the pads of his digits swiftly allowing his cell to land on the walkway. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“No,” you groaned quickly, mortification burning throughout your veins. “I’m fine.”

The four of them stared at you. I mean, you were crouched against a wall, sweating through your uniform, and visibly trembling… clearly, nobody believed you.

Kita bent down, tucked knees pressed to his body as he tried to gain eye level with your curled frame. “Is it cramps?” 

And, unlike Atsumu’s panic or Osamu’s intensive questioning over food, his voice stayed… serene. As if this sort of menstrual dilemma was something he dealt with quite frequently (how cute). Still, that didn’t take away from the sheer embarrassment of his declaration. For fuck’s sake, might as well slap a sign on your forehead while he’s at it. “I, uh, um… yeah.” Your grip tightened over your stomach. 

Suna snorted, phone wrapped within his palm and pointed upwards at a reddened Atsumu. “Congrats. How do ya feel knowin’ ya yelled at a girl on her period?” 

“I didn’t know, okay?!” Atsumu puffed his cheeks out, hand swatted out to cover the lens of the unconventional recording Suna was about to store within his albums. “And can you stop recordin’ everythin’?! My mom sees that stuff!”

Osamu ignored the two delinquents entirely, eyes flickering back toward you. “Damn. Been hurtin’ long?”

You nodded. “All day.”

Kita’s expression hardened almost imperceptibly at your answer. “All day?” he repeated. “Why didn’t ya go home? Yer health is important.”

While you hated to admit it — Shinsuke was right. If you had half a mind, you would’ve gone home hours ago. You would’ve sunk into a bath, epsom salt soaked into your muscles while clean sheets and sweats laid neatly atop of your bed. But you were stubborn. And your attendance meant more than some clenched walls of your organ. 

“It’s usually not this bad, but—” you sucked in hard, eyes wide and a slight whimper trembling throughout your throat as another wave of battle erupted within your uterus. “Fuck.”

Honestly, it was a rare sight for them; witnessing how their friend doubled-over in such discomfort. Normally, you were one to brush these things off. Even Atsumu, who had detrimentally miscalculated his serve the other day and sent the ball crashing straight into your shoulder, remembered the way you’d only laughed through the sting while your skin reddened under the blow. 

So, seeing you like this now? They didn’t know what the fuck to do. 

Atsumu snatched his phone from the floor, the balls of his feet attempting to stay stationary to keep some feign sort of poise to the situation at hand; still, the nervous energy wasn’t hard to miss. Especially with how pitifully obvious it was to what he was doing — scrolling through a wiki-how tutorial about periods and pain management (such a fucking idiot). Even Osamu, who stood a few inches beside the other Miya, watched Atsumu’s fingers with deeply creased brows, irritation impending at how inept his own brother was. And if it wasn't for Suna, who kept to his recording, the tip of his phone shamelessly directed toward your hunched figure and twisted expression, Osamu probably would’ve smacked his twin. 

“Maybe don’t record y/n.”

Suna disregarded Osamu’s attempt to shut his videography down, torso leaned forward as his pinched fingers zoomed the camera closer. “Just documenting,” Suna responded. “In case this happens again, y’know?”

Atsumu parted his lips, prepared to back his brother up on this matter… but truthfully, Atsumu had become peculiarly grateful for it. At least now he could show his mom exactly why he’d assumed you were dying from appendicitis. 

You sucked in sharply, glossed over sclera’s directed at the boy who closely resembled a fox. “Suna, if you use me,” you whined briefly, eyes clamped down to keep a scream from tearing through you. “For research purposes. I will murder you. Trust.”

“Got it.” Suna lowered his phone.

“Reddit says to take otc pain meds,” Atsumu had his face glued to the glow of the screen; probably to hide the pink tint of his cheeks from the pure discomfort of the situation. The audacity — why the fuck was he uncomfortable? You were the one actively piling blood into your underwear right now. “And warmth? The fuck that gonna do for ya.”

“Maybe a bite of my Onigiri would help. Have ya eatin’? Ya never answered.” 

Oh. My. God. 

You were going to kill them. I mean, they were useless: pitifully incompetent. Of course you knew to take medicine, to use a heating pad, to eat small portions, to drink plenty of water. You’d had a period long before any of them decided to earn some stupid menstrual doctorate through Reddit and wiki-how tutorials. The real issue, however, seemed to fly directly over their heads. Where the fuck did they expect you to get any of those things… outside of the gym.

“I think ibuprofen is the best solution. Suna, ya got some?”

Suna huffed out a laugh, palms placed on the dips of his hips as he nodded towards the entrance. “Ya, genius. Lemme go grab that from a volleyball.” 

There was a moment of silence after Suna’s callout. Probably due to the realization of the group's shitty whereabouts. And you would’ve assumed that the brief stretch of quietude, something you grew grateful for, would’ve been a perfect opportunity for the boys to find a rational solution: grab the school's physical trainer, walk to the convenience store… hell, even help you up. But Atsumu found it in him to jest. “Ya know,” the piss blonde took a step forward, phone still grasped tightly in hand. “There is a way to get rid of periods… for like nine months.”

Honestly, his suggestion made your uterus reflex in disgust, pulsating a new wave of tightness that forced your body to lean further into the wall. But it seemed his twin thought the same as your muscular organ. “Why would ya joke like that right now?”

“Wait. Let him continue.” Suna’s thumb instinctively tapped the red button, camera angled above to capture Atsumu and his childish grin. 

“Well, biologically, if ya were to… y’know—”

You briefly shoved the pain aside, hoisting your torso upwards, eyes directed scrupulously at the setter. Maybe you should’ve yelled: Maybe you should’ve told him to shut the hell up and leave you alone. But, frankly, you were pissed. And if Atsumu wanted to joke — well, then you’d love to tag along. “You’d ruin our kids' genes.”

“Huh…” Atsumu’s grin settled downwards, a slight scrunch pinched at the bridge of his nose. “What does that mean?!”

Suna, whose phone still occupied his palm, swapped the camera between your huddled body and Atsumu’s widened eyes. “She’s got a point.” 

“Agreed.”

Atsumu let out an audible whine. “Why does everyone think I’m ugly?!”

Kita, of course, had stayed quiet through most of the unruly exchanges. While the Miya twins bickered and Suna filmed, he naturally… discerned. His irises followed your movements; the way your shoulders trembled inwards every fifteen seconds, how your fingers clenched taut against your school’s fabric in place of a whimper. Honestly, you’d nearly forgotten he was even there. Until he stepped forward; one large hand settled atop your abandoned backpack before he tugged the strap over his shoulder. “Save yer energy for walkin’,” he said. “Ya can come to mine. It’s closer than yer place.”

“Huh?” Your right brow angled upwards, trembled shoulders pulled back in an effort to make some sort of eye contact with the captain. “It’s okay. I’m fine, seriously. I can make it back to,” your tone wavered as another stabbing pulse disrupted your abdomen. “My house.”

Kita shook his head before one arm outstretched behind your back, the other hooking just below your knees, hoisting you up until your body firmly pressed against the hardness of his chest. Before you knew it, a startled inhale made its way down your throat, your palms intuitively dragging the bottom of your skirt down to keep the masses from witnessing the war in your underwear. 

For fuck’s sake — this was utterly humiliating. Sure, you and Kita had been friends for years. You’d seen each other through awful at-home haircuts, the horrid period of time where you only wore hoodies. He even witnessed first hand the day you laughed so hard you peed yourself. But this? Being carried bridal-style while actively withering away from cramps outside the volleyball gym? Yep. This was a brand new low. 

“Oh, c’mon,” Atsumu groaned from behind. “Kita’s genes?!” His head whipped between the two of you while Kita adjusted his hold slightly, still inscrutable towards the nonsense spilling from his teammate’s mouth. 

Osamu swatted his twin, earning a small whine from the yellow-haired boy. “Least her kids ain’t growin’ up to be idiots.”

But you couldn’t take it anymore. The countless waves of excruciating pain, the nonstop chatter, the horrifying realization that everyone around you had probably just mentally conjured a child born from you and Kita having sex. “Oh my god,” you groaned, dragging your hands over your face. “Just leave me here to die, will you? I don’t think I’ll recover from this.”

Before you knew it, a faint vibration rumbled against your cheek. Was Kita… laughing? No. That’s not possible — he hadn’t laughed in months. You peered through your digits, watching as the boy's lips twitched into a tiny smile, as if he was attempting to hold a rupture of howling back. “Ya bein’ dramatic,” his voice had lowered, words muttered in faint so that only you could bear witness to his next atrocious statement. “Ya got over peein’ yerself in front of the second grade class pretty fast. Ya can get over this.”

Your pupils dilated, a rose sheen glossed over the rounds of your apples as you dug your face deeper into your sweat soaked palms. “You’re,” and you wholeheartedly meant to finish that threat. But a whine erupted from your vocal chords, nails dug into your scalp to ease pain with pain. 

Kita’s chuckle promptly vanished after that, head swiveled to the side to say his goodbye’s. “Alright. We’re goin’ ahead.”

“Well, good luck.” Atsumu noted. 

Suna blinked, camera pointed back to the moron next to him. “Good luck with what?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know. Bein’ a girl?”

You had to admit; the silence that overcame the two of you was far better than the nonsense the Miya twins spilled out of convenience. Even the faint scent of grain and freshly dried towels surrounding him almost managed to dull the embarrassment still simmered within your mind.

Well… almost. Until corporeality came crashing back to existence the second another ruthless cramp tore through your abdomen. You hissed at the sudden twinge of your organ, hand pushing into your stomach as Kita drove his shoulder lower, toeing his shoes off at the entrance. “Sorry,” you mumbled, hands now palmed against his shoulder in an attempt to rid yourself from his grasp. But he disregarded your attempt entirely. “I can walk now.” 

“No, ya can’t.” With that, he pushed forwards, making his way towards the systematically fluffed and vacuumed couch, laying your limp frame against the folded blankets. Your fingers found their way to the cushion beneath, heaving your torso upwards to take in the familiar sight of his home. It was the same as it was two weeks ago; shoes aligned properly near the doorway, glossed floors from countless hours of hand mopping. And, of course, this week’s load of laundry strung orderly in the backyard. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.” 

Frankly, it wasn’t like you had much of a choice. The contracted muscle was nothing short of tortuous, not to mention exhausting. So, you resorted to flitting your head to the side, listening as the creak of cabinets were heard, faint splashes of water echoing against stainless steel. Before long, he returned with three small rust brown pills laid symmetrically within his right palm, a glass of water gripped right above. On the left hand remained a large item wrapped in a white towel. 

“I don’t have a proper heatin’ pad,” Kita draped the warmth over your lower stomach; something your body sunk right into. “But I had a water bottle. So I filled it up with hot water and created a reprieve to keep the heat under control.” He dropped the pills in your hand, eyeing as you gulped it down in one swallow — still, he wasn’t content with the situation. Shinsuke’s irises flickered between the hallway and the couch before settling on the tight fabric the school uniform displayed. “Ya can wear my sweats and hoodie.”

Okay, you needed to draw a line. Create some sort of distance between the innate caretaker within Kita. It was evident that the boy didn’t think much of it; his mind purely fixed on the logical solution of this predicament. But, to you? This felt way more intimate than necessary. You began with speaking his name, uttering the same syllables you always did, yet he was long gone. 

Fuck.

The next time you saw him, a pair of grey sweats and a dark hoodie was slung over his shoulder. “Ya know where the bathroom is. Or ya can use my room.” Bathroom — definitely bathroom. His room would be… you shook your head, burying the remainder of that thought to the depths of your hippocampus. Though, that ponder was the least of your worries. Because the pain meds hadn’t kicked in yet, and each drag of your body only sharpened the clamping of your organ. “Ya can change here. Less movement. I’ll help.” 

“No.” Your response was immediate. And, if it wasn’t for the heat creeping up to the rounds of your ears, you probably would’ve looked a lot more intimidating with your declaration. But he was right: your movements were limited. The most reasonable course of action would be to change here. But you’d be damned if he witnessed that. “I’ll change here. Just turn away.” Kita tilted his head, eyes blinking a few times before handing you his personal pairs of fabrics. Something you took with feigned ease, waiting until your friend turned his back before slipping his sweats underneath your skirt. 

Hah. See — easy. 

Your back leaned against the cushion, fingers unclasping each button of your uniform shirt with trembling reflexes. God, this was so awkward. For fuck’s sake Kita was only a few feet away. It wasn’t unreasonable to assume he could hear the ruffle of materials, taking note each time you undressed with shaky exhales. 

No — Stop: Focus on the hoodie. 

You slid your skin out from under the pressed button-down, replacing the cool breeze against your body with the warmth of soft fabric. The comfort was instantaneous; oversized hoodie swallowing your frame the second you tugged it over your head, sleeves drooping past your hands while the abiding scent of sun-dried cotton engulfed your surroundings. Frankly, if it wasn’t for the dull ache warping into something more unbearable, you could’ve melted from the relief of fabric alone. Your eyes squeezed shut as your hands tremulously grabbed at the hem of your skirt, aiming to tug it down over the sweatpants without bending too much. But a pathetic whimper escaped you before you could stop it; a clear signal to Shinsuke that you were, in fact, not doing okay.

Kita shifted his attention to your bent over torso, large hands brushing yours aside. “Lemme help.” And, too exhausted to argue, you let him. You allowed your grip to loosen while the captain tugged your skirt the rest of the way down, tossing it aside somewhere onto the floor. Honestly, at this point, you barely cared about dignity anymore. Not when your uterus currently felt determined to murder you from the inside out.

“Hmph… Kita,” He crouched in front of you, hands sprawled on your knees while he peered upwards, awaiting your next set of syllables. Truthfully, you wanted to inquire about removing your uterus; whine about how you wished someone could just reach up and tug the organ out of you to relieve such pressure. But he’d only tell you how impossible that was — so, you opted for the next best thing. “Can you push on my stomach?”

His brow perked, probably from the unfamiliarity of hearing such a request like that leave your mouth. Still, Kita didn’t question it. He shifted his positioning to the couch, cushions dipping beneath his weight as one large hand settled carefully against your lower abdomen, underneath the hoodie and makeshift heater. “Here?” he asked,

“Mm… lower.”

He obeyed, broad palm stretching lower across your skin before pressing down, thumb moving in small, firm circles. A shiver radiated throughout your veins: The warmth from his hand, the slow pressure, the inordinate clothes, the blanket… you couldn’t help but allow your eyelids to grow heavy. 

Shinsuke noted the change in your demeanor instantly (Of course he did). And what better way to help out his friend than to reposition? One of his hands remained secure against your stomach, the other moving behind your shoulders, gently guiding your weight sideways with him until both of you sank deeper into the couch cushions. Kita, whose spine was pressed taut against the back of the furniture, urged your body closer, allowing one of your legs to entangle between both of his. Honestly, with the new proximity, you half-expected the poor boy to reek of sweat and leather. Instead, his uniform seemed to be saturated with fresh soap and disinfectant (damn, how much did this boy clean?). 

“You know,” your hand lazily snaked its way over his, feeling the way each of his tendons tightened with every press to your abdomen. “You’re really… good at this. Caretaking.”

A quiet huff of amusement vibrated against your body. “I’ve got younger cousins,” he explained. “Used to help when they got sick. Also, ya know… my grandma; been needin’ more help lately. ”

“How is Yumie doing?” You winced at another wave of affliction towards your organ, something Kita reacted promptly to, digging his thumb deeper until your bottom lip stopped its trembles. “I haven’t seen her in a few weeks. Is she around?”

“She’s visitin’ Nakamura-san with my brother. She should be back soon, though.” You hummed in response, a slight tug to the ends of your lips at the notion of seeing precious Yumie again. Honestly, you adored his grandmother. She was warm in the same quiet way Kita was — blunt with her words, but gentle nonetheless. “Ya can stay for dinner too,” Kita continued, voice dulcet as his hand continued its slow circles against your stomach. “She’d like that. I’m cookin’ Tamago porridge.”

God, did he even realize how unfairly sweet he was? 

Maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe it was the way his clothes draped your frame and the warmth of his hand eased your suffering. Regardless, your brain wasn’t exactly equipped to filter your thoughts before they left your mouth. “Whoever ends up with you, they’re going to be so lucky.”

Kita’s fingers twitched, the slow movement of his hand faltering for the briefest second against your stomach before continuing again. “Ya think so?”

“Yeah,” your head pushed underneath his chin, slurred words mushed together as you tried your hardest to spill each fleeting thought before exhaustion dragged you under. “I know people seem to straighten up around you. Probably because you’re so blunt. But it always baffles me… you're such a softie, Kita.” Had you looked up, you probably would’ve noticed the way Kita’s expression softened; the way his gaze lingered on the top of your head with longing. “You remember. You take care of everyone,” your voice gradually dissolved into incoherent murmurs, thoughts trailing apart faster than your mind could keep up with. “Oh, and so organized… and…” 

Kita pushed his head upwards, observing as your chest steadily rose with each drag of breath. And, for a while, he stayed like that — thumb circling your skin, irises fixed on your slumber. “Who says I want ‘whoever’?”

A familiar, azure sky greets him upon his arrival in the Soul Society. He decides to observe the changes made, whether it be politically or socially, and what has stayed the same. Despite the new faces in the Gotei 13, his attention always drifted to you. As somebody whose worldview was malleable, and despised the rigidity of tradition, Aizen believed you were a key component in fueling its progressivism. So, naturally, overseeing your actions was a vital task in his eyes...

Whether that included memorizing your schedule or your habits, he told himself that noting these details would help him guide you back on the right direction in case you were ever led astray. You were beneficial to him. There was nothing more to it.

--

Filing case reports and taking on the majority of the grunt work when you should be resting instead? That won't do. Before you even have the chance to groan at seeing an enormous pile of paperwork, there's only a single document sitting on the table.

During your isolated training, a mishap occurs and you nearly injure yourself. Or at least—you should have. Somehow, the projection created from a Kido spell changed its trajectory instantaneously, causing it to barely graze you.

When a snarky junior Shinigami tries to get away with verbally harassing you, you clench your fist to sucker punch them. However, it awkwardly falls to your side when they suddenly head-butt a nearby wall. Again. And again. Flustered, they grumble under their breath and try another path. Thump. This repeats for some time until a passerby asks if they're okay.

"Something isn't right with these kids, man. It must be because of that Arby's burger from the World of the Living."

Strange and miraculous phenomena continue to occur around you. The limited-edition sweets that sell out instantly at your favorite dessert shop? Today, they happen to be in full stock. You wonder if it's your lucky day, or if this particular treat just sucks. Regardless, you snag a couple of them to taste; they're delicious.

When you're walking back to your squad's barracks, desserts in hand, you hear somebody call your name and turn around, only to see floorboards and pillars.

Your stomach churns at the familiar voice.

"Was that...? No, it couldn't be. I'm probably just a bit tired..."

--

The moon glows once again, overlooking the stillness of the night. You are no exception to the quiet ritual nature follows. Aizen hovers over you, watching how your chest slowly rises and falls as you're snuggled up in a blanket. It's endearing, he thinks. He also thinks about how soft your lips would be if he were to press his against them.

Dangerously, Aizen lets these thoughts wander, but not unsupervised. He imagines those same lips saying, "Good morning," while peppering him with kisses each day, reserving a smile only for him. Another domestic idea takes over as he pictures the two of you exchanging hushed bits of prose to each other underneath the sheets. In this scenario, Aizen would say something witty, and you would complete his phrase with a giggle. Oh, how he longed to hear your laughter. To see your eyes crinkle with mirth once more. All because of him.

These fantasies are interrupted when you murmur something in your sleep. Shifting away from you, his eyebrows furrow when he notices a wet bulge through his clothes. When did he become so desperate?

Meanwhile, you happen to be dreaming of the man right beside you. It must've been a distant memory, you think, because Aizen was still clad in his Captain attire. Everything appeared to be doused in a fuzzy light that softened his handsome features. The contents of the dream are lost to your subconscious, but the one thing you remember before waking up is his voice, saying:

"I promise to bring you happiness."

--

Anxiety creeps up on you the next day, your brain whirring with that dream alongside the odd miracles you've experienced. A chill runs down your spine as you try to recall when the first incident occurred. There was no way that the devil himself was next to you all this time, right? The same man who used and abandoned you?

In order to confirm this hypothesis, you venture to a deserted building in the Rukongai district to lure him out. It was too risky to do it in the Seireitei, where you could easily run into your fellow Shinigami. The whole point of this was to assure to yourself that it was simply a delusion, which, arguably, may be worse than Aizen actually being there. Either way, you muster up the courage to call for him.

"Aizen."

Your throat practically chokes out his name, and an uneasy feeling washes over you. What was this, a game of Bloody Mary? A few moments tick by, and there's nothing but silence.

"So, you've finally caught on."

You let out a startled yelp but get ahold of yourself promptly. It's him. He was really there!

Clearing your throat, you clumsily interrogate him, "What are you doing, fooling around in the Soul Society?"

"Fooling around? Hardly. What I'm doing is of paramount importance."

"If that was a joke, it isn't funny. You know there's nothing to get out of me—no tactical advantage, no secret superpower—nothing. I would be of zero benefit to you as you are now."

You're too distressed to even think about reporting him to the higher-ups. It would've been futile, anyway.

"You shouldn't put yourself down so easily. Besides, that's not why I'm here. I want to-"

"Go. Just leave. I don't want to see you anymore. You've hurt too many people, myself included."

He stays silent for a few seconds.

"What happened to them was unfortunate, I admit. But-"

"But what? I'm not going to listen to you and your twisted logic. Leave."

There's nothing but disdain and caution in your eyes. It felt like he was toying with you all over again. What if he was going to hurt you, too? Even if you unsheathed your sword, you knew he'd overpower you.

Aizen remains composed as ever, never faltering. But unlike his usual confident self, he's not wearing an arrogant smirk. Suddenly, he takes slow, deliberate steps towards you, as if using the loud pulse of your heartbeat as a metronome, determined to unravel your harmony. You back away until the wall stops you.

With a thoughtful gaze, his hand carefully glides over your heart. "...Are you afraid of me? Do you hate me?"

It wasn't that you were afraid of him, no. You were afraid that you still loved him. And you hated that you loved him.

"I hate you."

His hand trails up to your cheek, cupping your pretty face. The other pulls you closer to him. It shocked you how somebody so cold could be so warm. He leans in, whispering to your ear.

"If you hate me, would you let me touch you like this?"

You gasp when Aizen kisses your neck, arm wrapping around you tighter. His breath shudders when your whimpers reach him—it was the sound of your defenses falling apart. He smirks contentedly at your delightful reactions as his lips target your weak spots.

But before he can properly enjoy you, your hands try to push him away. Panicking, you feel yourself nearly relinquish your being to him. "L-let go of me!"

"I won't let you go."

He selfishly continues his ministrations. To him, you were like a helpless kitten pawing at his chest.

"Sosuke! Please..."

He immediately pauses when he feels your tremors. His heart drops. Were you crying? Releasing you from his embrace, he watches you as tears fall from your face. If he was going to have you, he'd rather you give yourself to him by your own volition. And if you were going to cry, those tears should be out of joy and pleasure, not sorrow.

In between sobs, you manage to croak out a few words, "I can't do this. Not with you."

His hand guides itself to comfort you, but withdraws quickly. There's an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach, something he'd forgotten about long ago: guilt. It didn't suit him, he thought.

"How can you be so sure of that?"

"Shut up. Just go."

"I won't."

"You will."

"I cannot."

Weakly, you lift your head up to look at him, face ridden with anguish.

"Please."

Aizen never took orders from anyone, yet you bent him to his knees with such ease. Slowly distancing himself from your trembling figure, he turns away from you and exits the vicinity, fighting against the urge telling him to sprint back to you.

He knew he made his entrance as a fairytale prince far too late. A king wouldn't have bothered with wooing his sweetheart; there were more important matters to attend to, after all. His eyes narrow at this fact. How foolish.

There's a stinging sensation in his chest, but he ignores it. He ignores how you rejected him. How bitter you were. How beautiful you were. How his carnal desires threatened him to take you right then and there and prove his undying love for you. But what he couldn't dismiss was how he didn't wipe away your delicate tears, even as you were in front of him.

All he could do now was watch over you in the shadows. It didn't matter if he wanted you.

From the moment he fixated on toppling the heavens, it would never be possible for him to keep his promise of happiness to you.

——

Thx for reading! I want to point out that one of Aizen's lines is from an old video of a Bleach jump festa! I'll put a link to it here!! :^)

Honestly, when writing aizen, it doesn't make sense for him to have a happy ending with anybody (as depressing as that is lol)

“You should be in your squad barracks at this hour,” Byakuya called out from behind you. 

You continued to the rooftop, not even sparing a glance back as you smoothed out your shihakusho. 

“Are you telling me you want to end our moon-watching sessions after only 100 years, Captain?” 

Byakuya, who flash-stepped to your location before you had even stood, remained expressionless as you posed your silly question. Even on your darkest days, the two of you found your way here. The winds of change never blew the dust off this roof.

“I would tell you that no sooner than you would stop skipping your Shunpo training,” he said. 

You scowled in his direction, forcing the stoic noble to crack what you would define as a cheeky grin - one corner of his mouth upturned, the slightest crinkle in the corners of his eyes. Your chest tightened as you beheld the expression intended only for you to see. It pained you to look away, but you didn’t know what you would do if he noticed the longing in your eyes. 

You took a seat in your usual spot for the main event: the view. This particular rooftop was nestled perfectly between sight lines that created a view of what felt like the entire Soul Society. The pale, cool light of the moon bounced off the white buildings of the Seireitei in a harmonious glow that left you mesmerized, no matter how many times you’d gazed upon it. 

As rookies, the two of you would collapse your tired bones on this rooftop in those rare moments you both could get away - and as you grew up and into your positions, your nighttime meetings waxed and waned like the phases of the moon you came here to see. Some eras were quiet, others filled with jokes and stories that kept you up far too late. This era was both the same and completely different than those that came before.

Byakuya stood off to the side, his back to the view you were lost in. This had recently become his preferred spot on nights like these. You weren’t sure what prompted it, and you hadn’t yet dared to ask.

“You’re missing the view from there, Kuchiki,” you said.

A beat of silence clamored its way between you.

“I can assure you,” Byakuya said, his words even more carefully paced than usual, “I am not.”

Well that didn’t make any sense. 

“You’re not even looking at the sky,” you muttered. Unless he was hiding a brand-new pair of eyes beneath the silken strands on the back of his head, he couldn’t possibly see what you were seeing. 

No response. 

Byakuya knew you wouldn’t be able to resist finding out for yourself. It was one of those things about you that kept him on his toes all these years. One of the reasons he struggled to keep his hands from reaching for you.

Just as he’d expected, you stood. A stubborn line formed between your brows as you turned around in front of him, scrutinizing the direction of his gaze. 

As you’d suspected, there was no view of the sky, only the dirty rooftop and some trees beyond. You spun around, facing your dear friend.

“I don’t understand.”

Swiftly, lightly, Byakuya’s hand found itself along the side of your neck, his fingertips cradling your nape in protective embrace so delicate your spine bit back a shiver. 

Your eyes widened as he touched you. You’d both danced around each other for so long, as if there were a sinkhole between you that would swallow you both with one wrong step.  

With a sigh, you leaned your head back into the warmth of Byakuya’s hand, allowing it to support you as the pad of his thumb slid around to rest on the center of your throat. Byakuya didn’t press, only softly traced the delicate skin that supported your breath. You tilted your chin back as you looked him in the eye - the same eyes you’ve met for a century. The expression within them was one you didn’t recognize, causing your heartbeat to quicken. 

“You don’t understand,” he said to your lips, “what you do to me.”

He was so close he could say another word and your lips would meet. Byakuya’s words hung in the air between you; you breathed them in as he breathed them out, exchanging a revelation only half-said.

Your limbs were lighter than you remembered as you lifted your hands to carefully cup Byakuya’s face within them. He went so still you wondered if he’d stopped breathing, but the thought escaped you as you touched the planes of his cheeks, the line of his jaw. He felt so familiar, and yet your fingertips delighted in the newness of it all.

As your thumb traced the delicate curve of his lower lip, Byakuya released a breath, unfurling so much tension within him that you were reminded of the boy you’d met at the Academy. His silvery blue eyes were the only reminder of all the years past.  

He relaxed into your embrace, and Byakuya’s other hand found its way to your neck, drawing you closer, his forehead resting on yours. Your pulse thrummed beneath his touch, an echo of the beating symphony in your hands.

Maybe, at the bottom of the sinkhole, there might be a home. One built around your hearts over decades upon decades of baring them to each other. Another step and you’d find out.

You breathed in as you – or maybe Byakuya, maybe both of you – closed that last remaining gap between you as your lips brushed tentatively, softly. 

All Byakuya knew was that your kiss was warm, and the tight grip he’d held around his desire was loosening, and he couldn’t resist basking in the relief that washed over him as you reached for him again with those lips of yours. You filled his senses with your essence - the scent of your hair, the heat of your body, the gentleness of your touch.

He deepened the kiss as you wrapped your arms around him, pulling your body flush to his, your mouths moving just as gracefully as you sparred on the training grounds: effortlessly, familiarly, without hesitation. Byakuya held you as if you were the only thing rooting him to this world, pulling you closer still with an arm draped around your waist. 

The world went sideways for several moments. You were home. You always had been, but you only now realized who had hung the paintings, kept the plants watered.

The taste of him was quickly making you delirious, dizzy with the magnitude of your boldness. But something wasn’t quite right. Your hands found the muscle of Byakuya’s chest as you pulled away, breaking the kiss. 

“I still don’t understand,” you huffed, stumbling over the words with swollen lips, “There’s no way you can see the moon from where you’re standing.”

This time, both ends of Byakuya’s mouth curled up in a smile that shone brighter than the moon itself. He swept a loose strand of hair behind your ear.