𝐫𝐢𝐢

she looked good tonight like she always did, because to him, (name) did not have to try to look good, she was just effortlessly good looking, like she’d rolled out of bed already knowing where to place her smile, how to tilt her head so people leaned in. she didn’t notice she did it and that was the worst part.

he loved her for it. he loved her for everything.

and yet, he was still standing there feeling like a substitute.

someone brushed past him and muttered an apology. genya nodded automatically. he nodded a lot at parties and if not he would watch her instead of participating, tracking her movement through the room like an anchor point.

she glanced back at him, caught his eye, and smiled that reached her eyes. that smile was real and it always was. it landed in his chest like warmth.

see, he told himself. she chose you.

but the thought didn’t stay.

they hadn’t planned on staying long. she’d said that earlier, when they were still at his place, when she was sitting on the edge of his bed pulling on her boots and he was pretending not to stare at the line of her back. “just show up, say hi, leave before it gets too annoying.”

he’d agreed too fast.

now it was annoying, and he didn’t know how to say it without sounding like a problem.

someone handed her a drink. she accepted it easily, thanked them, took a sip. genya watched the condensation slide down the glass, and watched the way her fingers curled around it.

stop, he thought. you’re being weird.

but the feeling wouldn’t let go.

sometimes at parties, he felt like an artificial boyfriend. a placeholder. a boyfriend-shaped space where someone smoother should be. someone who could talk easily, who could charm without thinking about it, who didn’t feel like he was constantly apologizing just by existing.

she came back to his side, close enough that their arms brushed. “you okay?” she whispered so only he could hear.

“yeah,” he said immediately but then he added, “yeah. just loud.”

she smiled, leaned her shoulder lightly into his arm. the contact eased something in his chest him for a second. “we can leave whenever.”

he nodded. “yeah. just… finish your drink, maybe.” it came out automatic, the line he always used. finish your drink, we’re leaving.

she raised an eyebrow, amused. “you’re the boss?”

he huffed a laugh. “hardly.”

she didn’t push, another thing he loved, and another thing that made him feel like he was failing her. she gave him space because she trusted him, not because she didn’t care.

genya took a sip of his drink. it tasted bitter. he wondered if he was imagining that too.

someone else joined the circle, and the conversation shifted. he lost the thread almost immediately. he nodded again, smiled again, and acted as though he was paying attention to a conversation he had no desire to participate in. but inside, he felt himself pulling back, retreating a step at a time. the fake front took over so that he’ll look polite, agreeable, and present enough not to raise concern.

if she’s disappointed, it’s probably my fault. he thought

every degree of disappointment—real or imagined—felt like it erased him a little more.

he watched her talk, watched her listen, watched the ease with which she moved through the room. people liked her. he liked that about her. he was proud of it. he just didn’t know where that left him.

eventually, she finished her drink. she glanced at him again, questioning. he nodded. “yeah. let’s go.”

when said their goodbyes, she hugged someone while genya waved awkwardly. then they were in the hallway, then the stairwell, the noise fading behind them and finally the quiet hit him like a release.

outside, the air was cool. night pressed in close, the city humming around them. she exhaled, long and content. “god, i needed that.”

“yeah,” he said. then, quieter, “sorry if i was… weird.”

she turned to him fully then. “hey.” her tone softened. “you weren’t weird.”

he shrugged, hands in his pockets. “i get like that. sometimes.”

“i know.”

they walked toward the train station. their steps fell into rhythm. she bumped his shoulder lightly with hers. “you did good, you know.”

he frowned. “what?”

“coming with me. staying as long as you did.”

doing the bare minimum, his mind supplied but instead murmured “i wanted to,”

she smiled at that, but she was watching him closely now. “genya.”

“yeah?”

“you don’t have to come to things like that if you don’t want to.”

he swallowed. “i know.”

“i mean it.”

“i know,” he repeated, but his voice was rougher this time.

they stopped at a crosswalk as the light turned red. cars passed in front of them. she looked up at him, and their eyes met briefly before he looked away.

don’t make this a thing, don’t ruin the night. he told himself yet the words were already there, pressing against his ribs. “sometimes,” he said, staring at the pavement, “i feel like i’m just… filling a role.”

she blinked. “what?”

“like,” he exhaled sharply, “like you could put anyone here. anyone more—” he cut himself off.

“more?” she asked gently.

he laughed once, humorless. “better.”

the light changed but they didn’t cross, she stepped closer, close enough that he could feel her warmth even in the cool night air. “genya, look at me.”

slowly, he did and there was no disappointment in her face, no annoyance either. she only looked concerned, watching him with a calmness that made it harder to look away. 

“you’re not a placeholder,” she said. “you’re you.”

“yeah, well,” he muttered, “that’s kind of the problem sometimes.”

she reached for his hand, laced their fingers together. “that’s the point.”

he wanted to believe her. he really did. but years of second-guessing himself were harder to silence than a few reassuring words. loving her, though, had never required effort. it had happened naturally, then all at once. 

“i know i’m not…” he struggled for the words. “good at this. you know… crowds or talking or being what people expect.”

she squeezed his hand. “ and i really don’t need you to be.”

he looked away. “what if you just think that because you haven’t met someone better?” 

silence stretched between them. then she laughed quietly, not because she found it ridiculous, but because the thought had genuinely caught her off guard. “you think i’m dating you by accident?”

he flinched. “i didn’t—”

“genya,” she said, firm now. “i choose you. every time.”

his chest ached. “but why?”

she tilted her head, considering. “because you’re kind, you listen to me. because you care so much it scares you. because when you tell me ‘finish your drink, we’re leaving,’ i know you’re just looking out for me, not controlling me.”

he stared at her. “that’s a low bar though.”

she smiled. “maybe. but it’s yours.”

he laughed, shaky. “i still feel fake sometimes.”

“yet you don’t disappear when you’re quiet. you’re still here.”

his breath hitched while the city moved around them, the stop light color changed again, someone honked but none of it mattered.

he closed his eyes. i love you, he thought, the words loud and terrifying.

they crossed the street together.

later, though it didn’t feel like time passed so much as settling—they lay on her bed, shoes kicked off somewhere on the floor, the room dim. her head rested on his clothed chest as his hand traced slow, absent patterns on her arm.

“you were quiet tonight,” she murmured.

he tensed slightly. “sorry.”

she lifted her head to look at him. “don’t be.”

“i always feel like i should say more.”

she smiled. “you say enough.”

he swallowed. “what if i don’t?”

she leaned down, kissed him—slow, sure, grounding. when she pulled back, she said, “then i’ll listen to what you don’t say.”

his chest ached again, but this time it felt like relief.

he wasn’t artificial. he wasn’t a placeholder.

he was here. and she was too.

somewhere around 1 a.m., (name) felt a faint vibration near her head. she blinked awake slowly, disoriented at first, before realizing the sound was coming from genya’s phone on the bedside table. the screen lit up the dim room with a soft glow, the caller id clearly visible.

she turned toward him and gently shook his shoulder. “genya,” she murmured. “your brother is calling.”

he made a low, sleepy sound, barely moving. “what…”

“your brother is calling,” she said again, a little more firmly, still nudging him.

there was a pause, like his brain was trying to catch up through sleep. then he groaned softly and reached for the phone without really looking at it. “okay… yeah…”

he answered it mid-yawn.

the moment the call connected, everything changed.

his eyes snapped open.

he sat up so fast it startled her, and she reflexively sat up too, heart jumping at the sudden movement. the shift in him was immediate. he spoke quickly into the phone, “yeah—i’m coming. i’m coming, hold on.” 

a pause. his jaw tightened slightly as he listened. “no, i’m fine,” he said after a second, already swinging his legs off the bed.

another pause.

“yeah… i’ll explain later.”

he ended the call and sat there for a moment, phone still in his hand, like he was thinking something over and over in his head.

(name) watched him carefully. “what happened?”

he exhaled through his nose, already standing. “i need to go home.”

she frowned, pushing the blanket off slightly. “why?”

he hesitated, running a hand through his hair. the sleepiness was gone now, replaced by something uneasy. “my mom’s awake. she’s looking for me.”

there was a beat of silence.

then—

“you snuck out to go to a party with me?!”

CAN I REQ LIKE AN INSECURE ASOCIAL GENYA DATING A SOCIAL READER AND THEY GO TO A PARTY AND HE'S LIKE OVERTHINKING STUFFS also a bonus part because maybe he got caught sneaking out or what hehe tnxxx — anonymous

🍒 reblogs and notes are appreciated !

t. uzui ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ both

piercings: multiple lobe, helix, possibly a nostril

tattoos: full sleeve(s), upper chest, back piece, collarbone

multiple ear piercings, rings, chains, expensive jewelry, and tattoos that are impossible to miss

he obviously treats his appearance like a form of self-expression and would absolutely have intricate, high-quality pieces done by famous artists

has no fear of visibility. if a tattoo looks good, he’s showing it off

g. tomioka ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ tattoo

inner forearm

he'd spend months debating whether to get it, overthinking every design before finally choosing something simple that he genuinely likes

it suits him because he can see it whenever he wants, and it's easy to hide beneath long sleeves

most people wouldn't even know he has a tattoo unless he shows or tells them

o. iguro ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ both

piercings: one or two lobe piercings, small helix piercing

tattoos: wrapping around his forearm like a snake, along his ribs, upper chest extending toward the shoulder

most of his tattoos would be hidden under long sleeves and high collars

his piercings would be understated—small hoops or studs that people barely notice

most of his tattoos would disappear under long sleeves and high collars

people would be surprised by how many he actually has

s. shinazugawa ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ both

piercings: double or triple lobe piercings, helix piercing

tattoos: entire forearms: shoulders, chest, upper back

tattoos across his arms, shoulders, maybe even his chest

a couple of ear piercings that he got because he felt like it and never removed. he pretends not to care about them, but he definitely does

the kind of person who keeps saying, “this is the last one,” and then gets three more tattoos six months later

k. rengoku ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ piercing

simple lobe piercings

surprisingly, i can see him with simple ear piercing

a small pair of studs or earrings gifted by someone important

he’d wear them consistently and take excellent care of them

they become such a natural part of his appearance that people forget he even has them

m. kanroji ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ both

piercings: multiple lobe piercings, helix piercings, maybe a cute daith piercing

tattoos: behind the ear, inner wrist, ankle

piercings first, tattoos later

she’d start with multiple ear piercings because she loves cute jewelry

eventually she’d get a small tattoo—something sweet and sentimental, maybe flowers, ribbons, or a meaningful quote

would definitely be the type to be allergic of fake jewelry

s. kocho ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ tattoo

back of the neck

a delicate, elegant tattoo

everyone assumes she doesn’t have one until they accidentally see it

she appreciates aesthetics, but she’d want something refined

m. tokito ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ piercing

single lobe piercing

a small ear piercing that happened almost by accident

someone asks if he and his twin wants one

he just yolo’ed and said yes

the next thing everyone knows, he has a tiny silver stud

he doesn’t remove it unless his parents tell him too

years later, he still forgets it’s there yet somehow it suits him perfectly

ranking ~ !

most tattooed: tengen, sanemi, obanai

most likely to have hidden tattoos: giyuu, shinobu, gyomei

most jewelry-focused: tengen, mitsuri

most minimalistic: giyuu, muichiro, gyomei

most likely to casually reveal a tattoo and shock everyone: shinobu

can i have a headcanon of the hashiras on who would have a tattoo, piercing, or both? also can you do a ranking, you decide on what to put ^^ — anonymous

🍒 reblogs and notes are appreciated !

“i am the wildlife!” inosuke snapped.

“you are wild and with life.” zenitsu murmured.

“and the bird cheated!”

tanjiro sighed softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “birds… don’t cheat.”

inosuke pointed at him immediately. “you’re on his side too?”

“i’m on truth’s side,” tanjiro said gently.

she laughed before she could stop herself.

tanjiro stepped closer, picking up the cloth from her lap without asking and beginning to fold it properly. “you’ve been out here a while,” he said. “you should rest.”

she shook her head lightly. “i like watching you all.”

that made him pause.

“even him?” zenitsu pointed at inosuke, annoyed.

“especially him,” she said honestly.

inosuke blinked. “obviously, i am the king of the mountain.”

zenitsu clutched his chest. “this is favoritism. i can feel it.”

“you’re imagining things,” she said softly.

“she’s right,” tanjiro added, smiling faintly. “you are.”

zenitsu looked personally betrayed.

inosuke, meanwhile, had already decided this was a normal emotional development and moved on. “fight me later,” he told zenitsu.

“i would rather perish.”

“fine.”

the four of them settled into a strange sort of routine after that.

inosuke started showing up near her whenever she carried anything heavier than a basket, whether she asked for help or not.

once, she was walking with a bucket of water when he appeared beside her without warning and took it straight from her hands.

she startled slightly. “ah—i can carry that.”

“no,” inosuke said simply, already walking ahead with it.

she blinked, then followed after him. “i could have managed.”

“you were slow,” he replied.

while, zenitsu followed her around her own temple like a storm of nerves.

“you should not be allowed to walk alone,” he announced one afternoon.

she paused mid-step. “why?”

“because it’s dangerous,” he said immediately, gripping his hair. “anything could happen. anything at all. and i would know, because i would feel it and then i would die from it emotionally.”

“…that feels like a lot,” she said slowly.

“it is a lot!” he insisted. “that’s why i’m saying it!”

inosuke, passing by, pointed at him. “shut up, you’re loud!”

“YOU’RE LOUDER!”

tanjiro sighed somewhere in the background.

she just exhaled a small laugh and kept walking, zenitsu immediately trailing after her again like nothing had happened.

then, there was tanjiro.

he was different.

tanjiro always seemed to arrive quietly, like he was never entirely sure he deserved to take up space—but always did anyway.

he helped without being asked. listened without interrupting. noticed things others didn’t, like when she forgot to eat, or when she looked too tired to say so.

one afternoon, she found him sitting under the eaves of the training hall, cleaning his sword carefully.

she sat beside him without speaking.

he glanced at her, then smiled. “hi.”

“hi,” she replied.

silence settled—not awkward, just full.

after a while, she spoke. “do you like it here?”

tanjiro blinked, lowering his hands slightly. “here?”

she nodded lightly.

he looked around the temple grounds for a moment, as if noticing them all over again. “…yes,” he said honestly. “it feels peaceful, like i can breathe properly.” “what about you?” he asked gently, then flushed when he realized she lived in the temple. “well—i mean, how is it… living here?”

she hesitated. then, “sometimes i feel lonely. like i’m just… here, while everyone else is moving. even my older brother rarely comes here, so it’s refreshing seeing new faces.”

tanjiro’s expression softened immediately, his gaze lingering on her a little longer than before, like he was trying to understand not just her words but the weight behind them. then he said, very softly, “i think being here is still moving too.”

she didn’t respond right away, but something in her expression changed.

later that night, she brought tea outside again.

they were all there—of course they were.

inosuke and zenitsu were both asleep—inosuke sprawled flat on the ground like a defeated soldier, completely still for once, and zenitsu curled up near inosuke, tanjiro sat properly, as always, looking up at the sky.

she handed him his cup first then their fingers brushed.

“thank you,” he said while she settled herself down beside him and began to talk to him once again.

as gyomei passed by the engawa, he heard the quiet murmur of voices.

his sister’s voice came first then tanjiro’s followed not long after.

he slowed for only a moment, prayer beads shifting softly between his fingers.

the distance between their voices was small. neither sounded hurried to leave. and every time his sister spoke, tanjiro listened as though her words deserved his full attention.

I was wondering if I could request headcannons or a fic (either one is fine) of Tanjiro x Gyomei’s little sister. I just feel like that’d be pretty cute! — @/marzipansweetestxd

🍒 reblogs and notes are appreciated !

especially when compared to the boy currently trying to destroy one of the recovery rooms.

another crash echoed through the hallway.

you paused only briefly while carrying a basket of freshly washed linens. the girls around the mansion barely reacted anymore. after nearly a week, everyone had become accustomed to the boar-headed slayer’s outbursts.

the first few days had been exhausting.

he had fought every treatment, every medicine, every order to remain in bed. yet somehow, despite all of that, he was still recovering far slower than everyone else because of it.

you couldn’t quite bring yourself to be annoyed.

every time you passed his room, there was something strangely familiar about the frustration hidden beneath all the shouting. it reminded you of a frightened animal refusing help because it didn’t know what else to do.

perhaps that was why you found yourself lingering near his room more often than necessary or why you always volunteered whenever someone needed to bring him meals.

you weren’t entirely sure but you knew that everyone else seemed relieved when you offered.

the room was unusually quiet when you arrived that afternoon.

sunlight spilled through the open window, painting warm patches of gold across the floorboards. the scent of medicine lingered faintly in the air.

for the first time, inosuke wasn’t yelling.

he was asleep.

you stopped in the doorway.

his boar mask had been tossed carelessly onto a nearby chair, revealing features that seemed almost too soft for someone so wild. strands of dark hair fell across his forehead, shifting slightly whenever a breeze drifted through the window.

it felt strange.

you had grown so used to seeing him charge through hallways like a storm that seeing him still was almost unsettling.

carefully, you stepped inside and placed the tray beside his bed.

you intended to leave immediately. but instead, your eyes drifted toward the bandages wrapped around his arms.

new injuries.

some old ones hadn’t fully healed either.

your chest tightened.

all demon slayers carried scars because it came with the job.

still, there was something sad about seeing someone your age carrying so many.

before you realized what you were doing, your hand reached toward the blanket that had slipped halfway to the floor.

you pulled it higher over his shoulders.

the moment your fingers brushed the fabric, bright green eyes snapped open.

you nearly jumped out of your skin.

for several seconds, neither of you moved.

then embarrassment rushed through you all at once.

“sorry.” you murmured the apology that escaped before you could stop it. you lowered your gaze immediately, preparing yourself for confusion, annoyance, or perhaps another loud complaint.

instead, silence followed.

when you finally looked up, inosuke was staring, as though he couldn’t understand why you were apologizing.

but it wasn’t an unfamiliar expression because you had seen it before and people rarely understood. they didn’t understand why you apologized for every inconvenience, every interruption, every mistake no matter how small. sometimes you didn’t understand either.

it had simply become part of you, since it was easier to apologize first than risk upsetting someone later.

inosuke frowned. genuinely frowned, not the type of frown he displays on his faces whenever he challenges someone to a fight. 

you found yourself looking away first. for some reason, that expression made your chest feel strangely exposed.

the silence stretched between you.

outside, birds sang somewhere beyond the gardens.

a warm breeze carried the scent of wisteria through the open window battling with the medicinal smell.

eventually, you offered him a small smile. and for a moment, his frown disappeared. before you left the room, you noticed his gaze following you all the way to the door.

you would think very little of it at the time.

after all, inosuke was difficult to understand due to his thoughts moving in strange directions, his actions rarely made sense, so it wasn’t unusual for him to stare.

what you didn’t know was that after the door slid shut behind you, he remained awake. just staring at the place where you had stood.

thinking about the way your hands had adjusted the blanket, the worried look that had crossed your face when you saw his injuries, or about the strange ache that settled in his chest when you smiled at him.

an ache he didn’t yet have a name for. but it was definitely one that would only grow stronger with every passing day.

if someone had told you a month ago that you would become friends with inosuke hashibira, you would have politely smiled and assumed they were joking as you two were polar opposites. 

he was loud where you were quiet, reckless where you were careful, confident where you constantly second-guessed yourself.

yet somehow, somewhere between medicine deliveries and recovery checkups, the distance between you had slowly disappeared.

it happened so gradually that neither of you noticed it at first.

one day, he was simply another injured patient.

the next, he was someone who shouted greeted you whenever you entered a room.

and then, somehow, he became the person you looked for first whenever you walked through the mansion.

the realization startled you more than it should have.

because friendships had always been difficult.

you spent so much time worrying about saying the wrong thing, becoming annoying, or burdening people that you often kept your thoughts to yourself because it was easier that way. 

inosuke, however, had somehow bulldozed straight through every wall shinobu kocho possessed without even realizing it.

he never seemed bothered by silences nor expected long conversations. never looked annoyed when you stumbled over your words. if anything, he seemed content simply existing beside you.

which was why you found yourself sitting beneath one of the large trees near the edge of the property one afternoon, quietly sorting through the beads for your small hobby while he sprawled across the grass nearby.

it was peaceful.

after a while, you glanced over.

inosuke had somehow fallen asleep.

you couldn’t help smiling.

he looked completely different when he slept, all the sharp edges disappeared as well as his spiked energy. 

when he slept, he simply looked like a boy.

he must have felt the presence on him because one eye suddenly cracked open.

you nearly dropped the beads.

“i wasn’t staring.” the words escaped immediately.

his eyebrow lifted.

you felt heat rush into your face.

“…sorry.”

his groan echoed through the garden.

you laughed quietly.

and for some reason, that seemed to make him relax.

he closed his eye again.

a few moments later, you found yourself returning to your work with a smile still lingering on your face.

beside you, inosuke smiled too.

though neither of you noticed.

friendship with inosuke came with many unexpected things.

for example, he followed you everywhere.

at first, you assumed it was coincidence.

then you noticed it happening every day. he always seemed to appear whenever you were busy—whether you were organizing supplies, carrying medicine, or tending to injured slayers. sometimes he didn’t even speak. he simply lingered nearby.

another time, he appeared while you were hanging laundry.

without a word, he grabbed half the basket and started helping.

you stared as inosuke stared back.

neither of you said anything.

he continued hanging clothes.

badly.

very badly.

you spent most of the afternoon fixing them after he left.

but somehow it remained one of your favorite memories.

because nobody had ever looked at the basket in your hands and decided to help before.

most people simply assumed you would manage

and you always did.

but inosuke never seemed to notice which tasks belonged to you and which didn’t.

if something looked difficult, he helped. if something looked heavy, he carried it. if someone upset you, he became visibly hostile toward them for the rest of the day.

his kindness wasn’t gentle, it wasn’t even particularly subtle.

it arrived in the form of grumbled complaints and dramatic declarations. it showed itself through awkward attempts to help whenever he thought someone had wronged you.

but it was there and over time, you learned to see it hidden beneath all the noise.

—

the first time you truly confided in him happened by accident.

it was late.

most of the mansion had already fallen asleep.

the moon hung low above the gardens, bathing everything in silver light.

you sat alone on the engawa with a blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

you hadn’t intended to stay outside.

you simply hadn’t felt ready to return to your room. your mind was crowded with worries—whether you had done enough, whether you had made mistakes somewhere throughout the day, whether everyone secretly found you exhausting to be around, and whether your kindness was truly genuine or simply an attempt to make people tolerate your presence.

you were so lost in them that you didn’t notice someone approaching until a familiar voice interrupted the silence.

“oi.” inosuke said as he sat beside you. 

for a while, neither of you spoke.

then—

“you’re sad.”

“…am i?” you blinked as you looked down at your hands because you immediately knew that it wasn’t a question.

“yes.” his answer came immediately.

for a long moment, you debated brushing it off.

pretending everything was fine, you had become very good at pretending. yet somehow, sitting beside him felt different.

and before you realized it, words began slipping free.

small ones at first.

then more.

you told him things you had never told anyone about constantly feeling like a burden, apologizing too much, worrying people only liked you because you were useful, about how exhausting it was to carry those fears alone.

then you finally stopped speaking, the silence felt terrifying.

you regretted it instantly.

you shouldn’t have said so much.

you shouldn’t have placed those worries on someone else.

you shouldn’t have—

“that’s stupid.”

you froze and your heart sank.

you should have—

“not you.”

you looked up.

inosuke was frowning but not at you instead at the idea itself. “the people who made you think that.” he said, offended. as though the thought of someone making you feel that way genuinely upset him.

“you’re nice, you’re always helping people.” he huffed while he crossed his arms. “and you’re funny.”

your eyes widened because you had never once considered yourself funny.

but inosuke nodded firmly and added. “and if anyone thinks you’re a burden, they’re an idiot.”

and after that night, things changed.

you found yourself opening up more, sharing stories, worries, and pieces of yourself that usually remained hidden. and in return, inosuke began sharing pieces of himself too

most of the time he spoke carelessly yet sometimes awkwardly. but whenever he trusted you with those parts of himself, you listened.

perhaps that was why he kept returning.

because for the first time in his life, he had found someone who listened without judging.

may I please request inosuke with reader who works at the butterfly mansion? (Like kinda platonic but a little romantic? If that makes sense) but Totally ok if not tho!! So sorry for the trouble! reader is super sweet and kind and innocent and gentle and overall just a big softie. like always puts others above herself and will go out of her way to do something nice for someone else. reader is also quiet and anxious and kind of puts herself down. Like she apologizes just for speaking or existing, and is terrified of being a burden (doesn’t show it though, she doesn’t want others worrying about her). Inosuke first meets reader while healing at the mansion, and they (somehow?) become friends, and become really close, and start confiding in each other with a close friendship aww. Like innocent reader and wild boar inosuke being bestest friends yay. And bonus if they start crushing on each other just a tad bit!! like they never actually date yet but they start to like each other a lil — anonymous

🍒 reblogs and notes are appreciated !

(name) blinked. “what?”

he smiled, not unkindly. “i’m just saying. when this ends, it’ll be because i walked away.”

she laughed before she could stop herself and it came out sharp and a little bit surprised. “wow. confident.”

he shrugged. “realistic.”

she tilted her head, studying him. they’d been seeing each other for weeks now. coffee that turned into dinners, dinners that turned into walking until their feet hurt. she knew the lines of his face well enough to tell when he was joking yet this didn’t feel like one.

“you don’t even know that,” she said.

he pushed off the glass and stood in front of her, close enough that she had to look up at him. “i do.”

“why would you say that?” she asked. “that’s a weird thing to drop in the middle of a date.”

“it’s not a date,” he said easily.

she frowned. “we’re literally holding the same receipt.”

he glanced down at the paper in her hand, then back at her face. “doesn’t change anything.”

she wanted to argue. she wanted to point out that people didn’t talk like that unless they were trying to scare someone off, or prove something to themselves. instead, she just said, “you’re wrong.”

something flickered behind his eyes. “am i?”

“yeah,” she said. “if this ends, it’ll be because i got bored.”

he laughed then, a real laugh. “you won’t.”

she didn’t answer, not because she didn’t have one, but because she felt something settle in her chest, quiet and stubborn.

i’ll be the one to leave, he’d said.

she believed, completely and foolishly, that he was wrong.

they didn’t talk about it again, at least not directly.

they walked instead, down streets that smelled like fried food and damp concrete. he bought her a drink from a vending machine because she hesitated in front of it too long. she pretended not to notice that he remembered how she liked it.

muzan wasn’t affectionate in obvious ways. he didn’t hold her hand unless she reached first. he didn’t text good morning or good night. when he complimented her, it sounded like observation instead of praise.

“you always look like you’re thinking,” he told her once, watching her stir sugar into her coffee. “even when you’re not.”

she smiled. “maybe i just have that face.”

“no,” he said. “it’s different.”

she asked him what he meant. he said, “nothing important,” and changed the subject.

it was like that with him, edges always just out of reach. she told herself she liked it, that it was refreshing, and the fact that she didn’t need clarity to enjoy what they were doing.

on their fifth or sixth date—she couldn’t remember which because it had stopped mattering—they ended up at his apartment.

it wasn’t impressive, just clean, minimal, quiet. everything had its place, but none of it felt lived in. she sat on the couch while he poured drinks in the kitchen, listening to the clink of ice.

“you don’t have pictures,” she said.

he glanced at the wall. “of what?”

“anything,” she said. “people. memories. not even your diplomas”

he handed her a glass. “i remember things just fine without them.”

she took a sip and grimaced. “this is strong.”

he smiled faintly. “you’ll survive.”

they sat close, knees brushing. the city outside hummed low and constant, like a held breath.

“why me?” she asked suddenly.

he didn’t look at her. “why not?”

“that’s not an answer.”

“it’s the only one i have.”

she leaned back against the couch. “you always dodge.”

he turned then, eyes sharp. “i don’t owe you explanations.”

she stiffened. “i didn’t say you did.”

“you were thinking it.”

“don’t do that,” she said. “don’t tell me what i’m thinking.”

“then don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.”

the air shifted. not hostile, but tense as if something had been named without being acknowledged.

she set her glass down. “you don’t make it easy.”

he studied her for a long moment. “i never said i would.”

“you did say you’d be the one to leave.”

his mouth twitched. “still true.”

she felt a flare of irritation. “why are you so sure?”

“because i always am.”

she laughed, but there was no humor in it. “that’s arrogant.”

“it’s an experience.”

she stood, pacing once, then stopped in front of him. “you know what i think?”

“i’m sure you’ll tell me.”

“i think you say things like that so you don’t have to try,” she said. “so if it ends, you can pretend it was always part of the plan.”

he rose slowly, closing the distance between them. “or maybe i say it because i know myself.”

“do you?” she asked. “or do you just like being in control?”

something darkened in his expression. “careful.”

“why?” she challenged. “are you going to leave right now?”

for a second, she thought he might. the space between them felt electric and unstable.

then he leaned in, close enough that his voice brushed her ear. “not yet.”

her breath hitched, traitorous.

they didn’t talk after that. the space between them closed without a decision, mouths finding each other like it was the only language left. the kiss deepened until relief and tension tangled together, impossible to separate. his hand lingered at her waist, hesitant yet heavy with intent, like he was testing a boundary that he pretended not to care about.

when they finally pulled apart, neither of them spoke. their foreheads rested together for a breath too long, breaths uneven, shared. his hand stayed at her side—neither holding nor letting go—fingers warm. the closeness felt charged like something already tipping past the point of restraint. she didn’t ask for more because she didn’t trust herself to. she only leaned in again, letting the moment decide for them.

later, lying awake beside him, sheets twisted and warm, the air still heavy with what they hadn’t named, she stared at the ceiling. his presence was a weight at her back, undeniable even without touch, close enough that every small movement registered. his words replayed in her mind, quiet and persistent, settling deeper than she wanted them to, long after the room had gone still.

i’ll be the one to leave.

she told herself it didn’t matter. that she could walk away first if she wanted to. that she wasn’t attached.

but the thought came uninvited and insistent:

what if he’s right?

the next morning, she woke before him.

sunlight cut across the room in thin, pale lines. muzan lay on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes, breathing slow and even. for a moment, she let herself watch him, the version of him where he was unguarded.

she slipped out of bed carefully and went to the kitchen. the apartment felt different in daylight. 

she made coffee. he joined her a few minutes later, hair rumpled, shirt pulled on without care.

“you’re loud in the morning,” he said.

“sorry,” she replied. “i can leave.”

he watched her over the rim of his mug. “you don’t have to.”

“you always say that,” she said. “but you never sound like you mean it.”

he set his cup down. “what do you want from me?”

she hesitated. “honesty.”

he laughed softly. “that’s dangerous.”

“for who?”

“for you,” he said.

she folded her arms. “try me.”

he studied her for a long moment, then shook his head. “you wouldn’t like it.”

“i already don’t like half the things you say.”

“and yet,” he said, stepping closer, “you’re still here.”

that stung more than she expected.

days passed like that. just a slow accumulation of moments, meals, conversations that almost turned into confessions, silences that pressed heavy between them.

she started to notice the way he pulled back when things felt too real. the way he deflected with humor or distance. she wondered how many people had tried to get close before her, and how many he’d let go without blinking.

one evening, after an argument that started over nothing and spiraled into everything, she finally snapped.

“why are you like this?” she demanded, voice raised despite herself. “why do you keep one foot out the door?”

he stood across from her, expression flat. “because i told you i would leave.”

“that’s not an answer!” she shouted. “that’s a threat!”

“it’s a warning,” he shot back. “i was honest with you from the start.”

“no,” she said, shaking. “you were detached. there’s a huge difference.”

he took a step toward her. “if you want someone who clings, who promises things he can’t keep, you picked the wrong person.”

she laughed bitterly. “i don’t want promises. i want effort.”

“effort leads to expectations, and expectations lead to disappointment.”

“so you just avoid everything instead? that’s your solution?”

his jaw tightened. “i avoid losing control.”

“of what?” she asked. “your feelings?”

he didn’t answer.

the silence that followed was heavy, charged.

finally, he said quietly, “i warned you.”

tears burned at her eyes, unwanted and angry. “you don’t get to say that like it excuses everything.”

he looked at her then, really looked. “this is why i said i’d leave.”

“then do it,” she said, voice breaking. “prove yourself right.”

for a moment, neither of them moved.

then he stepped back.

“fine,” he said.

she watched him grab his keys, his jacket. her heart pounded, loud in her ears. she waited for him to stop. to turn around. to say something that would make it all make sense.

he didn’t.

the door closed with a soft, final sound.

she stood there long after, shaking, surrounded by the quiet he left behind.

he had been right.

just not in the way she thought.

she sank onto the couch, pressing her hands to her face, the weight of it all settling in her chest.

you said you’d be the one to leave, she thought bitterly. i just didn’t think it would hurt this much.

outside, the city went on, uncaring.

and somewhere out there, muzan walked away, exactly as he’d promised.

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t. kamado

laughs softly, scratching the back of his head

“oh—i’m not really sure. maybe kendo? or swimming?”

clearly trying not to assume the question was meant badly

only realizes hours later that the “if” in your question was more pointed than he first thought

i. hashibira

immediately steps closer

“what do you mean if.”

doesn’t wait for an answer. “all of them.”

starts shadowboxing absentmindedly, a little irritated by the implication

z. agatsuma

freezes.

“wait—what does that mean?”

panic-rambling starts immediately.

insists he could do track and sprints a short distance just to prove it.

k. tsuyuri

pauses for a beat too long

answers calmly, “gymnastics.”

tone is neutral, not defensive, nor bragging

meets your gaze steadily, letting the words do the wor

g. shinazugawa

scoffs

“what, you saying i’m not?”

answers “boxing” like it’s a warning, not a response

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his own stall was metal and bone and blades—salvaged parts, sharpened tools, things people approached only when they needed them. his hands were always nicked, always stained. he kept his hood low, his posture defensive, like the world might try to take something from him if he stood too tall.

she noticed him anyway.

not in the way others did, not with discomfort nor pity. just noticing as if he was part of the environment, like he belonged.

it pissed him off.

“you always look like you’re about to stab someone,” she said one afternoon, voice light, like she was commenting on the weather.

he stiffened. “mind your business.”

she smiled, not offended. “i am. i’m making it my business.”

that should have been the end of it. it wasn’t.

she kept talking to him. not constantly though just enough to be present. she brought him tea once when the rain came down hard and his stall started leaking. she complained about the market manager under her breath and laughed too loud at her own jokes.

gyutaro told himself he didn’t care.

but sometimes, when he caught his reflection in the dull surface of a blade, he’d notice the way his shoulders were less hunched when she was nearby or the way his jaw unclenched when she spoke.

he hated that even more.

the first time they went out, he didn’t call it a date but she did.

“it’s a date,” she said, tying her hair back with practiced fingers. “don’t overthink it.”

he scoffed. “i don’t do dates.”

“you’re doing one now.”

he almost backed out. almost convinced himself she was joking, or bored, or pitying him. he waited for the moment she’d realize she’d made a mistake.

it didn’t come.

they walked instead. streetlights buzzing overhead, the city loud and indifferent. she talked about nothing and everything at the same time—her stall, her favorite books, the way she liked late nights because the world felt quieter.

gyutaro mostly listened because when he spoke, it comes out rough. he waited for her to flinch.

she didn’t.

when they parted, she smiled at him like it was the most natural thing in the world. “see you tomorrow.”

he nodded, too stunned to respond.

he didn’t tell anyone.

he didn’t tell anyone because saying it out loud felt dangerous. like if he acknowledged it, it would fall apart. like words themselves would object—no, not him. not someone like him.

the second date happened anyway.

that one had food. cheap noodles, eaten standing up, shoulders brushing. she stole from his bowl without asking. he snapped at her and then froze, waiting for her to get offended.

she just laughed.

something inside him shifted, subtle and terrifying.

he told himself it was a coincidence. anything but what it was.

after the third date, he stopped pretending.

he didn’t tell his friends right away. he waited until it was undeniable—until there were patterns. until she started showing up at his stall before he arrived, sitting on the crate behind it like she belonged there. until she learned the cadence of his moods, when to talk and when to let silence sit.

until he learned hers.

then the evidence piled up.

lines connecting them. invisible strings he hadn’t noticed weaving tighter and tighter. her hand brushing his wrist when she laughed. the way she leaned into him without thinking. the way she said his name like it wasn’t something ugly.

that was what got him.

the way she said his name.

gyutaro was jealous in a way that surprised even him.

not loud jealousy nor possessive shouting but just a constant, simmering awareness of anyone else who made her laugh. anyone who stood too close, anyone who looked at her with that soft expression she never quite returned.

he told himself it was instinct but sometimes, watching her talk to someone else, he’d feel that awful awe bloom in his chest.

she chose me.

the thought rendered him stupid like if he tried to articulate it, it would collapse under scrutiny.

because why him?

he knew what he looked like. knew how people reacted before they learned better—or didn’t. scars, posture, voice sharpened by years of being unwanted. he knew how the world sorted people, how quickly.

and yet she stayed.

one evening, after the market closed, they sat on the curb with their backs against the shutters. the air smelled like rain and rust.

she leaned her head against his shoulder without asking.

he froze.

“you okay?” she asked softly.

he swallowed. “why me?”

she tilted her head. “what?”

“you could have anyone,” he said, words scraping out of him. “someone easier, cleaner. or someone who doesn’t look like they’re angry at the world.”

she didn’t pull away.

instead, she looked at him—really looked.

“you’re not angry all the time,” she said. “you’ve just been hurt too long.”

he laughed, bitter. “same thing.”

“no,” she said. “it’s not.”

he didn’t know how to respond to that. silence filled the space, thick but not uncomfortable.

“i didn’t tell anyone about our first date,” she added suddenly.

his heart skipped. “why not?”

“because i wanted to make sure it was real,” she said. “i didn’t want to say it and then have it disappear.”

he stared at the ground. “me too.”

she smiled, small and genuine. “see? lines connecting us.”

he didn’t understand how she said things like that so easily.

sometimes, late at night, lying beside her, gyutaro would watch her sleep and feel that same dumbfounded awe crash over him. the jealousy, the doubt—they never really went away. they just quieted, dulled by the steady presence of her warmth, her breathing.

he never stopped being aware of how unlikely it was.

but instead of protesting, the words began to settle.

not why me.

but us.

and somehow, impossibly, that was enough.

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douma leaned against the doorframe behind her, hair still damp, a towel slung loosely around his shoulders like he’d forgotten what it was for halfway through drying off. he peeked past her with exaggerated curiosity.

“oh? is that a rule?” he asked, smiling. “i must have missed that chapter in my upbringing.”

she sighed and reached for the cap herself, twisting it back on with a practiced motion. “you miss a lot of chapters.”

“that’s why i like living with you,” he said easily. “you fill in the gaps.”

she rolled her eyes and brushed past him, bumping his arm lightly with her shoulder as she went. “don’t get sentimental over toothpaste.”

“who said anything about toothpaste?” he replied.

the apartment was quiet in the comfortable, lived-in way—morning light slipping through half-open curtains, dust motes floating lazily in the air. their place wasn’t big, but it was theirs in the sense that roommates’ places were: mismatched furniture, shared shelves, boundaries drawn in invisible ink.

(name) headed into the kitchen, poured herself a glass of water, then leaned back against the counter. she could hear douma moving behind her, humming to himself as he wandered in barefoot, entirely unconcerned with personal space or social cues.

he reached past her to grab a mug from the cabinet, close enough that she could feel the heat of him, the faint scent of citrus soap and something sweet that always clung to him.

“you’re doing it again,” she said.

“doing what?” he asked, sipping from the mug.

“standing too close.”

he glanced down at the distance between them—or lack of it. “this isn’t close.”

she nudged him with her elbow. “for normal people, it is.”

he laughed, bright and unbothered. “good thing i’m not normal.”

that, at least, was something they agreed on.

they’d moved in together out of convenience, originally. same building, same work schedule, same tolerance for chaos. douma had been charming in that overwhelming way that either exhausted people or drew them in completely. (name) had assumed she’d land firmly in the first category.

she hadn’t expected him to linger.

he leaned against the counter now, watching her with open interest as she drank her water. he always watched her like that—like she was a movie he’d already seen but still found entertaining.

“you slept well?” he asked.

“fine.”

“you always say that.”

“because it’s always true.”

he tilted his head. “you don’t sound convinced.”

she set the glass down. “why are you interrogating me before coffee?”

“because it’s cute when you get defensive,” he said.

she snorted. “you say that about everything.”

“because everything you do is cute.”

she froze for half a second, then waved it off with a dismissive flick of her hand. “there it is. flirting.”

“is it flirting if i mean it?”

she raised an eyebrow. “especially then.”

douma grinned wider. “you never believe me.”

“because you say things like that to everyone.”

he gasped, mock-offended. “i do not.”

“you literally told the barista last week that her handwriting was ‘a gift to the world.’”

“and it was,” he said earnestly. “don’t you think people should hear nice things?”

“not when you don’t mean them.”

he leaned in a little closer. “i always mean them.”

she met his gaze for a brief moment, then looked away, busying herself with grabbing her bag from the chair. “sure you do.”

if douma noticed the way she avoided looking at him too long, he didn’t comment on it. he never pushed—not directly. he preferred to circle, to hover, to make his presence known without demanding acknowledgment.

they left the apartment together, as usual, locking the door behind them. the hallway smelled faintly of cleaning solution and someone else’s cooking. douma matched her pace easily, hands tucked into his pockets.

“you forgot your jacket,” he said.

she glanced down. “it’s not cold.”

“it will be later.”

“i’ll survive.”

he shrugged out of his own jacket anyway and draped it over her shoulders without asking. she stiffened.

“douma.”

“what?” he asked innocently. “roommate privileges.”

she sighed but didn’t take it off. “you’re impossible.”

“and yet,” he said lightly, “you keep me.”

they walked in companionable silence after that, the city waking up around them. she told herself not to read into it—the jacket, the proximity, the way he always seemed attuned to her movements. douma was like that with everyone, she reasoned

he didn’t do subtle. and because of that, she never considered the possibility that he might be serious.

later that evening, they were back in the apartment, the day settling into something quieter. (name) sat on the couch with her laptop balanced on her knees, scrolling through emails. douma lay sprawled on the floor, chin propped on his hands, flipping through a magazine he wasn’t actually reading.

“can i ask you something?” he said suddenly.

she didn’t look up. “you just did.”

“you know what i mean.”

“depends,” she said. “is it weird?”

he smiled to himself. “probably.”

she glanced down at him. “try me.”

“why do you pretend you don’t notice things?”

she frowned. “what things?”

“this,” he said, gesturing vaguely between them. “us.”

she laughed. “there is no ‘us.’ there’s a lease agreement and shared utilities.”

he propped himself up on one elbow, studying her. “you really believe that?”

“yes,” she said easily. “and you should too.”

“but what if i don’t want to?”

she closed her laptop slowly. “douma.”

“what? i’m just saying,” he continued, unbothered. “i like you. more than i like most people. probably more than i should.”

she stared at him, searching for the punchline. when none came, she relaxed. “you like everyone.”

“not like this.”

“you say that to everyone.”

“do i?” he asked, genuinely curious.

she hesitated, then shrugged. “it feels like it.”

he was quiet for a moment. then he lay back down, staring at the ceiling. “maybe i should say it less, then.”

“maybe,” she agreed, a little too quickly.

but he didn’t stop. not really.

over the next few weeks, the little things piled up—the way he always waited for her before leaving, the way he saved the last slice of pizza for her without comment, the way he knew her coffee order without asking. he was open about it, unashamed, treating his affection like a fact rather than a confession.

and she kept shrugging it off.

“you’re just being you,” she’d say.

“i am being me,” he’d reply. “and i like you.”

“yeah, yeah.”

it became a rhythm. his honesty, her dismissal. neither of them pushed it further.

one night, she came home late, exhausted, shoes kicked off by the door. the apartment was dim except for the kitchen light. douma was there, sleeves rolled up, stirring something on the stove.

“you’re cooking?” she asked.

“attempting,” he said. “don’t sound so shocked.”

“i am shocked.”

he laughed. “sit. i’ll feed you.”

she dropped into a chair, watching him move around the kitchen with unearned confidence. “you didn’t have to.”

“i wanted to.”

“why?”

he glanced back at her. “do i need a reason?”

she shrugged. “you usually do.”

he plated the food and set it in front of her. “eat.”

she did. it was surprisingly good.

“wow,” she said. “this is actually—”

“don’t sound so disappointed.”

she smiled despite herself. “thank you.”

he leaned against the counter, watching her eat. “you’re welcome.”

there was a softness in the moment, something unspoken hanging between them. she felt it—and deliberately ignored it.

later, when she went to brush her teeth, she found the toothpaste uncapped again.

she laughed, shaking her head, and capped it herself.

from the doorway, douma watched her, smiling.

“one day,” he said lightly, “you’re going to stop pretending i’m joking.”

she met his eyes in the mirror. “and one day,” she replied, “you’re going to admit you just like getting on my nerves.”

he chuckled. “maybe both can be true.”

she turned off the light and walked past him. he didn’t follow this time.

but he watched her go as if he had all the time in the world—and she, still shrugging it all off, never noticed how careful he was being with her heart.

the toothpaste stayed uncapped.

and he never minded being the one to wait.

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inside, the safehouse was sparse. the walls were stripped bare, the shelves mostly empty, and the tatami smelled faintly of ash. the air was too quiet, save for the faint creak of old wood and the soft shuffle of movement when one of them passed the other. yushiro barely spoke. (name) didn’t, either—not because she didn’t want to, but because every time she tried, the words felt too small for what had been lost.

he sat by the window most nights, the lamp light touching his hair in soft streaks. he didn’t look outside; he stared at the reflection of the forest in the glass instead, the distortion of it, like he was trying to memorize every detail of something that had already disappeared. his hand would rest against the windowsill, fingers still flecked faintly with red that he hadn’t bothered to wash away. 

(name) watched him from across the room. she’d taken to sitting near the small table by the corner, the one that held the things miss tamayo left behind—notes, vials, the faint remnants of her perfume that hadn’t faded even after the explosion that had happened in the ubuyashiki mansion which filled their nose with blood and burning flesh. 

“you should rest,” she said once, her voice barely cutting through the stillness. “you haven’t moved since dawn.”

yushiro didn’t look at her. “i don’t need rest.”

“you look like you do.”

“then stop looking.”

the reply wasn’t sharp, but it had weight. it landed between them, and (name) didn’t speak again after that. she only nodded, even though he wasn’t facing her, and turned back to the notes spread out in front of her. the handwriting was small, tamayo’s. graceful, even in her scrawl. (name) traced a line of ink with her finger, the edge of a half-finished formula that none of them would ever complete now.

she remembered tamayo’s hands, they were steady and gentle. she remembered yushiro standing beside her, the way he’d always looked at the woman like the sun itself was too dim in comparison. she’d seen that look long before she’d understood what it meant. 

silence folded over them again. outside, the crickets had long gone quiet. only the faint wind moved through the trees, brushing the side of the house. (name) exhaled softly and leaned back, her eyes drifting toward yushiro once more.

“when we leave here,” she began carefully, “where will we go?”

he turned his head slightly, just enough to show he’d heard her. “we won’t.”

“you don’t plan to move on?”

his mouth curved in something like a smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “move on to what?”

she hesitated. “living.”

“we’re not alive.”

“you know what i mean, yushiro.”

yushiro didn’t answer. he looked out the window again, his reflection now faintly transparent against the night. the forest beyond looked blacker than before, the sky above it bruised and pale. he stayed that way for a long moment before he said, “this place will do.”

“for how long?”

“until it doesn’t.”

she wanted to ask and then what, but the tone of his voice told her it wouldn’t matter. there was no then for him anymore. only this—an endless stretch of nights and silence and ghosts that wouldn’t leave.

she rose quietly and crossed the small room, her steps careful against the floor. she stopped a few paces behind him, her hand twitching at her side. she wanted to reach out—to touch his shoulder, to remind him he wasn’t alone—but she didn’t. her fingers hovered, then fell back to her side.

“yushiro,” she murmured. his name felt too tender in her mouth. “you can’t stay like this.”

he finally looked at her then, his eyes reflecting the moonlight. for a brief moment, she thought she saw something soft there—something almost human—but it vanished as quickly as it came. “and what would you have me do?” he asked. “pretend?”

“no,” she said quietly. “but you can still—”

“still what?” he interrupted, and this time the sharpness was real. “forget her?”

the words cut through the quiet like glass. (name) flinched but didn’t step back. she met his stare, her throat tight.

“no,” she said again, softer. “i wouldn’t ask you to.”

“then stop trying to fix me.”

she wanted to tell him she wasn’t trying to fix him, only to reach him—but the difference had started to blur. she’d spent too long mistaking his silence for depth, his distance for something sacred. but standing this close, she could see the truth: it wasn’t depth, it was absence.

he turned away before she could speak again. the reflection in the glass caught both of them now, side by side but facing different directions. she thought, not for the first time, that maybe that was what they’d always been.

the night wore on, and either of them moved for a long while. when she finally did, it was only to return to the table and gather the scattered papers. the motion was small, but her hands trembled. she stacked them neatly, careful not to make a sound.

the house they stayed in was small, tucked between half-collapsed buildings and overgrown streets. a temporary safehouse, one of the few left after everything had burned. the walls smelled faintly of smoke and old wood, the floorboards creaked when either of them moved. it wasn’t home. just a place to stay until they could figure out what to do next.

(name) sat by the window, eyes tracing the edge of the horizon. it had been days since the battle, but the world still felt like it was shaking. even the light looked wrong, as if the sun itself didn’t know what to do with the ruins left behind.

yushiro hadn’t said much since they arrived. he’d fixed the door, patched the window, and then disappeared into the other room. she could hear him now, somewhere behind her—pages turning, the faint scrape of a brush against paper. the sound was familiar, almost comforting, but it only made the silence heavier.

“you haven’t eaten,” she said quietly.

“i don’t need to.”

his voice was flat, not cold exactly, but worn down to something that didn’t invite more. still, she tried.

“you should, anyway.”

“why?”

“because it helps. because you look—” she stopped herself. tired. empty. lost. none of those words would reach him.

yushiro didn’t look up from what he was doing. “don’t start.”

“i wasn’t—”

“you were.” he set the brush down. “you always do.”

(name) turned her gaze to the window again. “someone has to.”

the air between them went taut. she could almost hear his irritation, the way it filled the space like static. he stood, footsteps measured but sharp against the wood.

“someone has to,” he repeated under his breath. “you talk like i’m the one who—”

he stopped himself, jaw tight.

she turned then, meeting his eyes for the first time in hours. “like you’re the one who what?”

yushiro’s stare was steady, but there was something wild beneath it, something that trembled just enough to break through his calm. “you think i haven’t lost enough already?”

her chest tightened. “that’s not what i meant.”

“then what did you mean?” his voice rose—not shouting, not yet, but sharp enough to sting. “that i should move on? that i should forget her?”

tamayo’s name wasn’t said, but it didn’t have to be because it hovered in the air between them like a ghost neither of them could banish.

“i didn’t say that,” she said quietly.

“you didn’t have to.” he stepped closer, his expression flickering between anger and grief. “you think i don’t see it? the way you look at me? the way you wait for me to—”

“stop.”

“—what? to love you instead?”

the words hit harder than she expected. she stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. “don’t do that.”

“do what?”

“pretend you don’t know how cruel that sounds.”

yushiro exhaled sharply and turned away, pressing his palms against the table. the wood creaked under the weight of it. “you wouldn’t understand.”

“because i’m not her?”

his silence was enough.

(name) swallowed hard, stepping closer. “you don’t have to keep punishing everyone for the fact that she’s gone.”

“you think this is punishment?” he laughed once, bitter and quiet. “this is restraint.”

“restraint?”

“if i said what i really think, you’d leave.”

“maybe i should.”

that made him look at her again—sharp, startled. “you don’t mean that.”

“don’t i?” she whispered. “what am i even doing here, yushiro? you don’t talk to me, you don’t look at me, you act like i’m a replacement that didn’t take.”

he flinched. she saw it, the small flicker of hurt before it hardened again.

“you would never be her,” he said finally, the words like glass breaking between them.

the silence that followed was deafening.

(name) blinked once, slow, like trying to process the sound of her own heart cracking. “i know,” she said softly. “but you didn’t have to say it.”

he turned away, his voice quieter now, but no softer. “you wanted honesty.”

“not like that.”

she took a step back. he didn’t follow.

“i’ve tried,” she said. “i stayed when you wouldn’t even look at me. i cleaned the blood off your hands when you couldn’t stop shaking. i thought—” her voice caught. “i thought if i stayed long enough, you’d see me.”

yushiro’s hands clenched at his sides. “i do see you.”

“no,” she said, shaking her head. “you see her shadow standing where i am.”

for a moment, he didn’t move. then he slammed his hand against the table. the sound cracked through the room like thunder. she startled, heart skipping.

“don’t tell me what i see!” he shouted.

the echo lingered. outside, the wind shifted, pushing against the rattling windows.

“then what do you see?” she asked quietly.

his mouth opened, but nothing came out. he looked lost—furious and lost all at once.

that was enough.

she turned away, crossing the small room with slow steps. he didn’t stop her when she reached for her bag, didn’t speak when she started packing what little she had. the soft sounds of cloth folding filled the silence.

when she finally stood by the door, she paused. “i loved you,” she said simply. “and i think you know that. but i can’t keep standing in the shadow of someone who’s not coming back.”

yushiro’s hands trembled at his sides, but he said nothing.

she opened the door. cold air rushed in, carrying the faint scent of rain.

“goodbye,” she whispered.

the door shut quietly behind her, but it might as well have been the sound of a world closing.

yushiro stood there for a long time, staring at the space she’d just left. his breath came unevenly. he looked down at the table—the dent where his hand had struck, the faint smear of red where his nails had bitten into his skin.

he sank into the chair she’d used, eyes on the window she’d once looked through. the world outside was still dark.

and for the first time since tamayo’s death, he realized what silence truly felt like when no one was left to fill it.

🍒 reblogs and notes are appreciated !

akaza had been waiting for this day for a long time. he wanted to confess his feelings to (name) after two years of quietly liking her during their freshman and sophomore years, and two more years of being in love with her throughout junior and senior year. he decided to wait because he had been the first to witness her relationship downfalls and the way they affected her.

he remembered vividly the time last year when she almost overdosed on paracetamol, wanting to disappear.

akaza held (name) tightly as she threw up the dozens of paracetamols she had taken. akaza figured that (name) had forgotten about their unscheduled hangout, and when he came to check, he found her on the floor, struggling to make it to the bathroom.

he patted her back gently, tucking her hair behind her ear as she let out a weak sigh before muttering a soft sorry. akaza told her she didn’t need to apologize and asked how many she had taken and the dosage.

“lost count of it… but the dose is 500mg,” she said weakly, resting her head on his shoulder before leaning forward toward the toilet bowl again.

akaza’s chest tightened at her words, but he kept his voice steady. “alright… just stay with me, okay? i’ve got you.” he reached for the glass of water on the counter, pressing it carefully into her hand. she could barely hold it, so he guided it to her lips, making sure she rinsed her mouth before leaning back against him.

“you’re not alone, (name). i’m right here,” he whispered, more to keep her secured than anything else. her body trembled with exhaustion, the weight of everything she’d been carrying finally breaking through. akaza brushed his thumb gently across her shoulder, her eyes fluttering shut, tears streaking down her cheeks as her breathing evened out. 

akaza’s mind drifted again, this time to another night he couldn’t forget.

arisa had insisted the four of them go to a bar after the preliminary exam ended. full of tension, (name) agreed, trusting that at least one of them would make sure she got back to her dorm safely.

arisa and (name) kept drinking shot after shot, laughing at everything they said while akaza and douma just watched from across the table. by the time it was time to leave, arisa was the difficult one—wide awake and stubbornly wanting to keep drinking. (name), on the other hand, was fast asleep on akaza’s back, her breathing soft against his shoulder.

douma had to drag arisa out as she caused a commotion, while akaza carried (name). the two of them left akaza’s motorcycle behind, hailing a taxi to get the girls home safely. thankfully, arisa was sober enough to walk, though not to string a proper sentence together. douma dropped her off on the 3rd floor, where her older brother was staying. her brother clicked his tongue, muttered for douma to piss off, and took her inside.

as for (name), she clung to akaza’s arm in the elevator, still half-asleep. akaza, already resigned, handed his keys to douma to retrieve his motorcycle later—ignoring his friend’s complaints with a sharp look. when they reached their floor and stopped in front of (name)’s door, akaza fumbled with her keys. that was when she suddenly wrapped her arms around him, catching him off guard.

“thank you,” she whispered groggily, before slipping into her room. she lay down on her bed with a faint smile and, just before drifting off, asked him softly to stay.

akaza locked the door behind him and lowered himself onto the edge of her bed, letting (name) ramble on about nonsense while he listened quietly. resting his elbow on the mattress, his knuckle supporting his chin, he watched her with a faint smile. (name) turned toward him, a cheeky grin spreading across her face as she told him that he looks cute, then shuffled closer, curling up beside him to sleep. akaza’s gaze softened, watching her chest rise and fall before he finally leaned back, letting the quiet settle around them.

the memories came flooding into his brain as he was called to go and walk the stage. (name) had already walked the stage along with her psychology classmates, and it was time for the physical therapy students to walk. he marched his way towards the stage, and once he was ready to take a picture, his eyes wandered to find her. to his dismay, he didn’t see her. he walked towards his seat and opened his phone to see no message from (name). thinking that she was just in the bathroom, he decided to go on with the ceremony.

as the ceremony ended, they flung their graduation caps into the air. arisa informed them to meet at the stage to take some photos. the three of them waited for (name) before deciding that maybe she had already left. arisa, who had an idea of what akaza was going to do, patted him on the back with a tight smile. “we’ll see her tomorrow at the dormitory,” and he nodded.

the next day passed by, and the three of them waited for (name) to open her door. with no avail, they went to douma’s and akaza’s shared dorm, where douma leaped over the balcony railing to peek. when he came back, he said, “the room’s clean. no stuff of hers.”

the look on akaza’s face was dejected. how could (name) just go away with no explanations?

arisa then decided to message her best friend on social media, and to her surprise she found out that (name)’s account was deactivated. a curse left her lips as she realized that maybe (name) didn’t want them as friends anymore. as much as it hurt her because she saw (name) not only as a best friend but as a sister, she could only imagine the pain akaza must have been going through, having liked—no, loved—(name) for two years and more.

a day has passed, and they were already packing their belongings. at least douma and akaza were. arisa still wanted to take the licensed exams, which would happen in two months.

in the middle of her studying, arisa decided to text (name). to her relief, the message pushed through—but the chat stayed unread. there was no reply, no tiny notification that (name) had even noticed.

arisa tried to brush it off at first, but as the minutes stretched, the silence pressed harder against her chest. she stared at her books, the words blurring, until finally the weight of it all cracked something inside her.

she grabbed her phone and dialed douma.

when he answered, his voice was lazy as always. “you miss me already?”

“shut up and come here,” arisa snapped, her voice trembling. “i—just come. i don’t… i don’t wanna be alone right now.”

there was a pause on the other end. then douma’s tone softened. “alright. i’ll bring akaza with me.”

not long after, the knock on her door came. when she opened it, douma was there with his usual grin muted, and akaza stood beside him, quiet as ever but with worry flickering in his eyes.

arisa didn’t even try to hold it back anymore—her tears fell the second they stepped inside.

douma sighed, scratching the back of his neck before awkwardly patting her head. “jeez, you’re gonna drown the whole dorm if you keep crying like that.”

akaza, meanwhile, stayed close but silent, offering her a presence steadier than words. he handed her a tissue, his hand brushing hers just briefly, enough to remind her she wasn’t alone.

“it’s just…” arisa’s voice cracked as she tried to speak. “she didn’t even reply. i don’t know what’s happening, and i feel like she’s slipping away again. and i can’t—” she broke off, covering her face.

two days had passed since arisa’s breakdown. akaza remembered sitting quietly in her dorm, listening to her sobs while douma tried—and failed—to cheer her up with his clumsy jokes. he hadn’t said much then, just stayed by her side until she calmed down. but deep down, he felt the same fear she did: the fear of losing (name) all over again.

he told himself he would ask (name) out soon, before she disappeared completely. but as the days passed, hesitation ate at him. eventually, he decided maybe they were better off as friends.

yet (name) started to vanish again. she went from always reposting something to rarely, her page frozen in time like she’d stepped away from it. akaza checked her profile daily, waiting for signs of her, only to be greeted by the same post. the thought of her attaching herself to someone else made his skin crawl, but what could he do? it was her life, not his.

now, at 2:02 a.m., he sat in his dimly lit room, staring at the ticking clock. sleep refused to come. instead, memories filled the silence—vivid, unshakable moments that made his chest ache.

the first time she rode his motorcycle.

he had intentionally sped up just so she would hug him, and it worked—her arms clung around him as she screamed for him to slow down. instead, he pushed the throttle harder, earning a sharp smack on his forearm.

“i’m never going to trust you with your motorcycle again!” she shouted, legs wobbly from the speed she had just endured.

“fine, fine, i’ll go slower on the way back!” he laughed, placing a steady hand on her waist to help her stand.

“i mean it!” she huffed, crossing her arms even though her knees were still trembling. “one more stunt like that and i’m walking home.”

akaza chuckled, tilting his head. “walking? in this heat? good luck with that.”

she shot him a glare, but the corner of her lips twitched like she was fighting a smile. “don’t test me.”

“you already tested my brakes,” he teased, rubbing the spot where she smacked him. “pretty sure i’ve got a bruise.”

“good. maybe it’ll remind you not to be an idiot next time.”

he grinned, unbothered. “next time, huh? so you’re riding again?”

akaza then stared at his phone, thumb hovering over the keyboard. he typed, erased, typed again, but nothing felt right. if (name) didn’t respond to arisa, why would she respond to him? still, he couldn’t sit still anymore. finally, he typed something simple:

akaza: hi, do you maybe wanna catch up?

he pressed send before he could second-guess himself, the message already pushed through, but the screen stayed quiet. no “seen,” no reply, just silence staring back at him.

groaning, he ran a hand down his face and flopped back against his bed. he felt ridiculous like some desperate ex clawing for attention. though the thought stung, he corrected himself bitterly: he wasn’t even her ex. just desperate.

he remembered one afternoon at the library, when she had dragged him along under the excuse of “needing supervision” because she knew she’d get distracted. he’d slouched in the chair across from her, earphones in but nothing playing, just watching her scribble furiously in her notebook.

“you’re staring,” she muttered without looking up, her pen scratching across the page.

“i’m not,” he lied flatly.

“then why do i feel your eyes burning holes into my forehead?” she snapped, though there was no bite in her voice. finally, she peeked up at him, cheeks faintly pink, before scowling again. “stop. you’re making me forget my train of thought.”

he’d smirked, leaning back in his chair. “maybe i’m helping. you think better under pressure, right?”

she groaned dramatically, dropping her pen. “akaza, i swear, if i fail this moving quiz tomorrow, i’m haunting you.”

“deal,” he said without hesitation. “then i’ll never get rid of you.”

the memory made his chest ache. his thoughts lurched to another moment, late evening at a convenience store, both of them half-delirious after cramming all day.

she had grabbed the last pack of spicy noodles, holding it above her head like a prize. “mine.”

he raised an eyebrow. “we’ll see about that.”

the both of them wrestled in the middle of the aisle like children, muffling their laughter so the clerk wouldn’t kick them out. in the end, (name) kept the noodles, but only after promising—between wheezes of laughter—that she’d “allow” him two bites.

it had been stupid, simple, nothing special. but that was what killed him the most, how easy everything felt with her.

akaza rubbed his temples now, the weight of it pressing down on him. the contrast between the laughter and the tears, the light moments and the ones where she fell apart, was tearing him in two.

and yet, through all of it, he’d never once wanted to run, he just stayed. so why, now, did it feel like she was the one running from him?

months flew by quickly. akaza found a job near his place, one that finally allowed him to take care of his father while working. he even made a new friend at work, though, in truth, he found the guy more annoying than anything since he never stopped gossiping about the rest of the staff.

he told himself he had moved on—or at least, that’s what he whispered at night to make it easier to fall asleep. but the truth gnawed at him in the quiet. he, douma, and arisa rarely talked anymore, and sometimes he wondered if (name) had been the thread holding them all together. maybe she was just the starting point of their separation. 

akaza’s new routine was simple, almost mechanical. wake up early, make breakfast for his father, go to work, come home, repeat. some nights, he would stay out on the balcony with a cigarette between his fingers not because he liked the taste, but because the smoke kept his hands busy. 

but every so often, something would pull him back.

once, during lunch break, one of his coworkers passed him a cup of chocolate milk, saying the vending machine had two and they didn’t want the extra. akaza froze, staring at the condensation on the plastic bottle. it reminded him of that afternoon when (name) had dragged him to the convenience store across campus, insisting he had to try it because “it tastes like childhood, idiot.” she had watched him take a sip with her chin propped on her hand, grinning like she already knew he’d like it. he remembered the way she had hummed happily, proud of herself for converting him to something so simple.

he blinked, and the chocolate milk was just a drink in his hand. still, he finished it.

another time, the staff at work invited him out for karaoke. he almost said no—he hated crowds, hated the noise—but he ended up going anyway. the room was full of laughter and awful singing, and it should have been distracting enough. but then someone picked a song that (name) used to hum when she studied. akaza sat frozen for a moment, the lyrics hitting him like they were meant for him alone. he didn’t sing along, but his grip on the microphone stand tightened until his knuckles turned white. nobody noticed and he was glad nobody noticed.

sometimes it was even smaller things. a passing motorcycle. the scent of her perfume on a stranger in the train. the sound of someone’s laugh that almost matched hers. they all tugged at him in different ways, reminding him of a past he kept trying—and failing—to bury.

then an event came up that he couldn’t ignore. a personal friend reached out, inviting him to a gathering. at first, akaza didn’t want to go—he never did these days. the idea of smiling, of pretending he was completely fine, felt exhausting. but when he looked at his calendar, he noticed he hadn’t touched his monthly day off. 

the invitation was from muzan, one of his old high school friends. apparently, muzan had just taken over as the new head of his family’s business, and to celebrate, he was holding a small party. the word small made akaza raise an eyebrow as muzan wasn’t the type to throw casual get-togethers. in high school, he was always sharp, composed, and strangely distant. if he was the one arranging a party now, it had to mean something.

so akaza decided to go.

he told himself it was just to show his face, congratulate muzan, and leave after an hour or so. nothing more. but as he dressed up that evening, buttoning his shirt in front of the mirror, he caught himself hesitating. it had been a while since he’d gone out for anything other than work. 

arriving at the venue, akaza paused near the door, letting his eyes sweep over the room. laughter, music, and the clatter of glasses filled the space—an atmosphere far warmer than what he usually allowed himself to step into. he wasn’t much for parties, but this was muzan’s gathering, rare enough that skipping it would’ve felt like ignoring history itself.

as he moved further in, weaving past familiar-yet-forgotten faces, someone caught his eye.

“akaza?”

he turned, finding kaigaku grinning at him from across the table. they’d been schoolmates in college, though in different programs. kaigaku was the kind of person who always had a reputation for stirring things up—sometimes sharp, sometimes playful, always carrying a spark of trouble.

“been a while,” kaigaku said, lifting his glass slightly before setting it down. “thought you disappeared after graduation. didn’t think you’d show up tonight.”

akaza gave a small nod, the corner of his mouth twitching. “i almost didn’t.”

kaigaku chuckled. “figures. you never did like crowds.” he leaned back in his chair, studying him with that same probing look he used to have in class when he wanted answers without asking directly. “so, what have you been up to?”

“working,” akaza answered, voice low but steady. “near home.”

“responsible as ever,” kaigaku teased. “by the way, have you seen douma?”

akaza let out a long sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “didn’t see him on the way here. don’t tell me that bastard’s going to annoy—”

“akaza!” a voice boomed from across the room, loud enough to turn a few heads.

“—me again…” akaza froze mid-sentence, his jaw tightening. 

douma shouted cheerfully, weaving his way through the small crowd like he owned the place, his grin so wide it was almost blinding.

kaigaku snorted, trying and failing to hide his laugh behind his drink. “speak of the devil.”

akaza dragged a hand down his face. “why does he always have to make an entrance…”

as the three of them chatted, catching up on small things and trading light jabs, akaza eventually excused himself when he spotted the host of the night.

“i’ll be back,” he muttered, brushing past a few people before reaching muzan. akaza thought it was only right to offer his congratulations, even if it was just in passing.

after that, he drifted toward the food table, finally letting himself focus on the smell of roasted meat and freshly cooked rice. he made his way toward the food area, plate in hand, scanning through the dishes laid out neatly.

he’d just begun to serve himself when a familiar voice broke through the chatter behind him.

“akaza?”

he looked back and saw a familiar girl, arisa. her hair was styled differently than he remembered, but the smile she wore was the same.

“wow, it’s good to see you,” akaza said, setting the plate down on the table. “though i might ask, why are you here? are you and douma still together?”

arisa laughed, shaking her head. “no, no. douma invited me because he didn’t want to go alone, and i’m not entertaining guys anymore, if you know what i mean.”

akaza blinked at her words, then let out a small chuckle. “huh. well, good for you. at least you don’t have to deal with idiots like him anymore… do you maybe wanna eat with me, arisa?”

“yeah, sure.” she grabbed a plate. “douma’s face can get really thick, you know? i didn’t really wanna come, but he insisted. if i hadn’t seen you, i probably would’ve just stayed in the corner or left already.”

they found a quieter table near the corner, away from the loud laughter and clinking glasses. akaza dug into his food, while arisa sat across from him, her plate barely touched as she talked animatedly about her life after graduation. she told him about her work, and the people she met. akaza listened, genuinely glad to see her doing well, occasionally adding in his own updates about his job and how he was balancing it with taking care of his father.

“sounds like you’ve been doing alright for yourself,” arisa said with a grin, twirling her fork between her fingers. “better than douma, at least. he’s still a mess.”

their laughter faded into a comfortable pause, the kind that came with years of friendship. but then arisa’s expression softened, her voice quieter when she asked, “hey… have you moved on from (name) yet?”

the question landed like a weight in his chest. akaza froze, his fork hovering halfway to his mouth before he set it down carefully. he didn’t answer right away but his silence said more than words could.

arisa sighed, “akaza… you need to. i know it’s hard, but you can’t keep holding on forever.” she gave him a faint smile, though her eyes were heavy with her own memories. “i’ve gone through it already, you know? the five stages of grief.”

“were you ever mad at her?”

“yes,” arisa admitted softly, looking down at her hands. “because i didn’t want to be mad at myself… for not trying harder to reach out.”

akaza stayed quiet but her words hitting deeper than he wanted to admit.

weeks slipped by like sand through his fingers. work, home, sleep—repeat. that was his life now. the routine dulled the ache, but it didn’t erase it.

at work, akaza found himself lingering longer in conversations with his coworkers. the guy who gossiped too much—who he once wrote off as annoying—turned out to be funny in small doses, especially when he wasn’t the target of the chatter. another coworker, a quiet woman from accounting, occasionally shared snacks during break, and akaza found himself saying “thanks” without the stiffness he used to carry.

then after work, he started taking the long route home. walking instead of riding his motorcycle, just to clear his head. sometimes he stopped by the convenience store to pick up canned coffee.

he began sleeping earlier. not always—sometimes the night dragged him into old thoughts—but more often than not, he let his body rest.

on weekends, he started cooking meals with his father. simple ones at first, but enough to remind him that taking care of someone else didn’t have to be heavy. his father, frail as he was, always insisted on chopping vegetables even when akaza tried to stop him.

“my hands still work, don’t they?” his father would grumble.

akaza would just smile faintly and let him.

bit by bit, the edges of his life softened and he didn’t think of it as moving on. he just thought of it as living again.

graduation felt like it was supposed to be an ending and a beginning at the same time, but for (name) it was only an ending.

the cap and gown, the pictures, the fake smiles—none of it mattered when her mother was already calling, already rushing her out of the auditorium before the applause even faded.

she barely got to say goodbye.

her suitcase had been packed days before, shoved into the corner of her room like an omen. her mother didn’t want her lingering, didn’t want her ex to get even the slightest chance of finding her again. the restraining orders hadn’t done much the last time—he still showed up, still watched, still made her family feel unsafe.

so when the ceremony ended, she didn’t go to dinner with her friends just as they promised, she didn’t laugh in the parking lot or take a lot of group pictures under the pink-orange summer sky with their diplomas and certificates. instead she climbed into the car, her gown still wrinkled on her shoulders, her stomach twisting with everything she couldn’t say.

renji sat beside her with a handheld game console in his hands, the bright screen lighting up his small face. he kicked his feet restlessly against the seat, unaware—or maybe just unbothered—by the heaviness that hung over the car. meanwhile haruna was quiet in her own way, sat on the other side of (name). she had one earbud in, music turned down low, but she wasn’t fooling anyone—she kept sneaking glances at her older sister with concern.

the drive to the airport was filled mostly with their mother’s anxious reminders—delete accounts, change numbers, no posting online, keep your circle small. (name) nodded along, but her mind drifted elsewhere.

she thought of arisa, her laugh ringing louder than the music that night they stayed up way too late in (name)’s dorm room.

arisa had sprawled across the floor, textbooks tossed aside, balancing a bag of chips on her stomach while (name) tried to paint her nails.

“you suck at this,” arisa teased, wiggling her fingers and smudging the polish on purpose.

“stay still—” (name) said before giving up and tossing the bottle at her, only to miss.

arisa was the first one to laugh before (name), and soon they both collapsed into laughter so hard that the person who lived across from (name)’s dorm had to come knocking on the door.

a bitter smile appeared on (name)’s face as she absentmindedly followed her mom’s orders. when she was done, she removed her graduation gown and cap and stored them away. she stared down at the dress she had picked with arisa’s help.

“oh my god.” she slapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. “your breast is about to explode there. not that.”

(name) frowned, pulling at the hem. “it’s fine! you’re exaggerating.”

“exaggerating? please. one wrong move and we’re all going to jail because you flashed us and the audience look at you,” arisa said flatly, already waving her back inside.

grumbling, (name) went to change again. this time, the dress was long and plain, a muted color that hung too heavily.

arisa took one look and groaned. “absolutely no. you look like you’re attending your own funeral.”

“seriously?” (name) snapped, glaring at her in the mirror.

“seriously. i’d rather set the dress on fire than let you walk out in that.”

offended, (name) crossed her arms. “maybe i like it!”

arisa smirked, leaning back in her chair. “fine, wear it. look like a corpse on graduation. i’ll make sure everyone knows i tried to stop you.”

that finally cracked (name)’s stubborn pout, and she threw the hanger at arisa, who dodged it with a laugh.

after several more disasters, the fitting room floor was buried in rejected dresses. but then (name) stepped out in one that made arisa pause. her teasing stopped, replaced with something softer.

“now that,” arisa said, smiling, “is the one. you look like you already made it.”

as they arrived at the airport, (name)’s mom gently pulled her aside.

“i still have to work for a while, so i’ll be there with you three in about a week or so. i want you to take a rest, breathe, and let your grandma cook for your siblings and you. or better yet, get them to do something—help out or maybe learn cooking.” (name) nodded as her mom handed her the boarding ticket, along with instructions on where and when to go. when she was finished, she pulled all three of her children into a tight hug. “renji, behave, okay? and haruna—help your grandma. the last time we went there she told me you were just on your phone. i’m giving your older sister the leverage to confiscate that.”

haruna grumbled under her breath, something muffled about “favoritism” and “unfair treatment.” her mother only raised an eyebrow. “what was that?”

“nothing,” haruna muttered, clutching her phone a little tighter. renji snickered beside her, earning a light flick on the forehead from (name).

“ow—hey!”

“you deserved that,” she said, half-smiling. “now come on, we’re boarding soon.”

the announcement echoed through the terminal, calling their flight number. haruna sighed dramatically, slinging her backpack over one shoulder while renji bounded ahead, too excited to notice the faint tension in his sister’s voice.

(name) adjusted the strap of her bag, stealing one last glance at the bustling airport. the people, the chatter, the bright lights—it all felt oddly distant. she’d left in a hurry, telling herself she needed a break, a pause from everything that hurt too much to face. but as she followed her siblings toward the boarding gate, she couldn’t shake the quiet ache that settled beneath her ribs.

the flight attendant scanned their tickets, smiled, and gestured them forward.

haruna went in first, still sulking. renji waved at every crew member like it was his first time on a plane. and (name), trailing behind, exhaled softly before stepping through the narrow entrance—leaving behind the city, and everything she wasn’t ready to confront.

the house smelled the same as it always did—old wood, faint detergent, and something warm lingering in the air. she remembered it from when she was younger, visiting during long vacations. back then, it had felt like a temporary pause from the world. now it was the only place left that didn’t ask her to explain anything.

her grandmother fussed over them at first, telling haruna to help with the bags and renji to wash his hands before touching anything. (name) stood quietly by the doorway, her shoes still on, eyes darting between the small living room and the open window that looked out to the fields. it was almost sunset. the sky was a color she hadn’t seen in a while—soft orange melting into gray.

the first night, she couldn’t sleep. the room felt too still, too honest. in the city, there had always been noise to drown things out—the sound of cars, late-night chatter, the hum of the refrigerator in her apartment. here, there was only the chirping of crickets and her own breathing.

she turned on her side and stared at the faint pattern of light on the wall. her phone rested on the bedside table, dark and silent. she had deleted his number just a few hours ago, though sometimes she still scrolled through old photos she hadn’t managed to erase. not out of longing, she told herself, but because she didn’t know how to forget without proof that it had once been real.

it wasn’t until the third day that she started to feel time again. mornings were quiet—her grandmother would water the plants, renji would run errands to the nearby store, and haruna would sleep in. (name) helped where she could, but her hands always felt unsteady.

she would sit on the porch with a cup of tea, watching the clouds move lazily across the sky. it should’ve been peaceful, but peace wasn’t what she felt. it was more like floating—detached, as if she’d left some part of herself behind in the city and didn’t know how to reach for it again.

sometimes her grandmother would talk about neighbors or family friends. she’d nod at the right times, but most of the words slipped past her. her mind wandered back to a small memory—akaza sitting across from her in a dim café, the table cluttered with papers and coffee cups. he’d been trying to help her review for an exam, tracing notes on her pad with the back of his pen.

“you’re thinking too hard again,” he’d said, eyes narrowing slightly in that way he always did when he was both amused and worried.

“i’m trying to remember,” she’d answered, tapping her temple.

he’d leaned back in his chair. “your brain’s fine. you just don’t trust it.”

it was a simple exchange, nothing special, but it stayed with her—how easy it was for him to notice the things she didn’t say. she blinked the memory away, staring down at the empty cup in her hands. the tea had gone cold. she set it aside and stood, stretching slightly before heading back inside.

days turned into weeks, weeks into months. seasons folded over one another, soft and uneventful. the world outside her grandmother’s house seemed to move at a pace she could finally keep up with. mornings came slow; afternoons hummed quietly with the sound of radios from nearby houses. sometimes she’d walk along the narrow roads, counting clouds until she ran out of numbers.

she’d almost convinced herself this was enough—that stillness could be a kind of safety—until she stumbled upon an old notebook tucked behind a stack of folded linens. dust clung to its corners, the paper yellowed and soft. she opened it carefully.

one page stopped her cold.

“akaza used to joke that i could turn a grocery list into an existential crisis.”

the words blurred as her vision wavered. she shut the notebook before she could think too long about it.

her graduation had come and gone in a blur, and that night, she’d erased almost every trace of herself online. her mother had insisted—new number, no social media, no contact. it was the only way to stay safe. sometimes she wondered if he hated her for disappearing. she wouldn’t blame him if he did.

time went on like that. eventually, she started reviewing for her licensure exam. the pages of her reviewer smelled faintly of ink and time. she’d read until her eyes blurred, forcing herself to focus on what was in front of her—terms, theories, cases—anything that wasn’t memory.

still, she couldn’t help it. some words had ghosts attached to them.

“projection,” she read aloud one night. “the act of seeing one’s own emotions in others.”

she could almost hear his voice again, teasing her from across the study table.

“you do that a lot, you know.”

“do what?”

“pretend you don’t care about things that hurt.”

she had rolled her eyes back then, but he’d just smiled.

she closed her book and leaned back against the chair, her throat tightening. outside, the sky was heavy with clouds. a faint drizzle tapped against the windows, and for a moment, it felt like everything she’d run from had caught up to her again.

when her exam day finally arrived, she was calm in that strange way people are when there’s nothing left to lose. she sat in the testing room, eyes scanning the questions, mind oddly clear.

it wasn’t until she handed in her paper that the weight of it all hit her. she’d done it alone. no one to wait outside, no one to share the relief with. just herself and the long road home.

her grandmother cried when she passed. haruna clapped lazily, pretending not to care but smiling anyway. renji shouted that he’d always known she’d make it.

(name) laughed with them, but something in her chest still felt hollow.

somewhere between that laughter and the quiet nights that followed, she realized two years had slipped past her.

a week later, she received an email from a hospital in the city—one she must’ve applied to a month ago and forgotten about. they had a position open for a registered psychologist specializing in child development.

later that night, she showed her the email. her mother was sitting by the window, folding laundry, the faint sound of the television playing from the other room. when (name) handed her the phone, she read the message twice—once quickly, then again slower, like she was hoping the words might change.

“it’s in the city,” her mother said quietly.

(name) nodded. “i know.”

a long silence followed before her mother set the phone down on her lap, hands still gripping the edge of the folded shirt.

“you remember why we left,” she said finally. “he knew where you lived. where we lived.”

“it’s been two years,” (name) murmured, though even as she said it, her voice sounded unsure.

the words lingered in the air, and for a second, she felt small again—like she was back in that car after graduation, the city lights fading in the mirror, her heart beating too fast to breathe.

but she wasn’t that girl anymore, was she? she wanted to believe that the fear had faded, that the world had changed shape in her absence. maybe it hadn’t. maybe she had.

“i just want to try again,” she said at last, her voice quiet but steady. “i don’t want everything to end there.”

her mother sighed, folding the last shirt and setting it aside before speaking softly. “then be careful this time.”

(name) smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. that night, she drafted her reply. her fingers hovered over the send button for a long time before she finally pressed it.

on the morning of her departure, her grandmother hugged her tightly. “don’t let the past chase you,” she whispered.

renji tried to act brave at first, hands shoved into his pockets, pretending to be more interested in the suitcase than the fact that she was leaving. but when she knelt down to say goodbye, his lips trembled and his eyes filled fast.

“i don’t like it when you go,” he mumbled, wiping at his face with the back of his sleeve.

(name) smiled softly, brushing a hand through his hair. “i know. i don’t like it either.”

he threw his arms around her neck, clinging tight like he used to when (name) goes back to her dorm in college. she held him just as firmly, breathing in the faint scent of soap and grass that always followed him.

when he finally let go, she kissed his forehead and stood, forcing herself not to look back as her grandmother pressed a small charm into her palm.

the flight back to the city was quiet. clouds drifted beneath the window, soft and shapeless, and she wondered if coming back meant starting over—or just returning to what she’d tried to escape.

by the time she landed, the sun had already dipped below the skyline. she took a taxi to a small apartment near the hospital, the kind with thin walls and a single buzzing light in the hallway. it wasn’t much, but it was hers.

she unpacked carefully, folding clothes into drawers, arranging dishes into cabinets. by the time she finished, it was past midnight. exhaustion weighed heavy on her shoulders, but sleep didn’t come easily. she lay in bed staring at the ceiling and for the first time in years, there were no cicadas, no distant ocean—just the low murmur of traffic and the occasional bark of a stray dog.

morning came slow and gray. she dressed neatly—a beige blouse, slacks, her hair tied back—keeping everything simple, professional. her reflection in the mirror looked composed, though her heartbeat said otherwise. she double-checked her folder: identification, résumé, recommendation letter, certificates. everything had to be in order.

before leaving, she lingered by the door for a moment, staring at the single potted plant on her windowsill. she wasn’t sure why she’d bought it, but the quiet green made the apartment feel less empty.

the taxi ride to the hospital was quiet. she watched the city pass by—the people, the buildings, the blur of lights—until the sight of the hospital gates filled her chest with something between hope and dread.

the hospital smelled faintly of antiseptic and paper and almost too bright for her still-adjusting eyes. she arrived fifteen minutes early, clutching her bag a little too tightly as the receptionist led her through the maze of corridors. the walls were lined with cheerful posters about mental wellness and empathy, though most of the staff looked too tired to notice them.

her new supervisor, dr. hayashi, greeted her with a polite smile. “we’re short on child specialists,” she said, flipping through her file. “i called your professor when you submitted your résumé online and she spoke highly of you. said you were patient and observant. and you told her before that you wanted to be a child psychologist.”

she nodded, unsure how to respond. patient didn’t feel like the right word—not when her hands still shook at sudden noises, not when she sometimes woke in the night, heart pounding from dreams she couldn’t shake.

after a long interview, dr. hayashi told her to go sit in the cafeteria while they discussed her application. she wandered there quietly, clutching her bag, and sat at a corner table, pretending to busy herself with the paperwork even as her stomach twisted with nerves.

by lunchtime, she sat alone in the cafeteria, staring into her untouched food. conversations buzzed around her—doctors laughing, nurses sharing gossip—but it all felt distant. she was used to being quiet, invisible even, but this kind of silence pressed against her ribs.

her phone buzzed on the table. a message from her mother.

[mom]

mom: how was your first day?

(name): it’s fine. i think i’ll be okay.

she set the phone down and exhaled, eyes unfocused on the window’s reflection. she almost didn’t notice when a nurse approached her table.

“(last name)?” the woman said gently. “dr. hayashi asked me to let you know she’s ready to see you again.”

her stomach lurched, and she nodded, gathering her papers. the cafeteria noise seemed to fade as she walked back toward the supervisor’s office. the corridors felt narrower this time, the fluorescent lights harsher.

dr. hayashi looked up from her desk, offering a small smile. “thank you for waiting,” she said. “we discussed your application, and we’d like to offer you the position. starting next week.”

relief and anxiety collided in her chest. she nodded, trying to steady her voice. “thank you. i appreciate the opportunity and will work hard to meet your expectations.”

“i know you will,” dr. hayashi said, handing her the official schedule and office key.

she took the papers, her hands still trembling slightly, and tucked them into her bag. the moment felt surreal—like stepping into a world she had imagined but hadn’t dared to reach for until now.

she left the office with her key clutched in her hand, walking past the corridors that had once seemed overwhelming. now, the same halls felt slightly more like they could hold her.

later, in her small apartment, she unpacked the forms and placed her office key on the desk. she checked the schedule once more, double-checking her first week’s assignments, then set her bag aside.

that night, she slept early, letting the quiet hum of the city seep through the thin walls and when morning came, she dressed carefully, packed only the essentials for her first day—pens, notebook, water bottle—and took a deep breath before stepping out. the hospital awaited, bright and sterile, and for the first time in a long while, she felt ready to meet it.

she arrived slightly early, the lobby buzzing softly with the usual morning chatter. she nodded to the receptionist and made her way to the elevator, clutching her bag a little tighter than necessary. her office was quiet, the fluorescent lights and the faint scent of antiseptic filling the room. she set her bag down, took a moment to organize the pens and papers on her desk, and reviewed her schedule—appointments with children, consultations with parents, and a few follow-ups. the rhythm of the day settled around her like a careful plan, waiting for her to step into it.

her first patient was a young boy, shy and withdrawn, gripping a worn toy car tightly in his small hands. she knelt slightly to meet his gaze, speaking softly. “hi, i’m (name). would you like to tell me about your car?”

he hesitated, then nodded, a faint smile breaking through. she listened carefully, encouraging him with gentle prompts, observing not just his words but the subtle movements of his hands and eyes. every tiny interaction felt significant, and she wrote down notes, careful to capture the details that might help her understand him better.

as the morning passed, she began to find a rhythm—listening, observing, guiding. each session left her exhausted but strangely energized, the sense of purpose quieting the tension that had lived in her chest for so long.

lunchtime came, and she found a corner table in the cafeteria. she ate slowly, letting the buzz of conversations and footsteps wash over her without feeling pressed to join. 

the afternoon stretched on with more sessions, each one a careful balance of attention, patience, and empathy. by the end of the day, her notebook was full, her mind heavy but her spirit steadier. she packed her bag, locking away her notes, and stepped out into the soft glow of evening and made her way near outside, her attention half on her phone and half on the world around her. as she glanced up, her eyes flicked to where someone had been standing before she left the building.

akaza stepped out of his office, bag in hand, his friend already gone and the shared office left perfectly tidy. he froze for a moment when he saw her, the familiar curve of her shoulders, the way she held herself slightly apart from the crowd, and his chest tightened as their eyes met, even if only for a brief heartbeat.

“(name)...?”

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