✧.*

Who are you to refuse, really?

It is dark—but, well, you walk around in the dark all the time—and you don't live in the safest area—be honest, you're at absolutely no risk of getting abducted at your weight.

For god’s sake, your brain needs to quit it with these insecure thoughts and just accept this opportunity. How many times in your life will a military commander with a pretty voice and muscles big enough to take on your weight be this persistent in pursuing you?

Exactly.

You nod, but that lingering part of you is worried about having him so deep in your personal space. It feels too serious and vulnerable. Still, what harm could a puppy-eyed soldier bring to the dark walk up to your place?

Not a moment of hesitation passes before the driver’s door slams shut, and he almost forgets to lock the car. "See, if I had let you walk all the way home, it'd be this dark out while you're still out near my place. Sketchy stuff, darlin'," he mumbles as he finds his place at your side.

His arm hovers at your back, fingertips just barely brushing at the dip of your spine, like he wants to help and guide you even though he doesn’t have the first clue as to which door is yours.

The two of you begin to climb the stairs up to your level, and you’re only halfway up the first flight when you break the silence with an apology. You feel guilty for being so harsh towards him in the car, because he truthfully hasn’t done anything to deserve it.

And also the smell of his cologne is stuck in your nose. And the feeling of his eyes on you is making your heart race. And the ghost of his warm hand still lives on your thigh and it feels so, so good.

And maybe you’re sorta willing to give this a chance, even if it means you end up humiliating yourself.

If only you felt more confident in your ability to flirt right now. It’s a warm night and you’re walking up two flights of stairs—you’d bet money you don’t look your best.

“Oh, don’t be sorry,” Phillip easily replies. “I shoulda realized you weren’t into it—I'm usually a lot better about this stuff. I guess I just really didn’t wanna give up my chance with you.” His tone is almost self deprecating as he speaks. “I’ll stop botherin’ you, I swear it.”

Shit.

Have you really managed to be so insecure you fumbled a once in a life time opportunity to get with a man this hot?

You almost trip over the stairs but manage not to fall on your face. How can you backtrack all of this without sounding desperate? Stuttering over an explanation that it’s really not that serious and you actually don’t mind, you find yourself inviting him to have a beer at your place before he drives back—to pretty please let you make up for all of your previous defensive behavior.

The words tumble out before you can even fully realize what you’re saying, but you’re somewhat thankful of that fact. If you weren’t a complete blundering mess at the moment then you probably wouldn’t have had the confidence to ask something like that.

Your heart is racing faster than at any other point this night, and when he doesn’t immediately respond, you open your mouth to take it back.

“You sure, sugar? I don’t wanna impose any more than I already have.”

No, please, please, please.

You nod your head and chew on your lip.

“Hell, I’d love to.”

Oh, thank god.

When you make it to your door, Phillip stands close behind you, one hand braced on the doorframe. His shadow casts over you in the dim light of the hallway sconces, and you swear the gravity of this situation lands on you like a physical weight. His other hand reaches around you and pushes the door open once you’ve unlocked it like he’s eager. When he steps inside, he closes the door right behind him.

"Nice place you got here," he comments idly, glancing around at your arguably messy and bland living room. He’s gotta be lying just to be nice. You've seen his place—you know yours doesn’t compare.

You grab two beers from the fridge and hand one to him, dropping to lounge on the couch. Suddenly you regret your invitation for him to join you because what exactly was your plan here? He's sitting here looking like your most shameful fantasy and you're just sitting there with no idea of what to say or do. He has to be the one to save you and initiate a conversation.

"I know you already forgave me," he starts. You're already cringing in anticipation. He's really not gonna let this topic up. To be fair, you can't stop thinking about everything that's happened tonight either. "But I really want you to trust me; I want to give you a reason to trust me." A sigh passes his lips, and you shakily sip your beer as you watch the way he looks over you. His eyes linger on every little bit from head to toe. You don't even realize how you tug at your shirt or grab a pillow to hold over your lap. Those things are all already subconscious habits at this point.

His jaw clenches as he watches, and he notices. He glares at the pillow like its very presence is a particularly offensive personal attack on him. "Let me prove myself," he whispers as he looks back up at your face, eyes darkened. A beat passes and you don't respond, so he shifts a little bit closer. Your fingers curl tighter in the pillow.

"You're genuinely the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

A shift closer.

"From that first moment I saw you in my home, I just knew I would never be able to let you go."

Another.

"And I told all my buddies that I'd getcha; but you ain't that easy, are you?" He scoffs softly. "No, I looked forward to making a fool of myself if front of all my men every damn time because it meant I got to look at you. I'd make a fool of myself a thousand more times if it meant you keep throwin' me scraps."

He gently grabs your can from your hand with no resistance from you, and he sets both drinks aside. He would rather hold your face anyway. His palm cradles your jaw. Your eyes are wide with awe and nerves, and he swims in them. "A whole meal is better than scraps, though, and I'm a greedy man." He's so close now that his warm, beer-scented breath fans over your parted lips. His eyes are half lidded, and they're more focused on your lips than your eyes at this point.

"Is this alright, sweet girl?" You nod and swallow thickly. "Good, then let me prove myself."

He ducks his head in a quick motion and your lips connect, his other hand moving to find your arm. You gasp softly—you don't even know why you're surprised, it was obvious what he was trying to do. Still, a part of you didn't really expect he'd actually go through with it.

You're caught off guard and your breath is trapped in your throat. He doesn't pull away, simply swallowing any little noises and breaths you try to steal during your kiss. His hand slides into your hair and cradles your head to pull you closer as he kisses you again, and again, and again.

Fuck, it feels so good.

You reach your hands out blindly to rest on his chest and he immediately hums in reaction, placing his own hand firmly over yours to encourage you. None of this feels real. His muscles are hard and solid beneath your hands, and you're looping your arms around his neck before you even process what you're doing.

"Please, baby," he mumbles against your lips, his tongue just barely darting out. "Believe me." His breaths come out in short, hot puffs, and his voice is lower and more drawn out than usual. He swallows down the taste of you on his tongue as he continues to devour you. "I need you to believe me."

He finally pulls back, only taking a breath to admire your flushed face and glossy lips before he's nuzzling into your neck. His arms wrap around you to clumsily hold you closer, and when he places a small kiss below your ear and you don't pull away, that's the only confirmation he needs. His lips part and he trails hot, wet kisses over the line of your neck. His tongue sweeps over the sweet skin, tasting the salt of your sweat and lingering perfume.

The soft little noises you make land right against his ear and each one spurs him on to kiss harder.

Now that he has you, he’s not letting go.

And now that he has you, he’s lost all control.

He gently nibbles at the spot where your neck and shoulder meet, and his arms tighten around you like he’s worried you might pull away at any moment. “You make every mission worth it,” he manages to say between kisses. “Every time I’m out there—with all the sweat, and dirt, and blood—I think about the fact that I gotta get back home so I can see your pretty face on my couch again.”

Phillip sounds drunk as he talks, and you know it’s not from the beer—you’re actually pretty sure he only managed to take one sip before deciding he’d rather drink you instead. You’re right there beside him, though. It feels like every kiss is melting your brain, dissolving away any apprehension or rational thought.

He lifts his head once more to press another kiss to your lips before pulling back just enough to speak.

“Gimme more, baby. Please, I need more.”

© urprettybird

A/N: WHOS EXCITED FOR THE FINAL PART YAYYYY. part 5 is gonna be so so yummy u guys don’t even know >:3

Tag list:

@bookishpuppytale @jellychannie @cumikering @atlas3rr0r-1974 @pistolprinc3ss @slittlewing @vused @miniaturetotemglyph

you felt that there was a sense of freedom associated with the idea of flying. as though the very act could release you from your mind, which caged you inside of its deprecations far earlier than you'd like to recall. something about the carelessness, the ease, the way birds would leap from branches and glide through the sky, flapping their feathered wings to carry themselves overhead seemed as though it would provide the answers to all of your problems.

you longed for such lightness, such liberty, the lack of fruitless responsibility, the very cycle of life serving as your only worldly concern.

but instead, you were grounded. damned for eternity to live within the body you possess, forced to serve a sentence out on earth with no means of escape.

you'd prayed for such mutations, for god to grant you grace after having planted you in a world, in a home which always subjected you to far too much cruelty. you were only seven when the first thought of ridding yourself from the world planted itself into your hardly developed mind, for the stinging buzz of your cheekbone and the orange circle of fire that sizzled into your arms left you very little reason to want to stick around much longer, to stay within such conditions.

you remember trembling hands clasping tight with your elbows digging into your bed as you whispered frantically under your breath, tilting your head up to the ceiling where you believed the ruler of all life, of the universe resided. you prayed for peace. you prayed for a chance. you prayed for flight.

at first, you had merely believed that your prayers had been delayed. that there was a long line of similar wishes stretching out before yours, and that the provider would eventually find the time to handle your mess, to unweave your sorrows, to gift you life.

put time went by. cigarettes burned brighter, hands swung down harder, lips busted, eyes swelled, and your hands locked tighter as your prayers grew more desperate.

you elected to take matters into your own hands a few times, to attempt to help god speed up the process by slipping away in the middle of the night, attempting to flee. but every time, police reports feigning devastation and worry always brought you back, back to captivity, clipping your wings that hadn't even begun to grow.

the years went by, and you eventually gave up on sprituality. religion. god.

mercy.

scars inflicted by those meant to care, to love faded into darker marks, past memories of savagery that even the heavens could not salvage. by ten years old, the light had drained from your eyes. the world no longer held the possibility of something new, something better. your mind could no longer trick itself into conjuring lies about a brighter future, where your skin was smooth and your heart was full, where your innocent words were not maliciously twisted in order to inflict some kind of rash punishment, some excuse to belittle, abuse, dehumanize before your brain had even started to differentiate right from wrong, weak from strong.

and no one ever helped you. you'd go to school with full eyes and bruises beating beneath your uniform like a million heartbeats. you'd fall mute in class, during lunch, at recess, subjecting you to further negative attention. kids picked on you until you developed the habit of retaliating.

what you'd learned from home swiftly transferred to your place of academics, and your little fist would fly into a snotty girl's jaw before you let the mockery slip from her mouth again.

it was the only semblance of control you had. the only way you could release the monstronsity building up inside you. the only way you could seek justice for yourself, if god refused to do it for you.

a blur of meetings with the principal, with guidance counselors, with security officers and police who never truly saw you, never truly heard you flashed through your childhood. the bloodier your nose became behind closed doors, the bloodier your fist became in public. you had become a bully, transitioning from the victim of circumstance to the aggravator inflicting it.

until you were expelled at thirteen, and life was consequently almost torn away from you by your abuser.

you lay awake that night on your carpet in a pool of blood, crimson dripping from your mouth, drenching your squished cheek to the floor. you didn't bother moving as you stared up at the ceiling. eyes lidded. lips parted and smushed. lashes fluttering.

and that stain on the ceiling you'd always stared at morphed into the odd shape of something living. no longer a smudge, but a bird with crooked wings, still flapping relentlessly, flying away.

you shuddered a breath that tickled the strands of the spattered carpet beneath you.

the curses manifested pretty early. the monsters that trailed behind you as you trudged your way to school, their slippery claws ripping at your skin, whispering absurdities into your ear, willing the worse thoughts to become somehow darker, somehow heavier.

no one talked to you much as you as you grew older, as the air about you grew thicker with distain and malice and sorrow. they could always sense something off, some energy about you not quite vibrating at the same frequency as theirs. something scary, and impossible to name.

you transferred between schools rather frequently, never quite setting roots anywhere. the only thing that was home to you was the pain that constantly circled through your body and mind, conjuring up masses of cursed energy that flared and swarmed like diseased flies, like sicknesses you could not seem to shake. your yearning for animal life, for flight manifested in the curses you subconsciously brought to life, and you merely thought you were losing your mind as you watched their shadows dance across the walls in the middle of the night as your comforter tugged over your mouth.

nothing quite fazed you much after that. your mind had gone long ago, therefore anything strange, anything new that was gruesome and foul just sank deeper into you like it belonged.

you wanted to die. you'd wanted to die since the moment you could conjure up a thought. since the moment the world reared its ugly head to you before you lost your first tooth. life had nothing for you if it was only going to remind you of your misfortune, rip you away from pleasant dreams where the ghost of you quietly slipped away into the clouds, past the stars.

your feet hurt with every step you took over the ground, for every step that was not lifted by flight. you hardly noticed that the curses you'd left in your wake slowly began to mutilate those who wronged you, every classmate who whispered, every counselor who overstepped, and with time, your abuser. your aunt.

it wasn't until then, when you were sixteen years old, when you finally lowered your gaze from the sky to meet another one before you. in the shape of pools beneath snowy lashes, a terror so wrecked in them that you could not look away.

you stared at him over your shoulder, and gradually, your eyes grew wide. his hand was thrusted into the direction of the now flayed monster that you had only believed yourself to be able to see. the body of your aunt lay just before the exterminated curse, blood splatter mixed with some kind of alien purple decorating the kitchen oven

a boy with moonlight hair stood amidst your mess, and the gurgling chatter of your monsters had suddenly gone silent under the pressure of his presence, of his destruction.

but what you'd first thought to be terror and disgust in what he'd stumble upon turned into steely grief for you instead, his eyes as tired and dull as yours as he lowered his hand and scanned the area solemnly.

then his gaze is back on you, and the two of you could only stare. for you don't recall anyone ever having looked at you the way he did then, ever quite piercing you with his gaze like he had, ever quite seeing you so clearly before.

like you were raw and exposed before him. all your monsters he crushed. all the thorny misery that inspired them. blood stained your clothes, but he looked only at you and not at what you did... like you were a person. like you were just as real as the sorrow you felt. like he was exhausted to see such a thing happen again.

and you never did forget the frown the tugged his lips downward, and what felt like a hundred miles separating you before you collapsed to your knees with a thud, hoping for some final relief, hoping that the boy strong enough to erradicate your curses could do the same to you.

you closed your eyes when you felt footsteps approaching after a moment of silence, his cursed energy warping the very air that surrounded you. tears dribbled down your cheeks as you began to think that this was it, that the end of your life had finally come, that wings to flutter you away were just around the corner, gifted by the angel with eyes that match the neverending sky.

instead of his wrath, however, you are met with a hand extended once you peel your eyes back open upon not feeling any pain. you stare up at him, eyes blown and watery, and his brows drag together as he looks at you, something weighted and torn behind those sapphire irises.

you'd never touched a softer hand when you dared to reach.

the higher ups wanted you dead, especially since your appearance and the death caused by your negative energy transpired mere months after another boy's defection. though every sign pointed toward a likely evil nature, satoru didn't give up on you.

he always says that when he looked you in the eye, he knew that you just needed a chance at grace.

the white haired seventeen year old roped yaga into his argument when he brought you back from the mission as asked, pleading, begging him to look - to really look at you for one second and decide whether you deserved penatly or not, whether you had asked for what befell you.

you became satoru's indirect responsibility after that, so yaga enrolled you into the strange school, the very last school you would ever transfer to again.

you noticed that the higher ups often pulled satoru away from you at the best of times, using him to their advantage, as a weapon for humanity by sending him on mission after mission, leaving you to the hands of your professors, yaga, and the principal who always eyed you suspiciously when he walked by.

and while the urge to fixate on the old man's hostility toward you was strong, you found that his and the other higher ups' were the only hostility you'd come to know in this place.

for students didn't run away from you when they saw you coming. they didn't glare, or murmur, or wish you dead. no, they offered their hand to you just as satoru did that day, introducing themselves, welcoming you into their lives.

and satoru had become your closest friend, always rushing to your dorm the second he'd return from a mission to check in and see how you were doing, to flood your darkness with what you'd come to call his corny jokes and demanding presence, his obsessive need for your attention as though you'd known each other all of your lives.

it didn't take long for you to grow attached. though he paraded about as the jolliest boy in the world, you always saw the soul past his bright eyes, the pain he burrowed deep that touched yours. you'd catch him gazing off into the distance sometimes thoughtfully, or watching you close from the corner of your bed as you did homework. a million words hid behind his mouth that he never spoke, but his stare always told a deeper story.

and you, a former alien to kindness, gained light as you gained trust and control over your cursed energy. that resentment toward the world still lingered, but morphed into heavy guilt along the way, as you witnessed the horrors that curses inflicted upon human society.

satoru has always known you to be depressed. he thinks of the day he first saw you more than he is willing to admit, how easily you dropped to the ground before him, hoping that he'd take away your pain with the snap of his fingers.

it haunts him.

you don't smile with your eyes, and you spend more time staring at the clouds than you do on planet earth. he feels your anxiety buzzing through your body every day, and while you've grown into yourself as a sorcerer, as a person with time and age and friendship and love, your heartbeat still skips along like it's trying to kick its way out of your body, like you're trying to break through.

your cirumstance is strange, unlike suguru geto's. you didn't ask for the curses you bred. you didn't ask for the abuse that you endured. you didn't ask for this natural, unbridled, dangerous power that you harnessed the best you could for good.

but with age and time also came further strength, and just like satoru, you posed a threat to the jujutsu world in the higher ups' eyes, leading them to place further restraints on you as a graduate, and eventually as a young teacher.

for no matter how much control you gained, your trauma still remains. your depression still lives. and at any given moment, you could snap.

the guilt swallows you whole in your young adulthood. you wake up in the night from the cold slap of a woman you accidentally killed, your chest heaving up and down as you stare into the darkness. you think of all those missing classmates. of those who suffered at the hand of your subconscious anger, even without the manifestation of those curses.

the scars on your knuckles remind you of your cruelty.

and now that you are tasked with the protection of humanity, now that people like gakuganji are there to remind you of who you really are apart from satoru's affections and your friends' empathy, you stew in your responsibility. in all the bad that you've done. in the cycle that you've repeated, and are likely to repeat again.

you hate yourself. you always have.

you feel like an imposter when you first notice the soft way satoru looks at you in the lamp light of your dorm desk when you're kids, his head resting in your lap, his knees to the floor and his arms around your waist as you read. your shared privacy became a treasured thing as you grew together, your internal anguish molding into something warmer in the other's presence, for you acknowledged one another's independent struggle.

and satoru sees what suguru could have been in you. the kindness. the authenticity. the shared depression.

he finds that he doesn't want to lose you the way he did suguru. not in any way, for that matter.

and you consistently find it difficult to believe that satoru truly cares about you. you expect him to disappear one day, to turn on you, to walk away and antagonize you like every body else you've ever allowed yourself to be vulnerable around has.

you tense around him, because that softness, that gentle quality he gains in the empty spaces of your silence and company frightens you. you don't allow yourself to think it's real. for who could ever truly care about someone like you? someone beaten and tormented all of her life, hardly seen as a human at all? ignored, shamed, broken.

someone like satoru could never love you, someone so needed and desired by the world. what could he possibly do with the woman he ended up stuck with? with the woman who further complicates his already complicated life?

he's the strongest, and for the honored one to pledge such loyalty to you, to nothing, doesn't make sense. you can't think of yourself as any more than a burden.

so when his hands come down to rub your back as he intrudes on your studies in the libary, the teasing lilt in his tone hardly matching the way his fingers tenderly linger, you go rigid. has another person's touch always been so gentle? have hands always had the ability to ease such grievances?

you feel like an imposter to experience so, staring skeptically and shyly when he flashes you warm smiles, or offers to try to (horribly) paint your nails when he notices that the polish has chipped, are drops his head into your chest when he's tired after a mission, murmuring a weak request for your hands to slip through his hair and stroke his scalp to sleep.

you never understood how easily he touched you, despite your history with having hurt so many before.

you felt like an imposter when you realized you'd fallen in love with him in your early twenties, when he proved to stick around and wrap himself tighter around your finger in spite of your darkness, and even more so when he grabbed your cheeks in the rain and pulled you into longing kiss some time after.

you remember the way the rain soaked your clothes, and the way his drenched strands of ivory hair stuck to your skin. you remember your body feeling cold, yet your heart warm in a way you'd never quite felt, in a way you didn't know was possible for someone like you.

you feel like an imposter now, at twenty five years old, by the strongest sorcerer's side as his girlfriend. while the higher ups continue to seethe. and you continue to doubt. and satoru continues to love, with everything inside of him.

it only makes you feel worse. and after a while of peace, the noise gets loud again, reminding you of your origins, of who you are and not who you are currently trying to be.

you think satoru doesn't see right through you, but he knows. he always knows just exactly what you're feeling. he's seen you at your worst. he knows your tells from the inside out. he knows your depression like it's his own, recalls how it can eat one alive from the inside and chemically alter the makeup of their brain.

satoru worries for you every day that he is alive. he worries for your safety, for you pose as a danger to yourself. he notices the way you avert your gaze whenever he smiles lovingly at you, as though you feel as though you aren't deserving of the happiness he provides. he notices the way your cursed energy warbles and twitches like a trapped bird, how it constantly battles against your own psyche as you try to prevent yourself from posing as a bigger threat than you already are.

he knows that your obsession with birdwatching stems from something deeper. that the way your eyes longingly gaze at their flight speaks volumes that you will never amplify.

he notices how when he tells you that he loves you, your eyes glaze over and go distant, for this love you share is the first and only authentic connection that you have approached. he knows that. and he strives to show you how much he loves you all the more.

but he knows you don't believe him. and god, it scares him. it scares him that you could one day choose to do something to yourself under his nose, thinking that you'd be ridding him of a burden when in actuality, you'd be taking away the best thing that ever happened to him.

so satoru watches you like a hawk 24/7, keeping a sharp eye out for you, for your heart's patterns, and the messages behind your beautiful eyes. he kisses you softer each day, holds you tighter every morning, preserving that precious intimacy between you to keep your head steady, to show you that he would sooner see the entire world face extinction before you.

he thinks it works for a while.

everything changes one day, however, when the higher ups send him overseas for a few weeks, leaving you alone with the school and the rest of your peers. satoru hates when he is sent away for any period time, for abandoning you stresses and ails him like no other. he knows how you feel about being separated from him in such an environment, and he believes that gakuganji and his goons are starting to pull him away more and more again on purpose.

he creates a fuss, but inevitably leaves with no choice.

"i'll be back as soon as i can, pretty," he tells you gently as he holds your cheeks in his hands, tilting your face up for him to see your solemn expression clearly. his heart aches at your permanently sad eyes, and he curses every old giezer that pulls him away from you. his sweet girl. he dots a kiss to your forehead and smiles when he pulls back. "i promise."

you nod quietly with a light exhale. your hand holds over his as he holds you. "just be safe, please."

"safe is my middle name," he beams.

you crack a weak laugh, and satoru grins. "no it's not."

"for you, it is," he kisses your nose. "will you be okay while i'm gone?"

your expression slightly dampens again, your smile fading as you nod once more. "of course," you say swiftly, too swiftly. "i'm fine, satoru. you don't have to keep worrying about me. i'm a grown woman. i can handle you being away."

the blue eyed sorcerer's jaw clenches. he senses the tension in your words, but attempts to lighten it with a dramatic pout. "you won't miss me?"

you scoff and roll your eyes with that hint of a smile. "of course i'll miss you," you retort. "...i'll miss you a lot."

the strings of satoru's heart tug as he tilts his head, his eyes softening. he ducks down to peck your lips, and your lashes flutter. "i'll miss you too, baby. more than anything," he murmurs. "i'll drop in to check in, yeah?"

"you don't need to do that, toru. you'll get in trouble."

"i know. but i want to," he shows all pearly whites again, and you can't help but smile once more. you never can help it when satoru is around, showering you with sunshine.

he kisses you once more, long and sweet this time, before pulling back to peck your cheek. "answer the phone when i call," he whispers.

"i always do. i should be telling you that."

"you know i will. i'll drop anything for you."

you don't like the tight feeling his statement leaves in your chest.

it takes a while for satoru to finally pry himself off of you and leave, but the second he does, he steals all the light with him. and your classroom is suddenly empty, the silence blaring. you stare off, face and arms dropping slowly, and you ache.

and just as you suspected, a week or so after satoru left, the higher ups call you in for a meeting.

you tremble with anxiety as you approach, standing in the middle of the room with candle light circling you, distant, ancient voices laced with anger ringing out to shame you. to reprimand you for a recent report nanami filed on a mission you were sent on with him the previous week. how you can not cling to satoru as an excuse for your presence here, how the restrictions they have put on your cursed technique are not to be tampered with, as they almost were during that mission. when your emotions almost spiraled.

"you are a liability!" gakuganji huffs. "if i am to hear about one more incident where you almost will yourself to slip away from all the work we've done to keep you in check, then we will have no choice but to suspend you and re-evalute your execution!"

such words would only be uttered in the absence of satoru gojo.

you feel the world shrinking in around you, seeing the faces of your aunt and classmates surrounding you in the closed shutters of the higher ups' private offices. you hear the words that your aunt used to hiss at you before hands came flying. and what was once rage at such memories and treatment has dampened into sorrow, for you leave that meeting with shuddering breaths hiccuping from your throat and eyes glossing over with tears.

you don't notice the way the laterns sway as you stomp down the corridors. you don't notice that way your shadow trembles and splits in two. you don't notice anything but the pit in your gut, and the voices in your head telling you that this is all you will ever be.

someone the world wishes to be rid of.

you don't remember how you got here.

the sun sets behind the skyline, the wind viciously tossing your hair and clothes to and fro from this height. your feet are bare as they grip for footing along the cement ledge , your tight shoes discarded somewhere behind you.

the city's distanct cries almost sound quiet from here as you look down at the ants dotting the sidewalk and the tiny blinking lights lining the road. your cheeks are stained with drying tears, your eyes red. you can feel the rumble of curses behind you, rampant along the rooftop, but you don't hear them. not fully.

your mind is numb, your ears are ringing, and a strange sense of lightness overtakes you as you regard the world from above, wondering if this is the same view that birds have when they are soaring high above. you wobble slightly along the ledge, peering down over the bridge of your nose. the wind attempts to toss you, but you remain balanced. in control.

it's a long way down. the drop will certainly bring death quick.

your mind replays the sound of your body smacking the ground, as it has for many years over, but you don't flinch upon the imaginary impact. instead, you picture how the flight down must feel. how the gravity will grip you and pull you through the air as you go limp, nothing more connecting you to the earth but the deadly contact with the pavement that awaits.

a huff of amused air shoots through your nose, your lips twitching slightly at the thought. for you will no longer have to worry anymore. you will no longer have to be mindful of your technique, of your emotions, of how satoru will look at you when he comes back, how he makes everything in his life about you when he should be worrying about himself.

your heart lurches. you never believed yourself to be capable of love before, whether receiving or giving. therefore, you convince yourself that it was all a brief fantasy, that satoru felt pity toward you and all that you are not able to do. but now, you can no longer tell yourself that you deserve this. that this is your life. that satoru wouldn't have been better off never meeting you.

for what are you, truly, but a pestilence? but another ant beneath someone's feet? a monster the world must destroy?

you're a sorcerer. your job is to protect and to fight of imposing danger. you have never been anything different from what you have sworn your lift to erradicate.

you don't have the strength any longer. to live with the scars of your past. to perform as a fraud in a school that once protected you. as far as you are concerned, the higher ups have every right to want you dead.

for you want yourself dead just as much, if not more.

so here you stand atop this tall building, ready to serve one last duty to this unforgiving world. ready to free yourself.

ready to fly.

you close your eyes, and everything goes mute save for a bird's imaginary melody floating through your ears. you see the vision of that smudge on the ceiling flapping its wings, then satoru smiling with pinched dimples and rosy cheeks, hair fluffy and glowing in the crack of early morning sun.

you could hear the birds then, singing through the window, just as you do now.

your foot raises. curses hiss and croak louder. the air tightens, your body wobbles.

and you step off.

you plummet, your body twirling about until you shoot down head first. your fingers twitch, and you savor what it finally feels like to be airbone. the wind is harsh against your body, unforgiving in a way that only nature could be. you give yourself completely to the feeling, awaiting the harsh pound of death.

instead, the sound of the atmosphere warping cuts through just miliseconds before something familiar and compact collides with you, rocketing by and swopping you up just before you can hit the ground.

something guttural and shocked flocks from you as reality shifts, that same sound coming and going quick, and you fall to the ground under the weight of what hit you.

but the ground isn't hard or painful. it's soft like carpet as you lay flat against it. your own heaving breaths are matched by another's, and you blink your eyes open to see those white strands peaking out as the owner's face shields itself in the crook of your shoulder, breaths hard against your skin.

you stare upward in your stupor, your mind slowly registering what happened. are you still alive? are you dead? dreaming?

satoru's scent and the pressure of his body overtop of yours leaves you confused, for you think that you'd only experience such a thing in the mercy of the afterlife, knowing that satoru is away at the moment... or at least, should be.

but no, you know it is real, that you are still alive, when you feel the sharp tremors of the honored one's firm body pressing into yours, his abdomen tightening with each shake, and something dampening on your neck.

your heart drops, and your eyes shoot wide.

you're alive. satoru saved you.

you don't have any words. your mind is still trapped elsewhere, with the sky and the clouds and the air and the birds. satoru's interruption is jarring, and even more so is the way his heavy breaths shudder into stifled sobs. you feel him fighting it, choking against the cries as he presses himself to you tighter, all of his weight snug and heavy and safe over your body.

you remain limp with your arms sprawled out and yours eyes to the ceiling, and soon, guilt shakes you again.

satoru had to stop what he was doing because of the duty he feels toward your every move. he couldn't even allow you to do this one thing for him, for everyone.

i'll drop anything for you, his voice echoes, and your chin wrinkles with the drage of your brows tightly together.

tears blur your vision once more as it all hits you. the pain. the desire to rid yourself and the world of it. the higher ups. satoru's responsibility to you.

you wanted it all to just go away. but now, under satoru's warmth, you are reminded of his warm gaze, and the possible weight that he declarations of love always carried.

you know now, especially, as he falls apart over you, either of you too stunned to speak.

what is there to say? that you couldn't take it anymore? that death is the one thing you've longed for all your life, though you've battled against it ferociously for the sake of those around you? that satoru's love for you never once made sense in all the years of him sticking by your side, that the way he looks at you, the way he touches you, the way he treats you has never once aligned with what you believe the world to have destined you for?

that the only way you thought to repay him for all the good that he has been in your life for nearly the past decade was to leave?

you feel his arms tuck under you and you jolt. he snivels, keeping his face to the crook of your shoulder as he shifts, wrapping up your waist, holding you flush to him. he rubs his head back and forth against your skin.

tears drop like the rain that fell when he first kissed you, and you let him hold you, crying, marveling over why - why you would do this.

but he knows why. it's the same reason why suguru lost his mind all those years ago. the same reason why you often avoid his eyes, and still hesitate to return his kiss when he closes in. the reason why your cursed energy is so unstable.

why those scars line up your arms and legs. why there's a chip in one of your big teeth. why your eye is a little lazy every time you wake up.

why you don't believe yourself worthy of anything but hurt.

it tears satoru apart, for he can not imagine what you see in yourself when all he sees in you is beauty, strength, a determination to fight back and overcome in the face of adversity. he sees you, and what he sees is perfect.

and he almost lost you because of how fiercely you think otherwise. because of what the world did to you before you met.

the moment he hears the soft, shaky inhale from you that mirrors his own, satoru plants a hand to the carpet and lifts himself slowly from you.

a frown is so deeply etched into his face that you see his pretty dimples poke. his blindfold is still on, but he reaches up to pull it back, pushing his hair from his forehead, revealing his eyes, crescents of devastation and bloodshot.

but your face kills him.

you look tormented by yourself, unsure of where you are, where you stand in his life and your own.

it’s raw on your expression. tears dribble and your chest heaves, and all you can see are the eyes that once saved you staring down like you’ve committed the ultimate betrayal.

you hiccup, beyond yourself. “i-i’m sorry…”

the apology has barely made it out of your mouth when satoru brings his hand to your cheek like he always does, his large palm shaking as he swipes away tears from your heated cheeks.

as if to dismiss your apology. as if to tell you to forget it.

you want to ask him how he knew, but he beats you to it.

“i got a call,” he croaks out into the emptiness which you’ve come to realize is the floor of your own room. “yaga saw you leave the higher ups. he saw you upset.”

his voice is shaky and quiet, hardly above a whisper, afraid that speaking any louder will ruin him. his lips tremble.

“he saw your energy. he said it didn’t look good… worse than it - it ever has. i had a horrible feeling, but i...”

“satoru, i’m sorry,” you wheeze again, hoping it will erase everything, but his nose wrinkles at your apology.

“don’t,” he whispers. “please. please don’t. please. i don’t want your apology, (y/n). i have to know what they said to you.”

you tremble. "...who?"

"the higher ups, (y/n). what the hell did they say to you to make you - " gojo can't even bring himself to finish his sentence before a lump cuts his words. his snowflake lashes flutter as his lips press together tight. you don't think you've ever seen your boyfriend so broken, so openly distressed.

he keeps his hand to your skin as if afraid to let go, to pull back and realize that you are already gone to him. his eyes scatter about your face and figure, searching for any further physical damage, counting every detail he notes that remains in place, that he could have lost had he not swooped in at the right moment.

his jaw clenches hard, a tear straying down the curve of his nose as he takes in another sharp breath. "what did they say to you, baby? what did they say to my precious girl?”

you feel your chest tighten as the air leaves you. your nose flares as you struggle to inhale, overwhelmed by the world that satoru holds in his gaze just by looking at you. how can you deserve his care? how can you deserve his love, when all you continue to do is hurt him?

you thought that you'd be doing him a service, but laying beneath him now as he fights unraveling completely before you, you realize your mistake. that you had almost traumatized the man who never knew love before you.

you think back to gakuganji's coarse words, how he's always regarded you and treated you from the moment you set foot in the jujutsu society. you think of the scars on your body, the healed cuts on your knuckles, that empty pit in your soul that carried you to such drastic actions.

and that momentary feeling of flight.

you break. "nothing that isn't true," you whimper. "i'm a monster, satoru, i don't belong here. i never belonged here, or anywhere."

an unexpected sob floods past your lips as the tears run, chasing after one another. you sink into an overwhelming sadness and awareness regarding what just happened.

satoru's brows curl upward, and he moves quick, shuffling over to sit close beside you and carefully pull you upward, into his chest. your cheek slumps against his shoulder as you cry. his large palms sprawl over your back, sliding up to your hair, rubbing all over to soothe you, to keep you close, to show you that you're safe.

that you aren't alone, and he is here for you. just as he always will be.

his chest aches at the feeling of your body jerking so violently against his. he winces hard, pressing you closer, turning his lips to your ear as he strokes your hair.

"you're not a monster, baby," he murmurs through breaks of shuddered breaths and cries. his throat is tight as his breath fans against your earth, and you focus on the sensation to balance out the indescribable agony you feel. "i'm sorry. you're not a monster. of course you belong here. you deserve to be here. on this planet. with me. with your friends. i love you. i love you, princess, you're not a monster. you never have been. please don't say that. i'm so sorry."

you give into your weakness - your boyfriend, and lift your shaking arms to grip the back of satoru's dark uniform, fingers digging into the fabric as you cling tight, turning your nose into the curve of his muscular shoulder.

he's so warm. you just felt so cold, and he's so warm.

satoru snivels, hands pressing tighter into you. "you deserve life."

you always thought life was a bad thing. a prison. but the way the word flutters from satoru's mouth makes a shiver roll down your spine, for it encpasulates a gift, a way of living that was foreign to your upbringing.

but is possible with love. with love for yourself.

"oh, god, you scared me so much," satoru grumbles under his breath, pressing a frantic kiss to your neck. "i'm so glad i got to you. i shouldv've never left."

"no," you whimper. "i hate that i'm your responsibility. it's too much for you, satoru. you're... you're better off-"

"don't say that," he interjects sternly, holding you tighter. "don't you dare."

you stare hard at the floor as your tears soak the satoru's sleeve. "but-"

"i've spent almost ten - ten years trying to show you how much i love you. do you have any idea what i'd do without you? what i'd do to those stupid fucking higher ups? to the world?"

you still slightly as you mull over the severity of his words, your heart pounding in your ears. "that's not good for you," you whisper.

"you're good for me," he hisses. "you always have been. i'm not anything without you. not the strongest. not a man. nothing. i love you so much. you're my other half. i can't lose you. anyone but you."

satoru catches wind of your silence, and he pulls back. you keep your eyes down, ashamed, but satoru's hand finds your cheek again and tilts your head up so that you meet his eyes. such a familiar action he's done a million times over, but it feels different now. his eyes are sharp, almost angry, but not at you. at your mind, at all the horrible things anyone has ever said and done to you to make you feel this way.

"when will you realize that you're not a burden?" he frowns. "you're the best thing that's ever happened to me. that's why i stick around. that's why i worry. i love you. and i'm here for you. i'm here, so please - please don't - please just wait for me. don't do this again. god, don't. you're so much more than - you're everything. i want you so badly to see that you're everything."

you twist your lips as you look up at your boyfriend sadly. he curves a finger delicately across your brow, down along your cheekbone.

"and more than what you are to me, you're you," he continues gently. "powerful, smart, and kind. you don't think you are, but i see it. everyone does. how mindful you are. how you always put the needs of others before your own even when you shouldn't."

you start to shake your head and look away, but satoru's hand finds your chin and keeps your gaze.

"you're thoughtful. you're beautiful. you're a force. you're perfect, and you are on this planet for a reason."

he catches another tear on his knuckle, and cranes his head slightly to look up into your eyes.

"you have to stay."

"i wish i could see all those nice things you see, satoru," you croak, shrugging. "but i can't. i just can't."

"that's why i'm here to help you. to tell you. these aren't just words, pretty, they're the truth. and i don't care how long it takes. i'll help you see."

he presses a kiss to the center of your forehead and you squeeze your eyes shut. "i'm sorry," you blubber.

"i told you not to apologize, (y/n), it's not your fault. don't blame yourself. i beg you, don't." he pulls you back into his embrace with a heavy sigh. "my girl," he mumbles.

"i love you," you say into his chest. "you mean the world to me too. i just don't know what to do. i don't know how to feel different. i can't stop thinking about just going to sleep. i didn't mean to scare you. i didn't think - i thought i was -"

"shhh. it's okay, baby," he murmurs soothingly, eager to prevent you from working yourself up again. you need to rest. your mind needs a break. "you don't have to talk about it anymore. it's okay. i'm here."

you finally melt into him, sinking into his solid comfort with exhaustion. you keep your eyes closed as he soothes your cries away, caressing your skin. the silence envelopes you as you gradually resort to sparadic sniffles.

and in the safety of satoru's arms, grounded peacefully, your heart soars as your dream of flight fades for just a moment.

you drift away into lethargic sleep as satoru counts every star above for keeping you alive, and plots his confrontation with gakuganji the moment he sets foot in that school.

but for now, you need him. so with you, he'll stay.

────────────────────────

suguru geto:

somehow, suguru feels like your attempt is his fault.

like he has corrupted you with his own illness, and made you feel like doing such a thing to yourself would ever be okay.

but it's not. it's far from okay. because you aren't him. you're better. you always have been.

suguru knew that you suffered from the same illness as him long before this attempt. you stopped eating regularly after the riko incident, just like he did. you grew thin. and you always seemed to be thinking about something else, always asking people to repeat themselves after they spoke, as though nothing but water flooded your ears.

but to have found you in your garage with the car running and all doors shut years later, having had rainbow dragon burst through the garage door to get to you from the outside, still astounded him. while his depression took a turn to insanity, yours took a trun toward self mutilation and torment, and suguru was terrified.

the dark haired man can not lie to himself. he knew that something like this was coming. you've been a shell of yourself for years. further drifting into a darkness that suguru has attempted to cushion, but he knows that nothing can truly battle the hell that is your mind when it reaches to a certain point. he knows all too well.

still, for you to try to kill yourself? and in such a way? the cult leader can't begin to name all the emotions that overtake him at the memory.

the gas clouded through the space, and you lay there in the driver's seat on the brink of unconsciousness. his curses smashed through your car window without a second thought, but that look in your eyes haunts him.

half lidded. empty. (e/c) voids staring ahead, waiting for death to melt over you.

it makes the hazel eyed man nauseous, for he has seen men die and killed others in far more gruesome ways, but having beared witness to you in such a state ruined him.

he thinks of the way your limp body felt in his strong arms when he pulled you out of that car and out into the driveway. he thinks of how your head rolled back, and coughs spewed from you endlessly while suguru knowingly, sadly stroked your hair, pearly tears welling in his eyes that he refused to let fall as he observed you.

the sun beat down hot. the pavement burned beneath his buddhist robes. and you whimpered with disappointment, when your mind finally pieced together that suguru kept you planted on this earth and prevented you from leaving.

even now as he sits with you on the sand, he feels your anger and frustration.

he had taken you away after the incident. after you'd regathered your bearings and taken the time to properly recover. he stole you away from the cult. from your job. from the pressure of society's expectations, and brought you to the closest vacant beach, where you could simply exist. where you didn't have to speak, or work, or interact with anyone but him if you so desired, and the water washing up against the soaked sand before you.

the sun sits lower in the sky, casting the sand in a glittering orange hue. the water sparkles before you, and you stare out emptily as you listen to the sound of waves crashing, watching as fragments of rock wash up mere inches away from your bare foot.

your lashes flutter as salty air tickles your face, and you think you know why suguru brought you here. the air is open and free, unlike the garage you attempted to give your life to.

he wants you to take a moment and breathe.

suguru's reputation is built on composure. he ridicules non-sorcerers when they are out of earshot, long after they have paid him handsomely, or right before he prepares to slaughter them with the same cool poise. he presents himself as a wise, thoughtful leader, though his patience is string thin and his temper is rather short.

but still, for his followers, he keeps himself together. only allowing them to see the pieces of himself that he wants him to see.

with his family, he is far less tightly wound. but suguru does not really yell. he doesn't burst into fits of rage or emotion unless provoked to that point perhaps in battle. and even when confronted with emotional circumstances by his girls or you, he keeps calm, serving as the stability, the rock for those he loves.

but in the simplicity of this scene, and the memory of your recent actions, suguru significantly struggles to hold it together. on the outside, he appears stiff, his face blank as he looks out at the sea beside you, but inside a war wages. his throat is tight and it feels like an elephant is sitting on his chest. he doesn't think he's felt this way since high school. since riko.

and how could he not? what you need right now is his listening ear, his understanding, his support, but how can he feel anything but pure rage and agony at what has transpired? how can he be expected to move on, to think of anything else now that he's witnessed you try to take your life away? how can he feel as though he has done you any service in life if this is where you stand today, in pieces, searching to put yourself together by reaching the afterlife far too soon.

suguru inhales and exhales slowly, trying his best to remain calm, but his mind is roaring. the stench of carbon monoxide still stains the inside of his nostrils, and the way your eyes rolled into the back of your head still torments his thoughts.

you tried to kill yourself. you certainly would have if suguru hadn't gotten to you in time.

his jaw clenches.

he tries to focus on the sand beneath him. he tries to focus on the sound of the water crashing. but he can't. he can't think of anything but you.

everyone knows how fiercely and proudly suguru loves you. everyone sees it. he goes out of his way to watch over you, to protect you, to cherish you, to hold you dear, as he does with all the members of his tight knit family. the two of you have always been close, having only grown closer over the years and after a heartfelt confession that brought the two of you into one another's arms as lovers somewhere along the way. for as long as you can remember, no one has ever seen one of you without the other.

you're a pair. a team. a unit.

you sought after the protection of the weak together, spiraled into depression together, defected together.

and yet, somewhere along the way, as suguru fed into his hatred for mankind, you fed into your hatred for yourself.

you know it started after riko too. you didn't understand how everyone recovered so quickly, for the second you heard that the young girl had been killed after having spent so much time with her during that mission, you felt all hope for the future, for yourself, drain from your body.

you started moving throughout the earth like it physically ailed you to do so, and if no one else was, suguru was right beside you. sharing your pain. sharing your helplessness.

but suguru has always been a bit more arrogant than you. he fell into his narcissistic ideals and tendencies, and you fell into a cycle of self deprecation, constantly asking yourself what the purpose of it all was if you couldn't even save a little girl from an ordinary human being? if everyone you ever knew, including haibara, would eventually float away and succumb to the horrors of jujutsu, anyway?

but what bothered you more than anything was how weak you felt in comparison to someone as strong as suguru, and satoru - though you know he's on a completely different playing field. if someone like suguru could come close to death as you were all trying to find your footing in this world as developing sorcerers in training, then what hope did you have?

your self image has always been poor. but under the weight of expectation and grief and hell, it worsened. you couldn't see the value of your life any longer, as long as the higher ups would use you all as pawns to rid the world of diseases that humans themselves caused.

none of it made sense anymore. the sun's warmth. the leaves' bright green. the sky's blue. the laughter of children as they played. the taste of food when it touched your tongue.

everyone melded into grey when you discovered your lack of importance, and while you love suguru with everything in you, you can't tell whether that love is real anymore. for how can you love him properly when you have so much hatred for yourself? for your talents? for what you do?

you couldn't take it anymore when you'd done it. suguru had smiled at you so warm and lovingly that morning, and it killed you, for he shows more feeling toward you than you've ever felt for yourself, and you can no longer believe the authenticity of his affections when you yourself have absolutely none. not for you.

you couldn't take another moment of the world mocking you with it's sounds. a car's horn, the wind's blow, a snapped twig on the ground, a dog's bark - it all makes you feel sick, as though they are elements of a strange simulation that you have been damned to explore for eternity.

you couldn't handle the cruelty of existence. so you elected to cut yours short.

yet, suguru could not even allow you that luxury.

you know that you're awful. you know that you've done something to suguru that you can't reverse. you know that you've forced him to relive his darkest moments, that you've troubled him beyond repair, but you know all the same that suguru understands you. he knows because he's been in your shoes. perhaps not your exact ones, as he has never tried to kill himself before, but he's thought about it. he's fantasized.

but that was long ago. he'd almost forgotten until now.

and you, of all people, shouldn't have been the one to live out that distant dream.

so you sit in silence with the waves, a foot separating the two of you.

until he finally speaks.

"how are you feeling?"

you sigh. "fine. you don't need to keep asking me."

"are you angry with me?" he asks, his voice mellower than how he truly feels.

you don't respond right away. you're a bit spaced out as you gaze at the horizon, your tongue darting out to run over your lips. you don't even quite register his question until a few seconds later, and suguru hangs onto every second of emptiness that you provide.

"yes," you finally say.

suguru knows, chest growing even tighter. the air whips through his long strands, brushing a few out of place as they swipe over his face. "tell me why."

"you know why." this time you answer rather instantly, and suguru furrows his brows slightly.

"i wasn't letting you die. that's not an option, nor will it ever be."

"yeah. figured you'd think that."

the hazel eyed cult leader finally turns to look at you, a cool fire blazing in his eyes, his expression poorly masking his hurt. "you understand that i would never let you die, (y/n). right? i don't care how. it's not happening."

"like i said. i figured. made that very clear."

"so why are you angry with me? because i didn't let you kill yourself?"

"don't fucking say it like you've never thought of it," you throw in his face, and suguru's frown deepens.

"i've thought of it, but i didn't try to execute it like you did."

"congratulations."

suguru feels himself getting worked up, but he tries to fight it. this is about you. not about him. not about how he feels. he has to get through, he has to understand where your head is and has been for you to do something like that.

"don't mock me. this is serious."

"do we have to talk?"

"yes, (y/n). we can't just pretend like it didn't happen."

"why not?"

"because what if it happens again? are you going to try to hurt yourself again?"

you bite down on the inside of your cheek, keeping your eyes forward. "don't ask me that, suguru."

"how could i not? especially when that leads me to believe that you will."

"stop," you hiss, closing your eyes. "just stop asking me questions. stop talking."

suguru watches you closely, his heart hammering in his chest. he knows he's not good at this. he can feel this beginning to take a turn south, for his composure slipped the second he spoke - the second he found you the way he did.

but what do you want from him? he wants to respect your boundaries, your space, your time, but how can he when you speak like this? when you're so far gone, that you hardly even care about what you've done, other than the fact that it was interrupted?

he stares at you intensely. you feel it. you always do. but you try to ignore it. you try to fight the way his words eat you up inside and try to make you truly think about what happened.

"you know i love you right?"

you blink your eyes open and look down upon hearing his soft words. you feel something inside of you start to crack, and you bite down harder on the inside of your cheek. "i know, suguru," you say quietly.

"do you really?" he asks, and you don't answer this time. "i love you more than anything on this earth. i love you like i've never loved anyone. or anything."

"i know," you say harshly. "i already know that, you don't need to keep telling me."

"but you don't truly understand. not if this is what you're willing to do to yourself when i'm not around," he shifts slightly to face you better, sand dusting across his clothes. "you don't understand how it felt to see you like that."

"i don't want to hear-"

"but you have to hear it. alright?" he interjects. "you have to, or else you'll go on thinking that your life is nothing and that's not the case."

"you don't think that this isn't already hard enough?"

"then talk to me, (y/n)," suguru urges, "you have to talk to me. all you've done is shut me out, and i can't take that anymore."

"as if you've never shut me out before," you finally rip your head to face him, glaring hard. "you did it back in high school. you do it all the time when you're with the cult, like you're so high and mighty-"

suguru squints. "what does the cult have to do with-"

"- and you always look at me so judgmentally. like you're above anyone and everything. like you've never been depressed in your life, when that's all you were for the longest time before you changed and left me to feel like a fucking alien."

"(y/n), what the hell are you saying?"

"you want me to talk, so i'm talking! what, you don't like what you hear now?"

"you're attacking me instead of telling me how you feel."

"why would i want to tell you how i feel?!"

"because i just pulled your half dead body from the garage!"

"you should have fucking left me there!"

"do you even hear yourself right now?!"

"i didn't ask for you to swoop in to save me."

"if i hadn't, you'd be dead!"

"good!" you explode.

the dread expands inside of suguru's body as his face scrunches with the severity of your words. you stare hard, stubborn, though your eyes are glossing over and your lips are set in a firm line.

suguru shakes his head, beside himself. "i don't want you to die."

"it's not about what you want, suguru."

"but why would you - " he pauses, turning away to rub his hand over his face. his fingers slide to pinch the bridge of his nose as he struggles to keep himself together. his shoulders tense then fall, and you watch with steely eyes, fighting the way his reaction kills you inside. "why would you want that for yourself? why are you talking like this? i love you, (y/n), don't you understand how this is eating me alive? to hear how you belittle yourself? to hear you wish for death more than..."

suguru trails off, growing quiet as he keeps his fingers pinched over his nose.

your defensive cruelity slowly starts to chip away. as you watch suguru, you see what your words are doing to him. you see what your attempt has done. ever the composed man, suguru rarely lets his mask slip unless around you. and even then, he doesn't quite talk about his depression anymore. you know it's still there. you know it's just morphed into something... else, but for so long, he's kept that side hidden as though he does not want it to exist.

but such suppression can only make things explode.

and you don't think you've seen suguru on the verge of tears since... well, you can't remember.

so as he freezes in his position, keeping his eyes closed, his body tense as he manually focuses on his breathing, you slightly relent. for this is a side so rare that it almost feels foreign.

and you realize that what happened this morning is in fact a big deal. though you've dreamt of it every day for as long as you can remember, you recall that this is new for suguru. that anyone would react this way if they were to stumble upon the person they love in such a condition enforced by their own hand.

and suguru does love you. you know he does. just as much as he says, and then some.

your nose twitches, your teeth sinking deeper into the inside of your cheek. you watch him for a long time, feeling the dread you've been narrowly escaping for the past twenty hours creep over you. you blink hard, settling back, and turning your head back to the ocean.

you feel the familiar sting of oncoming tears and curse yourself. you can't stand how weak you are. "i love you too," you say shyly, voice trying to be firm despite itself. the corner of your lips tug to the side for a second as you swallow thickly. "i really do. more than... more than life."

suguru looks up with wounded hazel eyes that catch the gleam of the sun. you keep looking ahead. "more than your own life?" he reorganizes your words.

your brows raise as you stare off. "yeah. i mean... that's a common saying."

"no, but it's different when you say it," suguru speaks lowly. "because you don't want your life. you don't like it. so of course you'd love me more than it."

you grimace slightly, turning back to look at your boyfriend's face. "that's not why i said that. that's not what i mean. i do love you suguru, you know that."

"i do know that," he says gently, his voice pillowy soft, a stark contrast from a few minutes ago. "i do," he repeats, truly pondering your connection now, and how much it means to him. "but you think so lowly of yourself, it makes me worry so much. more than i let on, and i'm sorry if i haven't shown you that enough."

"...no, you have," you say quietly. "you always have."

"and after today, i don't... know what to do. i don't know how to make it better. i wanted to intervene properly before something happened, but it did," he laments. "and i know how you feel about yourself. i know how long you've thought about doing this. i always have. so trust and hear me when i say that i won't let it happen. i won't ever let you die. you have far too much value alive, and that's what i'll keep you until you can see that for yourself."

you roll your eyes through the blurriness of tears, looking away to hide them out of embarrassment as two drops rocket from your lashes without warning.

suguru immediately melts, his emotions surging to his sleeves as he moves to shuffle closer to you. his arms open as you bring your knees to your chest and rub away at your eyes with your forearm.

"my angel, please come here," he requests with glassy eyes and that tender, honeyed voice you adore.

he knows you won't voluntarily scoot toward him, so he presses himself to you as you subconsciously fall into his arms. your head rests against his shoulder as his arms encircle you. he rocks you slightly, kissing your temple, letting his lips linger.

oh, how grateful he is to still have you here, to still be able to hold your soft body to his, to feel you.

"i'm sorry. i know this is hard for you. i'm so sorry," he mutters. "i just don't want to lose you, beautiful."

"i'm tired, suguru," you murmur tightly into his chest.

suguru closes his eyes, tears bringing his lashes as he holds you closer. "i know, baby. i know," he sighs into you sadly. "i'm sorry. i know you are."

"i'm - i'm sorry for making you worry. for snapping."

"you don't have anything to apologize for, i shouldn't have gotten angry with you."

"you have every right to be angry after what i did."

"this isn't about me," he kisses your temple again. "i understand you, angel. i really do. it kills me that you feel this way and i'm sorry. just please. let me in a little bit. let me remind you of how loved you are."

the notion almost brings you discomfort, as you that part of you tells you that you couldn't possibly be worth this. but the other part of you aches, for you feel suguru geto's passion through his touch, through his voice, in his gaze. and you marvel at such graciousness, continuing to question it.

but suguru will be there to rectify each doubt. each fear. each negative thought that blinds you from how wonderful you are. inside and out. flaws, and perfections, and everything in between woven into a knot in his heart.

────────────────────────

choso kamo:

what is the value of a human life?

how do human beings view their mortality? how do they go about living by it?

choso has always found himself pondering such notions in his mind, but the moment he met you, he determined the answer to the former: the value of your life triples that of many others. at least, in choso's eyes. your life is precious. you are the only one of you to exist in this world, just as choso is, and his brother, and everyone else.

but you are irreplacable. the way you pick at your nails is irreplacable. the way you use a fork and bring your food to your mouth is irreplacable. the way you walk is irreplacable. the way you you say his name is irreplacable.

every part of you is our own, and choso does not know what he did to deserve your unique, beautiful quality of life and company, but he cherishes it. your love included.

so he struggles to understand, to rip through his mind for the answer as to whether human beings view their lives differently from those who care for them.

for he can't comprehend how you view yourself as so much less than he does, and therefore, believe that your life has such little value. little enough for you to attempt to toss it away. more times than choso was previously aware.

the news was broken to him on a tuesday morning. choso remembers how the clouds slightly covered the sun in the sky to warn the inhabitants below about the incoming rain. you hadn't been answering your phone, and when choso left you to head to work that morning, you claimed to be sick and stayed in bed under the covers.

choso remembers the look in your eyes when he kissed you and told you that he loved you, that he'd be back as soon as he possibly could to help take care of you. your eyes grew distant somehow then, as though you were harboring a secret that burned you to keep.

choso now knows that it was because you hadn't planned on still being around when he got back.

something sat heavy on the brunette's chest that entire morning, but he could not put his finger on exactly what. he was a ball of nerves and anxiety, constantly checking his phone to see if you had responded to any of the texts he sent to check in. his notifications remained empty, only leading him to further spiral. to begin thinking the worst.

he tried a few times to slip away to go check on you after having clocked in, but yuki and yaga insisted that you were fine, that he could not just up and leave in the middle of a work day while there were tasks that needed tending to. choso subconsciously fell silent after that, internalizing his concerns that everyone always claimed were outlandish.

choso knows he is dramatic. he cares too much. more than the average being, but the violet eyed half curse never believed this to be a bad thing about himself. especially when he was surrounded by those he cared for. when his brother looks up to him in spite of his strange countenance, and his girlfriend reciprocates the intensity of his love.

he has every right to be as passionate as he is, and every right to stress over your wellbeing when you're home allegedly sick and failing to answer his messages.

choso was so sure that he knew you so well, before the news. he knows when you're lying, when something is on your mind that you are afraid to voice, and he knows that was the case this morning. perhaps that is why he is so frantically stressed about you, about what it is that you have going on, whether you are just really sick or if something worse is a foot.

and lately, you've been a little off. your head has seemed to be in the clouds, your mind elsewhere as you daydream and disassociate for brief periods of time. you're a bit spacey, disconnected from your present circumstances, and choso has eyed it up until today. the only explanation you provide is that you haven't been feeling well, that those moments were all just symptoms of an oncoming fever or cold or something.

choso always trusts you. always takes your words into deep consideration. always first determines that you are honest and open before the opposite, for choso does not know you to be a dishonest person, but he does know you to be withholding at times. as though you are afraid to burden him or overstep, as though your very presence and voice are invasive and must come with a warning in order to be forgiven.

that trait about you almost reminds choso of himself, and it uneases him a bit. you've always been better than him, after all. at many things. at least, that is what he believes. that is how he views you. to think that you could harbor such insecurity toward yourself confuses and frightens him, especially so since you never voice it. you always tiptoe around your worries, your true feelings exposing themselves through your actions. your flickering eyes and your frequent apologies that mirror choso's own.

but you don't have anything to apologize for. you aren't the half curse stumbling through life, trying to figure out whether he's good enough for your love. what he needs to do to keep you, to tell the world that he's not a bad thing.

no, you're far better. breathtaking and sweet. conscious of all life. unbiased toward any. understanding and soft. you're perfect.

but you have these moments of sadness where you dip, where your cursed energy wavers into something melancholy, and you fight it with weak smiles and tired eyes. and choso only hugs you more, kisses you more, holds your hand tighter to address the physical discomfort you never name in those particular instances.

his gut churns when he recalls those times. he knows something is off, and he should have just stayed with you instead of going to work like you'd insisted. even so, he prays that you're just sleeping. that his nerves are all out of whack for some silly reason, and that you are too busy catching up on rest to notice that he is blowing up your phone every ten to fifteen minutes.

but then he gets the call.

it's an unknown number.

and something tells the brunette to pick up on the first ring when he feels his phone finally buzzing. he doesn't check the caller id. he simply answers, turning away as his coworkers enter the conference room for a meeting.

he stops in his tracks when the gentle voice of an unfamiliar woman speaks rigidly into the speaker. "hello, may i speak to a choso kamo?"

"that's me," he gulps, voice low, grip tight around his phone. "who is this?"

"hi, mr. kamo. i'm calling from the jr tokyo general hospital on behalf of (y/n) (l/n). are you her partner as listed in her emergency contact form?"

"yes."

choso's ears immediately ring, his eyes blown wide, and he stumbles slightly as he turns around, back facing the doorway as yuki stands in it, curious, waiting for him.

"she's supposed to be at home. she's sick. is she there at the hospital? what's wrong with her?"

he hears the woman sigh slowly as he holds his breath, shoulders hunched as he stares harshly at the ground, waiting for an answer. but what comes is nothing at all what he expected.

"sir, ms. (l/n) has been in an accident. we ask that you come to the hospital right away."

he's already marching down the corridor before she can finish her sentence, ignoring the blonde calling after him as he departs hastily. "what kind of accident? what's wrong with her?"

"a car accident," she clarifies sympathetically. "we'll explain more when you arrive."

"what?" he snaps, heart racing. "she was driving?!"

"yes sir."

"why was she driving? she told me she was staying home sick! is she okay? where is she now? is she okay?!"

"she's in... critical condition. our doctors are working to save her now. we are still trying to figure out exactly what happened, but the eye witness who called 911 reports that she was seen speeding off the road into the woods. we believe this was an intentional act."

choso thinks that all the oxygen in the world has been sucked away. he can hardly breathe as his footsteps hault and he stands frozen in shock. his pupils shrink as he stares into nothing, the woman's voice on the other line asking if he is still there.

but all choso can hear is the screech of imaginary tires and the lie you told to keep him away from you today.

he doesn't want to believe it. he doesn't believe it at first, that you would intentionally put yourself in harm's way. that you would drive your car off the road at ninety miles an hour. that you weren't actually sick at all, but suffering a far worse disease that choso should have noticed, should have understood.

critical condition. that means you are hardly hanging onto life. that someone else found you on the brink of death while choso continued to message an abandoned phone. that he was nowhere nearby when you faced such a traumatic, life altering event... and at your own hand?

no. he refuses to believe it until he sees you. until he can speak to you, look you in the eye, greet you face to face, because you will survive. you will beat this. you'll be fine.

for if this is something you have done on your own accord to yourself, then that would have to mean that you were actively seeking out death. such an accident would be nearly impossible to walk away from unscathed, and to the degree that the woman from the hospital is telling him, damn near impossible to survive.

but... why?

choso has always felt death rather intimately throughout his life. he was born of death. when his brothers passed, he felt their loss pang away at his insides. he's seen death all around him. especially so in this line of work that he's been roped into.

but there has never been anything appealing about it. death brings grief and misery and pain. it separates, creates irreparable shifts, toys with the mind and heart until there is nothing left to think and feel.

human beings know this more than anything, for their lives are limited. death awaits at the end of every cycle, and while it is natural, it is still feared. it still brings great sadness. it is still desperately avoided until it can no longer be evaded, but that time only comes with age and experience and fulfillment, and you are only twenty three years old.

there's much more more life for you to live. so many more experiences for you to have, to share with the man you love, with the friends you love.

so why?

what could drive a person, what could have driven you, to jump ahead of the natural life cycle? what could have driven you to do something as drastic as attempting to take your own life? life is precious. you are precious, and to imagine a world without you, a world where you were able to rid yourself from existence, makes choso sick. it makes him want to drop to the floor and wail his heart out.

are you so unhappy? so unfulfilled? has choso failed to give you what you need, to properly see all that you have been suffering through? has he been so selfish?

the brunette feels something thorny and tight wrap around his throat as his eyes well with instantaneous tears. your face appears in his head, graceful and gorgeous, your smile so beautiful that it sends painful pangs to his chest, and he shivers with grief.

this can't be happening. you have to be okay. you have to.

"mr. kamo? are you still there?" he tunes back into the woman's voice on the other line, and he sucks in a shaky breath, angling his brows.

"i'm coming right now," he heaves.

choso remains in a state of shock after he has rushed off to the hospital without any explanation, and as doctors approach him in the waiting room to tell him exactly what happened.

the brunette can do nothing but stare wide eyed with teary eyes and curled brows, a helpless look of oblivious devastation on his face, when he is told that you made it through but you are still not conscious. when you veered off the road, you crashed down a slant and head on into a tree. you truthfully should not have survived, but the air bag employed in time to cushion just enough of your fall, knocking you out as your legs crushed and a branch pierced through the windshield and the side of your abdomen.

they say that you won't be able to walk for the foreseeable future. that you're paralyzed from the waist down. that you will need a wheelchair and severe rehabilitation tests. the life you once lived is over indefinitely.

and the doctors confirm, or at least highly suspect with further exploration, that this was indeed an unsuccessful attempt on your life.

you were looking to die.

everything changed so fast after that.

choso feels cold when he is finally able to enter your room post operation, ignoring the way his phone blows up about inquiries over your health, the hospital likely having found a way to reach out to your disguised place of work to inform them of the accident as well.

but choso doesn't care about any of them. not when they wanted to keep him away from you. when he could have somehow prevented this by staying home, or at least returning to check on your sooner. perhaps he could have discovered your plans prior to you executing them, or caught you just moments before it happened.

the sun has long set. the hospital buzzes with a nauseating anticipation, a thick blanket of sadness that suffocates his lungs. the door to your room clicks gently when he turns the knob, and his eyes immediately fly to your unconscious figured splayed out on that thin bed.

he chokes over a gasp upon seeing you.

your legs are in casts, slung up above you by a sling connected to the ceiling. more gauze is tightly wound around your abdomen, which peaks out from the slit in your baby blue hospital gown. your lashes flutter restlessly, as if you are still fighting something inside of your mind, while a supply of air is pumped through you, a rhythmic, mechanical push and pull of air filling the otherwise empty space.

all of choso's time with you flashes before his eyes as he walks up to the side of your bed. your pretty face is covered with tiny red lines of scratches, and when his eyes trail to your knuckles, he sees how they blemish into a nasty purplish yellow. your skin is paler, and you look more like a ghost balancing between life and death than the girl choso knows and loves.

but it is you. the love of his life lay before him, and all choso can do is stare as his brain struggles to process, as the doctors' words overlap with your gentle voice promising him that you'd be okay when he left you that morning in his head.

the half curse's hands shake at his sides, and his knees give out before he can even think. he drops harshly to the ground, the cool hospital floor digging against his knee caps, and glittering violet hues regard you up close. his hands inch to hover above you, hesitant, horrified to break what has already been broken, before he settles a hand soft over your own.

the cold that greets him is enough to make him break down.

the brunette is nothing but stifled breaths and tears as he observes you, takes in all the signs of pain that you must have endured. seeing you now after having waited so long answers no further questions, for he still doesn't understand what would push you to do such a thing. how could you try to kill yourself when you mean so much to those in your life, to choso, who you know has struggled to heal from the deaths of the brothers he lost?

tears drip onto the sheet you lay on as his chin tucks against the bed. he peers up at you through damp lashes and squinted eyes, a sharp crease between his curved brows as he studies your face, still so beautiful in the flickering flourescents.

choso thinks of the first time he saw you. how instantly he fell in love with you. he always knew you to harbor some intrigue, some mystery, some gloominess that he could never quite decipher, but he didn't think that it was this bad. he didn't think that what he noticed would have ever pushed you to such lengths.

why didn't you tell him? how couldn't you tell him about something like this? he would have helped you. he would have dropped absolutely everything to stick by your side, to hold your hand through the negative thoughts, to be there to ground you so that your thoughts could not push you to harm yourself like this.

choso cries endlessly, for the paralysis you will endure, for the normalcy that you stole from yourself, for the fact that had these doctors not been successful, he would have lost you.

the pale skinned man doesn't think he could take that. he could barely handle the deaths of his brothers, but losing you would certainly have pushed him to the brink of insanity. it would have completely and utterly dismantled him.

so why? his love? his soulmate? why didn't he know? why didn't he see? why didn't you speak?

he holds your hand as tight as he thinks he can without hurting you, his salty tears dropping over the back of his hand. he sniffs thickly, snot and tears dribbling down his chin, and he stares at you, tormented, speechless.

when the doctors return that morning to discuss your history with suicidal attempts, choso finds that all the words have completely fluttered from his brain. he has no more energy, nothing to say as his head rests against your arm, tilted slightly to stare with empty eyes as he pulls up a chair and recites your past.

"ten years ago, her mother admitted her for self harm. in the ward, she attempted to take her life with an open soda can. a few years after that, she attemped again. this time with a razor blade to her wrists. after that, she was re-admitted...."

choso can't stand to hear any of it. he feels like his chest will close in on itself the more he hears.

"i suggest that she should be admitted again, but long term this time. we have a recovery center that will target both physical therapy and mental recovery."

he presents a pamphlet. choso doesn't lift his hand to take it. he doesn't even look at it. he simply stares, dark circles under his red eyes, his cheek smashed against your arm. the doctor clears his throat and sets it on your bedside table.

"i'll leave it here for you to think about."

the doctor moves to leave when choso's hoarse voice croaks out. "why would she try so many times?" he asks weakly, slowly. the doctor turns over his shoulder with a blank face as another tear strays down choso's face.

the doctor exhales, sensing the lingering denial and shock. "depression is a monstrous thing. it poisons the minds of many innocent people."

"...will she ever stop?"

"i can't say, mr. kamo," the doctor says, voice stale. "if she received the proper long term treatment, then it is possible. but from her medical records, she appears to be a very troubled individual."

troubled... never once has choso looked at you and decied that you were troubled. complex, yes. but not troubled. not in that souring way that captures the word when the doctor utters it. you just need a little support, that's all.

"why wouldn't she tell me?" choso whispers unsure of whether the doctor will truly have any answers. but he has nowhere else to go with these questions, with this harsh, cruel uncertainty and confusion.

the doctor is quiet for a moment as he ponders, for emotional responses are always outside of his realm when his job is to do the saving. "don't take it personally. i've seen many patients like your girlfriend. victims with suicidal tendencies are often ashamed, and don't want the people who care to see those negative sides of them. she likely didn't want to scare you or hurt you."

choso's brows knit. "this scares me and hurts me more than anything she could have ever told me."

"...yes, i'm sure. i - i know," the doctor clears his throat again. "if i were you, when she wakes up, i wouldn't ask those questions. as hard as this is for you, it's much harder on the mind of the person who makes the attempt. try to just be there for her. comfort her. she'll be waking to a jarring reality."

choso's eyes drag to your casted legs, and his chin wrinkles. he nods stiffly and falls silent once more, giving the doctor the chance to exit and leave him alone with you again.

he ponders over the doctor's words in the empitness of your unconciousness. the tv above plays some stupid old black and white film that has been playing on repeat for the past eighteen hours.

though choso isn't a fan of the doctor's easiness, he may be right. choso has no idea what its like inside of your brain, what your mind must have looked like for all these years to push you to commit such acts against yourself not once, not twice, but three times. choso isn't familiar with this side of humanity. with depression, and suicide, and an aching desire to leave the planet.

he's not familiar with this side of you. and while he is tormented by the fact that he didn't know how deeply this ran, he should extend you grace and understanding. he should be there for you in your time of need.

he lifts his head from you slowly, hair matted against his skin, to look back at that pamphlet. he looks up at your face, then back down at the paper before reaching for it.

he reads up on depression. the symptoms. how it lingers. how it is a disease. he reads up on possible triggers and causes, and how one with depression may interact with the world. how many hide it away expertly for the sake of those around them.

he reads up on this particular facility that the doctor recommended. the pictures look nice. the place seems cozy. expensive. but promising.

choso frowns. you shouldn't even have to go to a place like this. he wishes you didn't need to. that your mind was kinder, that whatever must have happened to you to make you feel this way never happened in the first place. you don't deserve it. of all people on this planet, you deserve it the least.

choso prepares to flip the next pages numbly when he hears a pitched, drowsy groan.

his head shoots up, hands freezing. your eyes and brows scrunch, your lips curling, and another groan floods from you, longer this time.

the pamphlet instantly drops from choso's hands as he scootches himself closer to you, holding a hand over yours as you writhe and eventually come to.

your eyes take a moment to peel open as though they were stuck together. choso eyes your heart monitor as your heart rate gradually quickens. and with tears in his eyes as he hovers, he watches as you blink past crustiness to adjust your gaze on the ceiling.

you inhale sharply, lifting a hand shakily to paw at your oxygen mask. you groan again, turning your head and prying it off.

"(y/n)? you're awake!" choso announces. his hands move to help you with the mask, guiding you carefully as you tamper with it. "it's okay. be careful. let me help you."

you let your arms fall limp to your sides as choso sets the mask down, and you inhale oddly, squinted eyes looking around. "...where...?"

you are very clearly discombobulated. you struggle to make out your environment, but then your eyes land on your legs. they immediately go wide, and you take in a breath that shoots pain through your abdomen. you wince with a gasp, your fingers reaching only to feel bandages.

you freeze.

you can't feel your legs either.

your heart rate quickens as you adjust, and choso keeps his hands over yours. your eyes dart around frantically, finding choso's face in a haze. a million emotions flicker through your gaze when you realize what has happened, and that your boyfriend is sitting beside you in the aftermath of your attempt.

you realize that you survived. again.

"no, no, it's okay. it's okay," choso starts, bringing your hand to his lips as he kisses your bruised knuckles. your nose flares and your eyes flutter, your brows knitting together. choso aches. "it's okay, love. you're okay, right? you're okay."

he kisses your cold knuckles again, and you whimper. "...choso, where am i? what happened?" your voice is scratchy, and choso feels a lump build in his throat once more upon hearing it again. he was almost afraid that he would never get the chance to. you look back over at your strung, casted legs, and breathe in raggedly. "i can't feel - my legs. i can't feel them."

"don't look," choso releases your hand to cautiously wrap his arms around your shoulders. your breathing quickens in an instant, transitioning into panicked gasps. you may be on the verge of a panic attack as cruel life strikes you again, only this time, with a price.

choso pulls you into his chest as you stumble over breaths and cries, rubbing the side of your head as he presses kisses to the crown of it.

"you're awake. i'm so relieved," he shivers. "i'm with you. don't cry. don't - don't think about it. it'll be okay. you're alright."

"why can't i feel my legs...?" you croak into him, and choso presses his lips together to prevent his building sobs from bursting. "am i dead?"

"no. no you're not dead," he growls, squeezing his eyes shut as he holds you. "don't think about it, (y/n). just breathe. i'm right here, i promise. i'm not going anywhere. it's okay."

you shake your head as best as you can, your neck slightly stiff. "i did this."

"it's okay-" choso whimpers.

"i'm sorry, oh fuck. i'm sorry, choso. i didn't think i'd survive. i didn't want you to see me like this," you whine. "i can't feel my legs. i can't feel them," you repeat through blubbers.

choso doesn't think he's ever experienced a pain quite like this. so raw as it tranfers between the two of you. he weeps into your hair, holding you snug, for how can he respond to you when you say that you didn't expect yourself to live long enough for him to witness the aftermath?

what is he supposed to do?

he tries to think of the doctor's advice, but it's hard. he's suddenly angry, overwhelmed, full of sorrow, and relief that you're at least breathing. that you're living. but are you relieved?

how is he to help you if you're not?

not only did your attempt fail, but you've awakened to a numbness in your lower body, to your life completely changed. what if you try to kill yourself again? what if this stunt births a new kind of depression in you? what if choso can't save you?

you still smell like you. your skin still feels like your own. your voice still the same.

choso's terrified and overjoyed all at once.

so, instead of undertaining your guilt, your panic, choso presses closer. "i didn't know," he whispers into you. "i never know anything. i had no idea. i've been so stupid."

"no, choso," you sniff. "it's not your fault. it's mine. it's all mine. i lied to you. i've been lying to you. i kept this from you."

"it's not your fault," he argues. "i should've seen. i knew something was wrong but i didn't know what. i'm your boyfriend. i love you so much, and i should have paid more attention. you were always right there. i've been blind. i made you think that you were alone. i'm so sorry."

you don't know how to respond to him taking responsibilty for something that you know to be your fault. you feel... naked. like choso has just seen the very worst parts of you and is disgusted. you feel as though he shouldn't love you anymore. you feel as though he never should have. how could you do this to him? someone so sweet, and loving, and understanding? why do you ruin everything you touch?

"don't think about it," he says again, hushed with an urgency as he holds you. as though he can suddenly read your mind. "i'll fix it all. i'll help it all go away. i promise."

"you can't do that, cho," you murmur, eyes blurred. "i've been fucked up all my life. you can't fix me. i'm unfixable."

"you're the love of my life," he corrects. "i'll do anything for you. even if i can't fix it... i-i'll help make it better."

"how?"

"...i don't know," he breathes honestly. "i don't - i don't know much about this stuff, but i'll learn. i'll help you through rehab. i'll love you every second of every day like i already do. i won't leave you again."

the thought of choso sticking beside you in such a way only makes you feel more guilty, and you prepare to tell him that he shouldn't, but he beats you to it.

"i don't know what happened to you before... i don't know how long you've - you've been this way, but i want to learn. i want to help you, if you let me. please, i - i don't want to come this close to losing you ever again."

you suddenly fall silent, your head knocking limp against choso as he holds you. you've been incredibly distant, or at least the real parts of you have. you allowed your negative thoughts to stew again, to push you to the brink, and you prayed that choso wouldn't know, but how could you? choso has proven himself to be incredibly proactive when it comes to you. he always says he's obsessed, after all. you shouldn't do him such a disservice.

but how can you explain all that plagues you to him? would he understand? would he ever look at you the same?

the fears ail you. you're a mess. your legs are numb. you're battered, and you sit stupidly in the aftermath of yet another failed attempt. you feel useless.

but choso holds you and kisses your head as if the opposite is true. as if you did not severely traumatize him.

how could he even think to stay with you?

"i'm not a good person, choso," you murmur as he kisses you again. "i never have been."

"that's not true. i don't know who told you that, but it's not true," he says swiftly. "you're the most incredible person i've ever met."

"you're only saying that because-"

"because you are. because it's the truth. and i won't let you think anything different from this point forward. i'm going to help you. i swear it."

you don't say anything. there's nothing more for you to say. you're devastated. and yet, choso holds you.

you let yourself sink into the comfort that you'd always thought to push away. letting his scent and safety overpower the truth you must face for just a bit.

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taglist:

the day dawns like any other.

it is well beyond the first hours of light touching the highest towers of castle itadori. the air is cool, crisp, gently wafting through the trees. from end to end, the entire land seemed to be waiting with baited breath as his father proposed a betrothal to you, a lady from not-so-distant lands.

tensions have been rising between your families, it is no secret to anyone. and yet, no one knows what started it, who fanned the flames of hatred between the two―only that his father wishes to fight no longer. marriage of his only son, to your families only daughter was the easiest way to promote prosperity between both families.

to yuuji, being betrothed to you is both a blessing a curse. he is only nine, and anxiety looms inside him in a way that is foreign. he had only heard of you in passing. in scant lessons from his tutors (when he bothered to attend) when they explained the lineages of other great houses. even then his tutors did not have much to say about you.

an enigmatic girl, said one. the other; a delicate whisper, in name and in mannerisms. not much at all to go on at all, yuuji thought―not when your older brothers were described in such apt words, endless details, it seemed, of their accomplishments for your house.

luckily, he did not consider himself the type of prince who let others do all of his thinking for him. determined to speak to the girl he was promised to marry, the young prince sought you out all on his own.

it takes him a while, wandering the halls of your castle. but eventually he finds you in one of the dayrooms. it's well into the afternoon, and his stomach grumbles.

you're sitting on your knees, resting them against a pillow, yellow gown fanning out against the fine hardwood floor. like a tulip, turned over. most of your black hair is pulled away from your face―like tufts of clouds. and two pieces frame the sides of your face, decorated with pale wooden beads. simple but intricate jewelry adorns your neck and wrists. and as if in juxtaposition with your overall dainty appearance, a bug skitters across your knuckles.

its long and spindly, with a black body and hundreds of brown little legs. it is easily the ugliest creature the young prince has ever seen. you make a game of it though, turning your cupped hands this way and that as you keenly watch the bug scatter across your brown hands.

"what is that?" yuuji asks, dramatically gagging, as he approaches. he sits beside you on the floor, peering over you to try and get a better look. you try to shield the creature from him, but when your eyes catch his own curious gaze, you relent, slowly showcasing it to him.

"it is a centipede" you say quietly, turning your attention back to the hideous creature. "the maids were going to kill it"

i can see why, he thinks to himself. "it is...interesting to look at" and strangely grotesque as well. yet the longer yuuji looks, the less disgusting it becomes.

you don't reply to that. yuuji allows himself several moments to study the face of his future bride. you're pretty―why no one has ever told him this before? the sun darting through the windows only highlights your skin, turns it to simmering gold before his very eyes.

he watches keenly as your fingertip softly traces the backside of the centipede. your head turns slightly to look at him. "would you like to hold it?" you ask, and your voice is so quiet that it could easily have been drowned out if there were more people present. "it does not bite, if you are worried about that, prince itadori"

another foreign feeling overtakes him. fear, apprehension, skittering around his body like the centipede over your hands.

"just yuuji, please" he warbles, steeling his nerves. "alright"

you only stare for a moment. "you do not have to, if you so wish"

"of course i don't want to" yuuji admits, pouting at you. "but you are, and you seem to like it. how bad can it be?"

you stare for a moment longer. your head turns instinctively towards the unmistakable sound of footsteps coming down the hall.

"i am not someone who needs to be impressed, my prince" you say, standing to your feet, quickly crossing the dayroom to reach the large window.

yuuji follows after you on lanky legs, unlatching the window and pushing it open. you stand on the tips of your toes, carefully depositing the centipede onto the side of the castle wall. it doesn't move, but with a gentle nudge from your fingertip, the grotesque beast understands the notion and scurries away to freedom.

and just in time too. the door opens, and your mother strides pridefully into the room, head held high, flanked by several ladies. she's so different from you, who seems to further fold into yourself when she makes herself known. he finds himself watching the scene was intense concentration.

he doesn't like what he sees.

your mother takes one long look between you and him. "prince itadori, what a surprise" she smiles, but it's a fake one. she looks about as pleased to see him as he does her. "your father is looking for you" she says dismissively towards him as she sinks her claws into your shoulder. "dear, come along now"

you follow after her like an obedient little duck, looking back at him only once before your mother forces you forward once more.

--

the young prince is hardly a boy, anymore. ten long years have passed since he's met you―and your mother and father have kept you on a tight leash. he's seen only glimpses of you, and now that he's met with you completely, yuuji finds that he is at a loss for words.

you have yet to see him, and in fact, your back is turned to him. your chaperone stares him down―like he might somehow defile you if he even dares to step too close. ijichi, yuuji's own chaperone, stands closer towards the garden gates. it had taken far longer than it should have to convince your parents to allow for a courtship.

they had seen no importance in it. the two of you were to be married, the agreements set around that notion ten years ago. why did it matter if he courted you properly if the end result was to be the same?

he thinks they are fools. it isn't uncommon at all for people to be arranged to marry. his parents were. but they fostered love for one another over the years. yuuji is determined to make it work with you.

yuuji takes a step forwards, then another. your head is craned downwards, towards your lap. the prince wonders what has caught your attention. at last, your chaperone ruins the serene moment with a cough and a pointed glance in his direction. you turn slowly, and it is with that motion that yuuji finally sees what had been closely capturing your attention―another one of your spindly beasts.

the sight of it brings a fond smile to his face. yuuji bounds eagerly towards you, taking the available seat next to you on the marble bench. just like when he was a boy, the prince cranes his neck, peering into your hands. "that is a large beetle" yuuji remarks, gazing at the insects unique markings. "where did you find it?"

you glance towards him―pretty brown eyes scanning over his features. "in the peonies" you tell him quietly, and place the beetle onto the grass, and both of you watch it as it scurries away.

there are perhaps a hundred different flowers. "which ones are the peonies?" he inquires, once he can no longer follow the bug with his eyes.

"the coral colored ones, there" you instruct, pointing, before bringing your hand back into your lap. yuuji watches the movement with rapt attention.

the prince hums in response. he knows that conversation isn't something you really seem to...like doing. from his observations of you over the years, you are content to be alone and in silence. yuuji wants to know where you go, when you recede into your mind like this.

the flowers are very pretty though, and it's just as nice to sit beside you and exist. but he practically vibrates with the need to ask you a thousand questions. to know as much as possible about you.

you like the gardens, that much is obvious. you seem completely relaxed and at peace here—more than he's ever seen in the past. how often do you come here? do you simply sit alone? are you lonely? you seem like you are. is it possible to be both lonely and at peace?

"prince ita–yuuji" you start and his attention comes to you swiftly. you seem to notice him looking, because you keep your own gaze focused on the sleeve of your dress. "...nevermind. it's nothing"

"no!" yuuji exclaims, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. he winces, and holds the back of his neck. "sorry—i don't mean to be loud. it's just that i care what you have to say, even if you don't think it's important"

you look surprised for a moment, before that expression too, falls away. you shake your head softly, looking at him. yuuji likes it when you look at him, he realizes. there is always so much to say in your gaze and yet none of it leaves your mouth.

"i was only going to apologize" you explain in that little voice of yours. he can excuse the way he scoots even closer—surely far closer than appropriate—at the softness of your voice. there is a sad expression, more melancholy than usual and one that the prince does not like. "i know i must not be the sort of woman you would have married willingly. but despite my faults—"

yuuji's face scrunches up. "did your mother tell you to say that?" he interrupts, sounding annoyed and far angrier than he means to. you aren't like the other women. why your mother insists on forcing you into the same little box, yuuji has no idea.

silence. behind you, he can hear the shifting of weight from one foot to the other of your chaperone.

"only that i should vow to do my best by you" you say, after a long while. there's more to it that you aren't saying. but yuuji knows the sort of woman your mother is, the sort of man your father is. it couldn't have been anything good. and he hates how they've sank their claws into your skin and made you think so lowly of yourself.

"did you want to be married?" inquires the prince instead, staring at you. slowly, you give a small shake of your head. "so it should be i that should apologize then?" yuuji asks once more, though there is a teasing edge to his words.

another shake of your head, innocent and genuine. "you've done nothing wrong"

"and neither have you" he says, watching the way your eyes widen slightly in shock. "i would rather be wed to someone real than someone constructed based on what they assume i do and do not want in a partner"

it's too early for yuuji to tell how he feels about you. and he knows he cannot expect you to know the same. he can't say, with complete certainty, that he loves you. but the way the corners of your mouth quirk up into a slight smile makes him believe that he could. or maybe, he is already well on his way to doing so.

--

yuuji wonders how many times he's going to find you like this : alone and with your back to him, the foreground in a scenic location. his foot crunches on a twig, and you turn to face him. there is recognition on your face and you do not look as closed off as you usually are. yuuji swears that he won't allow himself to wonder what that means.

"hello, yuuji," you greet softly, and the prince forces his legs to carry himself. he stands in front of you—raking his eyes over your form. you're dressed more formally than when you lounge around in the gardens. a soft colored gown, lavender or white he cannot tell, with pretty pearls embroidered in elegant designs. poufy sleeves, curling like your hair, and a shiny necklace around your throat.

"you look beautiful" he says honestly, clasping his hands behind his back so that he can fidget with him. his voice comes out slightly raspy, throat dry. he hopes you cannot tell.

you stare at him for a moment. "thank you" you say, clearly waiting for something.

yuuji startles. "sorry!" he says, chuckling. he can't stop staring. his eyes flit from your face—your eyes especially, and your mouth, and then to the curve of your neck. your shoulders, your waist. your hands, where your fingers are intertwined. yuuji swallows again, and curses his wandering eyes. "your father sent me to retrieve you. the hunt is starting soon"

this late into the courtship, and with the wedding not so far away, both of your chaperones have eased up, and yuuji has been alone with you on a few opportunities. and the prince knows that your reclusive nature only eases the minds of society. no scandalous activity of any sort will be taking place between the two of you. but each time has ended exactly as it is now—with him stumbling over his words and making an utter fool of himself.

softly, a frown etches its way onto your face. "i thought i had more time" you say quietly, more to yourself than to him. your eyes meet his own. "i do not wish to go" you tell him, nearly pleading.

"i know" yuuji responds, and stands a bit closer. his heart pounds in his chest, beating so loudly it feels physical— at the way you unconsciously lean in the direction of his voice. you take comfort from him. from his presence. even though you do not say it. you do not need to. he feels as though he is beginning to unravel you, and the fact that you let him makes him feel...makes him feel honored.

he knows how much you hate these events, but as his betrothed both 1of you know how important it is for you to place yourself into society. he wants to touch you, to place a comforting hand on your shoulder. but the prince knows the two of you are not there—not yet.

"will it comfort you to know that the hunt will not take very long?" he asks quietly, as the two of you begin to walk back with the rest of the royal hunting party.

"it does" you reply softly, looking up at him briefly with your captivating gaze. "you will make sure it doesn't suffer?" you ask quietly, after a moment.

you and your bleeding heart. "you have my word" yuuji promises solemnly, meaning every word.

as you both near the clearing, the prince can hear the sounds of conversation. the men clean and toy with their weapons, boasting loudly of the kills they are sure to earn. the women are all huddled away from the sun underneath a tent. the smell of fruit wafts from it, fresh and cloying. honey and lemon cakes too, if his nose does not betray him.

"prince itadori! we were waiting for you" calls out one of the lords. his hair is graying, but he can't possibly be older than forty years of age. he walks up to where he is standing at your and shakes his hand. "if you were to take any longer, i'm sure some of the elders would have fallen over"

"i apologize" yuuji tells him, though he does not truly mean it. "my lady's father asked that i retrieve her" the lord seems to have remembered that you are actually present and turns that sleezy smile in your direction. then he reaches out to offer to shake yours as well. you take a miniscule step towards yuuji, and decline the offer with a shake of your head, a quiet no thank you on your lips.

the lord is clearly miffed by your refusal. his mask cracks, minutely, before repaired. "it's rude to refuse to shake a lords hand, my lady. has no one taught you this?"

immediately, yuuji is stepping forward. he doesn't like the way the lord speaks to you, clearly. the disgust in his voice. the sneer of his upturned nose.

"that is my future wife, and your queen" yuuji's says lowly, blood boiling. he cuts in front of you, glaring down sharply at the stout man. "i will not allow her to be disrespected, in front of me no less, as though she is a simple-minded animal"

"my apologies, my prince— i only meant that—"

"what is meant is what was said" snaps yuuji, catching the attention of several other passerby's at his outburst. he opens his mouth to say more, but is stopped by the brand of your fingers wrapping gently around his forearm. yuuji's voice dies in his throat, eyes glancing down to stare at your slender brown fingers against his skin.

you're touching him. your melodious voice melts his brain as you begin to speak. "it is alright yuuji, i take no offense"

"i apologize for my tone" the prince apologizes, turning to face you more openly now—uncaring as the man slips away with a hurried excuse. "i wasn't too much of a brute, i hope?"

you laugh. laugh. at something he's said. it's soft, but its undeniably there. today is beginning to be one of many surprises. "only the normal amount, my prince" you respond, though he can hear the jest in your tone.

a horn blows, more for his benefit than anyone else's. it is with great that yuuji must leave you—though he stands and watches you enter the tent with the rest of the women before joining the men for the hunt. he is terribly useless during it all, mind clearly wandering. he is teased far more than he would like about the obvious subject of the prince's distraction. the hunt is over a handful of hours later and the men return to camp carrying a boar and a handful of rabbits.

those who are married go to their wives. those who are not either chat up the few ladies who remain unwed, or talk amongst themselves. yuuji busies himself with searching for you. the prince knows you'll be alone and he begins to make a game of it—searching in many nooks and crannies around the clearing. and he does find you, a short while later.

or rather, it is you who finds him.

"i was looking for you" yuuji says, stating the obvious, once you quietly alert him to your presence. he can spot his own parents talking, sharing a drink as they laugh, caught in their own world. before he can think twice about it, the prince begins to imagine the two of you in such a scenario.

you hold a small box in your hands, ignoring his words as you deposit it softly into his hands. "i regret that i could not see you for your birthday" you explain, folding your hands into one another as you stare down at your feet to avoid his gaze. "i hope you like it yuuji, though if you do not, my feelings will not be hurt"

"i love it" yuuji says, even though he has yet to open it. you lift your head, quirking a brow at him. the prince is quick to amend himself. "i mean—i will love it. because you are the one who got it for me" he tears open the box quickly, uncaring of how eager and childish it might make him look.

it is a pocket watch. small and golden, engraved with vines. when he flicks it open, a simple message awaits him ; happy birthday, yuuji and signed with your name. the surface is smooth, and yuuji runs the pad of his thumb across the front again and again.

"you fidget, sometimes, with your pocket watch—when you are troubled, i think" you explain, looking up at him. the prince holds your gift in one hand, reaching down to his pants to tug the old one off the chain. the surface of the clock itself is cracked. "you visited our house for tea, and when you opened your watch to check the time i noticed it was cracked."

the gold of your gifted watch stares up at him. yuuji's face reflects in its surface and he feels oddly near tears. it is a simple gift. he has received more expensive things by a long shot. but nothing compares to the fact that you see him well enough to notice his habits. to notice something as minuscule as knowing he needs a new watch.

i can't wait to marry you is perhaps too loaded for this moment. the last thing he wants to do is scare you off. things are going so well. you've just begun to open up around him. his presence brings you serenity instead of the discomfort of a stranger. he has the rest of his life to tell you how he feels.

so instead, yuuji swallows, looks at you and says, "thank you"

--

the morning sun streams through open windows. yuuji, who usually sleeps with his back facing them for a reason—wakes with the light pressing against his eyes. with a displeasure hiss, he turns over only to find that the right hand side of the bed is empty. the prince, now married as of one day, sits up hurriedly in bed.

once his alert mind catches up to him, you're easily found. you lean against the balcony, looking down. the line of your body is tense, and your shoulders are square. yuuji imagines that for you, there is much to be unhappy about. he tries to remind himself that none of it is because of him.

quietly, so as not to startle you, yuuji calls out your name. he stands beside you, shoulders nearly touching. if the wind blew hard enough, he imagines he could feel the tense side of your body against his own. "early riser, i take it?" yuuji inquires, turning so that his back is pressed against the rails. he can get a better look at you this way.

your mouth pulls down into a soft frown. your fingers twist and pull at one another anxiously. "occasionally" you tell him. then, "when i cannot sleep"

"what troubles you?" asks the prince, just barely fighting to tack on a love at the end of it. not there yet, he reminds himself. not there, we're not there yet.

it is probably the wedding. you don't like attention at the best of times. but not even you could weasel your way out of this one. imagine―a crown princess hiding out from her own wedding. and how alienating it must be, to live in a place that is not your home, surrounded by people you do not know. yuuji absentmindedly traces his lips with his finger, recalling the chaste kiss pressed to them at the ceremony the day before. was there more he could have done, to ease your discomfort?

"we did not consummate the marriage" you explain softly. nervously, you pull at your fingers.

"you did not want to" reminds the prince, not unkindly, staring at you, trying to piece together what you really mean. "why would i force you to do something you do not wish to? it is cruel"

"i should have pushed past my discomforts" you whisper softly, staring down at your bare feet. "they may argue that our marriage is less legitimate if i cannot produce an heir—much less if word gets out that we did not...i do not want to cause you more worry" you finish, sounding so helpless it breaks his heart.

he has an inkling of what this is really about. for a moment, at the reception, your mother had pulled you away. you had left him with an uneasy smile on your face and returned to him so obviously crestfallen. he can't imagine what it is that she's said to you, what lies she's filled your head with.

yuuji steps closer, and gently covers your hand in his own. he turns it over in his palm, relishing in the fact that you do not move away. "if our positions were reversed, would you force me?"

you stare up at him with wide eyes. "...i would not"

"why do you insist on treating yourself so unkindly?" he says softly, brushing his thumb against your knuckles. "i only want to see you happy. i wish to bring you no discomfort, no pain. and i know you wish for me to be the same."

"children require a lot of effort, and take a toll on the mind, and the body" continues the prince. "we will not sire a child until you wish to, and not a moment before. it is you who i am wed to, not the court. the court will not be the one to carry the babe, you will"

you are silent for a long moment. the minutes stretch onwards, and your hand trembles where it rests against his own. a quiet sniffle, and then tears. yuuji stares, unsure of what to do.

"what if i am never ready?" you whisper wetly, looking away from him.

yuuji wants to kiss you. it's a thought that comes at the worst possible time—and shames him thoroughly. but it is true. yuuji wants to kiss you, and he wants to hold your hand, and show you so many wonderful things. things you deserve to have. that you should have already had. but he swallows, and pushes down the feeling.

"i still would not force you" he says truthfully, and it physically pains him to imagine a world where he would. another soft sob escapes you. it physically pains him to see you this way, like someone has stabbed him and left the wound open. "would you like to be held?" yuuji inquires softly.

he doesn't expect you take him up on it. but you do, nodding minutely before stumbling your way into his chest with a sniffle. it's a testament to how much you've grown, over the years. yuuji's arms wrap around you immediately, rubbing softly at the center of your back as quiet cooing noises leave his lips.

"...thank you" your soft cries have subsided, but yet you remain in his embrace. if you do not wish to move, then yuuji won't move you. he can feel you moving, can feel your chin digging into the center of his chest as you slowly blink up at him. tears clump your lashes. the prince brings his finger to your cheek to brush away the last of them.

"i am here for you" yuuji tells you, staring you in the eye so you know how serious he is about this. about you. "always"

you say nothing, only moving to tuck yourself back into his chest. yuuji can feel the way you breathe deeply, and the shuddery exhale that follows as you allow yourself to be comforted.

--

it has been nearly two months since then. and something almost...tangible has passed between the two of you. yuuji can feel it, in the heavy way you look at him. contemplative. questioning. though not in a malicious way. the opposite, really, considering there is no-one more incapable of malice than you.

and that is why yuuji is so afraid to ruin things. ruin them with his feelings, ones he isn't sure you return. afraid to ruin them by showing you that he is not as good as you surely think him to be. afraid to disappoint you.

yuuji's sure you've already noticed his mood as of late—sullen. brooding. clipped, one word answers. how he holes himself up in the council room, or in his office. and when he cannot contain his anger and frustration at the state of things, the training yards with the knights.

that is where he is now, when you find him. todo, one of the knights, has just swept him expertly off his feet. he lands ungracefully on his ass. with a groan, the prince pulls himself to his feet—uncertain now why the usual boisterous training yard has fallen silent.

his heart plummets to the bottom of his stomach when he finally spots you standing in the yard. you hold the skirt of your gown in light fists to protect it from getting soiled by the mud. the juxtaposition it creates—a delicate flower surrounded by dirt and grime.

"i tried calling for you" you say quietly, as the prince bounds to your side, leading you away from the dirt. he knows he must smell, yet you do well to keep your face cool and neutral. simply being in your presence is enough to begin to lift away the sour cloud that hovers above him. "i stood on the balcony. but you could not hear me. it is very loud here" you continue to explain, as if yuuji might somehow be upset with you for any of it.

"have you any need for me?" yuuji asks, cursing himself for being so filthy. if he were cleaner, perhaps you would be up to holding his hand again.

at this, you hesitate. but then the prince can physically see the way you steel your nerves, before raising your eyes to his and giving him one solemn nod.

"only your company" you tell him, so very obvious that you're forcing yourself not to look away. "but it seems i have caught you at an ill time. so it can wait until tomorrow—but i was...i was wondering if you would like to spend the day together?"

"yes, please" yuuji rushes out, before you can even finish. you look at him in surprise, for a quick moment. like you can't believe he had agreed. "today, works. i just need to bathe quickly—"

you give him a small, fond smile, tilting your head to show that you're listening attentively. yuuji's mouth clamps shut and he feels himself turning red.

by now, the both of you have reached your shared chambers. and so, there is no real need for yuuji to stammer out a shaky, "i will be only a moment. to bathe. if that does not set our plans too far back"

but he does. stammer, he means, and you only send him another one of your soft smiles. your hands are clasped lightly at your front. really, you look none at all inconvenienced. "i will wait here for you" you say—gesturing to the bedroom.

"alright" yuuji croaks, and proceeds to set records for fastest bath ever taken. you stand close, much closer than usual, as the two of you exit the chambers. the prince tries not to let the proximity of your body heat ruin his life. he fails. how is it that your presence alone sends him spiraling, but is the only balm for said malady?

and then his brain really does short-circuit once you close the little distance between you. your left arm loops through his right one—but you keep your gaze trained forwards. steadily so. "i am not being too forward?" you ask, refusing to look at him.

"not at all." a gaggle of maids smile as you both pass. yuuji places his hand over the one currently curled around his bicep. he is stiff, almost, as you lead him where you please.

eventually, the two of you end up in another one of the castles gardens. this one is smaller, more private. out on the veranda are two chairs and an easel.

"you mean to paint my portrait" yuuji says, quite dumbly—feeling his face get hot. his palms itch and he feels sweaty, all of a sudden. he's thankful now that you aren't holding his hand.

"if you do not oppose" you wager and you both are looking away from each other now. "i am good at it. i wouldn't make you look like a horrid beast"

it's meant to be a joke. and yuuji takes it, laughing a lot harder than he should for such a little quip. but the corners of your mouth turn up slightly in satisfaction.

"what would you have done, if i had not agreed?" yuuji inquires, departing from your warmth. not that he would have.

you take your place by the easel, holding a pencil in your hand as you begin to sketch the shape of his head—the drape of his wonderful sandy hair. "i would have painted the other chair"

yuuji makes a noise, and laughter peals from his throat so hard that he loses his careful position. you sketch furiously now, concentrated and he realizes that you are trying to capture his laughter.

your head pokes around the easel, brows knit. "you have so many facial expressions."

"that's a good thing, i hope" yuuji replies, feeling his face flush at the way you stare at him. the levelness of your gaze and the relaxation that settles into your bones.

"i have never seen something so alive before" you murmur softly, more to yourself than to him. your eyes dart just west of his face. they dart away again, just as quick. you move to mix your paints now. "i want to be alive like you are"

you are alive yuuji wants to say. painfully so. people just do not care to stay long enough to see it. but he does. he has. yuuji has been there, every step of the way—watching you blossom underneath his hands and eyes. a choked, panicked sound erupts from his throat. your eyes snap up, alarmed.

"...forgive me" you apologize, just as yuuji says, "i am in love with you"

both of you freeze. the ornate palette in your hand hovers in midair, awkwardly close to the easel.

"i have tried to hide it" yuuji whispers at last, when you do not say anything at all. he pretends to pull at a very determined thread in his pants, avoiding your eyes. "and i have tried not to pressure you.i—in anyway. you do not have to return my feelings"

out of his peripheral, he can see see the way your face pulls and twists. "how do you know?" you aren't disgusted. he hadn't expected that you would be. he knew you wouldn't. you aren't the type. but still the fear had clung to him like a second skin anyway.

"i think of you often. i see you everywhere, even when you are not present" yuuji starts, swallowing thickly as you continue to paint. "i have always seen you. since i was a boy. i want you to feel safe, and happy. anything that pleases you, pleases me in turn. when you hurt, i am hurt as well."

you choose not to say anything towards that for a moment. the silence is killing him. yuuji is practically vibrating in his chair.

"i have always wondered, what that feeling felt was called" you murmur softly, looking at him so clearly now. you place your brush down onto your palette, squeezing at the bodice of your dress—over your heart. "i have known very little happiness in my life. and i thought you...i thought you would be like the rest. and yet you have shown me the complete opposite of my expectations. you possess such goodness. it's a rare trait for most to have"

"if that is called love, then that is what i feel for you" you say determinedly, and yuuji had forgotten what it was that he was so upset about in the first place.

surprisingly, after that, the two of you don't talk about it. not openly. he doesn't need you too, he realizes. over the next few weeks, you continue to work on his portrait. yuuji doesn't understand much about painting and art in general—but what he knows is that you've already reached the point of needing him to sit for you. and yet, that doesn't stop you from offering anyway.

always, magically, you seem to sense that he needs a reprieve from the life of the almost-king. you pull him away into your world, where everything is peaceful and calm and quiet. it's different, from the times where he's had his portrait as a boy. he had always assumed he had been too restless, too energetic to sit still for so many hours.

and yet, whenever you tell him that you are finished for the day, yuuji is surprised to find how much time has passed. his body prickles, waking up. he gets so lost in watching you or daydreaming about you or some combination of the two that the time flies.

he's almost...saddened, when you finally finish it for good. you've sent for a few servants to carry it off into the dayroom—covered by a tarp. yuuji will be the only other person to see it. there's almost this, apprehensive look to you, brimming with excitement as your hands pull off the tarp.

"do you like it?" you ask, gazing at him with your wide brown eyes.

he is only half-aware of dropping his lemon tart to the ground. you've painted him in this half-surprised, half-joyful expression. but there's indescribable fondness in there too. there's the parting of his mouth—as if he is only waiting to exhale a breath. there's ruddiness to his cheeks and his eyes seem to be trained towards something just out of reach of the frame.

how long has he stared at you, for his gaze to be always trained towards you—even when immersed in a painting?

"is this is how you see me?" he asks, brown eyes darting from you to the portrait again, amazed.

you sidle up next to him, standing so close that yuuji has to wrap an arm around your shoulders, anchoring you to his side. "that's how you have always looked at me"

--

it's nearing your second anniversary. yuuji has your gift (s) hidden away in his study—where he is now. a collection of things he's found on his occasional travel throughout the kingdom. a yellow and blue day dress with gorgeous golden lace and flowing sleeves. he's always liked you in yellow, and the fabrics feel soft to the touch. ones he'll know you prefer to feel against your skin.

a very large tome about insects, seeing that you've finished what little the castle libraries have on the topic. a journal with a clasped lock, embroidered with pretty vines. so that you can jot down your findings and recite them to him later.

you've recently gotten into calligraphy, and yuuji had procured you nice pens which the vendor promised were prefer for the art. and finally, two tickets for the sleeping beauty ballet—on the last day of its showing, when there are guaranteed to be less people attending.

a little overboard perhaps, considering the fact that yuuji stops and gets you a gift no matter where he is. even if it is as simple as a rose. but he can't help but spoil you. you deserve it. and his reward is the delighted expression you make, and the soft breathless thank you, that passes your lips—ever sweet and genuine.

your fist knocks gently on his door. yuuji makes sure that your gifts are out of sight before telling you to enter. you do, but do not cross into his study. yuuji's brow quirks at the odd behavior. you hang onto the doorframe, grip tight.

"dear?" he inquires, standing up with a start. "is something wrong?"

you shake your head. "n-no. there isn't. i just. i'm ready."

a puzzled look befalls him, trying to discern your meaning. "ready for what?" you only stare imploringly at him. it hits him all at once, what you mean. what if i am never ready? his face turns bright red. "now?" he confirms.

"please" you warble "if you want—"

"of course i want to, love" yuuji interjects, before you can get in your head about it. he steps out from behind his desk, pushing aside the work he planned to finish before bed. his palm settles on the small of your back, guiding you back into the bedroom. further still, so that your bottom lands on the bed.

yuuji crawls in after you, gently pulling you forwards. his hand cups the side of your face—like he has so many times before, eyes fluttering shut as your mouths meet in a soft kiss. you seem to melt in it, bringing your arm up and around his shoulders. he pulls away, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before diving back in for another. and another, and a dozen more.

you squirm against him and sparks light up down his spine. yuuji's hand toys with the short sleeve of your silken fabric of your nightgown before pulling away. he needs both hands for this, untying the lacing for his breeches and top—but unwilling to separate from your mouth.

he tugs himself, almost impatiently, out of his shirt. it pulls the softest sound of laughter from your lips and yuuji nearly moans at the feeling of your hands pressing against his bare chest. your hand darts away at the sound—but yuuji intercepts the touch, pulling you back in.

yuuji dives back in for another kiss, tilting his head to deepen it as your hands curl up at the front of his chest. the two of you languidly kiss for a few more minutes as the arousal begins to slowly pool in both of your bodies. your hips twitch, bucking unconsciously against the hardness of his cock against your thigh.

his hand slides up the side of your body, once against playing with your nightgown. "lets get this off" he suggests softly, gently—like his isn't itching to feel your bare skin. you agree with a soft noise of consent, and a breathy okay, yuuji before you allow him to undo the lacings at the back of your nightgown.

he bunches it up at the bottom, knuckles skimming along your thighs before slowly pulling it up, up, up. his mouth waters as each inch of tantalizing skin is revealed to his eyes. he's never seen so much of you before, body usually covered by your dresses and underskirts. gently, yuuji presses you down against the bedding, bracketing your body with his own as his hand cups your supple breast.

untouched and unused to anyone touching you in such a way, you squirm, a soft sound leaving your lips as yuuji fondles your breast in his warm hand.

"is this okay?" he asks, kissing you again.

you nod, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. his thigh slides between your legs, and he can feel the dampness of your panties. his thumb circles around your nipple, dragging his lips from your lips to your jaw and then down to your neck.

use your words, love, gently admonishes yuuji. i need to know if i'm hurting you.

"okay" you say softly, giving him a pleasured little sigh that doesn't do anything but make his cock ache. "yuujji—that feels good"

your skin pebbles underneath the touch. a moment later, and your nipple is stiff, pressing up against his fingers. yuuji switches to your other breast, angling his body to pull the right back into his mouth. his other hand splays across the warm skin of your stomach, skirting further down to your panty-clad mound.

there's a damp spot against the fabric. yuuji groans around your nipple at the feeling. wet already, and he's done nothing major but play with your breasts and kiss you until your both dizzy. he's going to make you feel so good. yuuji pulls away from your nipple with a wet pop!, fingers pushing your panties to the side as his fingers lightly trace through your folds.

the shape is familiar, and the sound of your moan echoes in his ears as he places the memory of the anatomy model against the real thing. yuuji studies your face, watching and cataloguing which touches make you squirm. which ones make you moan. and which ones make breathless exhales of his name pass through your lips.

you seem to like it best when he starts from the bottom, dragging two of his fingers around your entrance before skirting back up to press firm circles onto your hooded clit. your hips twitch and buck—seeking more friction.

"i'm going to put one in now" yuuji murmurs, spreading your thighs nice and wide for him. he can feel you stiffen up slightly and that won't do. his kisses you again, rubbing quickly on your clit to get your legs to fall open once more. he presses in, tucking his face against the crook of your neck to groan at the tightness of your cunt.

your hips squirm and wriggle, cunt clenching wetly around the intrusion for a moment. trying to push his finger out, before greedily sucking him in. your arms circle around his head, nails lightly scraping against his shoulder and back.

he fingers you slowly, pulling all the way out before pushing back in steadily. his cock is rock hard now and he can't help but to softly grind his cock against your body. "th—that feels good"

"yeah?" yuuji asks, sliding a second in along the first. "how does this feel? too much?"

you shake your head, biting at your lip again. and then you remember yuuji's earlier admonish, gasping out a "no-no. please don't stop" that has him nipping at your skin in deep curling satisfaction. he alternates between stretching you out, scissoring your cunt and between thrusting in an out two fingers becomes three and by the time he works you up to four, your so desperate for it that your thighs tremble and shake―toes curling.

"am, am i not ready now?" you ask, drool escaping your mouth. your eyes fly down to meet his own and the lust that reflects in them has him pulling his fingers out with a rush, licking them clean.

you rise up from the bed enough to help him out of his breeches and underwear, lying back down and spreading your legs. yuuji settles back between them, feeling your warm thighs underneath his hands―the heated supple flesh.

at the last moment, his hand darts out to grab one of the pillows, shoving it underneath your hips. at your questioning look, yuuji turns slightly pink for an entirely different reason.

"i've read that it helps with the penetration. makes it easier for a maidens first time" he explains softly, idly rubbing at your thigh to calm you. "and i'll reach deeper inside―which will feel really good"

it's your turn now, to wear an expression of slightly embarrassment. yuuji's body brackets yours more fully now and he begins to guide himself inside your sticky cunt. a soft, almost pained sound escapes you, replaced by another drawn out one. "you've...been reading?"

he's caught between watching your face and watching his cock sink inside inch after inch. "i inquired about it with your physician. she informed me that female pleasure requires more than male pleasure and―breathe love, there you go, you're doing so well―oh god, you feel so good."

his words bite off, snapping his hips forward and burying the last few inches inside of you with a groan. you yelp, thighs shutting before cracking open again, blinking up at him with wide eyes. you breathe, like he's told you to, visible as you settle around the sudden stretch.

"it doesn't hurt" you murmur quietly, like you can't quite believe it. your eyes go back up towards his face, hand settling around his bicep. "wh-what were you going to say?"

"your physician." yuuji starts, and then stops. his brows crinkle, and his hand trembles in the bedding with the effort it takes to hold still and not to just go wild. "she pointed me to a few books about female anatomy and pleasure―is it alright if i move now?"

you process his words, before nodding. a meek, "yes, please" falls from your lips and no sooner is he pulling out and pushing back in. a squeaky little noise leaves you, shadowed by yuuji's own moan as your tight cunt grips him. practically greedy, the way it's sucking him back in.

he understands now. why men go to war for their women. why they fight so hard and for so long, brutal. anything to be able to come back to this. he's never understood the appeal for sex―why men were so desperate to sleep with someone.

though you aren't just anyone. you're his wife, his sweet wife, nails pricking at his shoulders as his hips snap up to meet your own wriggling hips, little ah ah ah's leaving your lips, eyes fluttering shut and opening again. he feels that fondness bubbling up in his chest, love spilling out into each thrust into your sopping cunt, each fevered i love you, uttered into your skin.

yuuji leans forward to nip at your skin, sucking a mark along your collarbone when you make a loud moan, body seizing up like someone had just poured liquid fire over you. afraid that he's hurt you, yuuji pauses, lifting his head from the crux of your neck and shoulder―panic on his features.

you're quick to reassure him of the opposite. slurring, "no, noplease, please don't stop. please―" and he realizes, sort of late, that he's hit your spot.

"it's okay, sweetheart, love, i'm not stopping" yuuji promises, angling his hips and nailing that spot head-on. you make a litany of noises now, legs wrapped tightly around his waist and nails scrabbling along his back.

he loses himself in the feeling of your velvet heat. the sound of his heavy balls slapping against your round bottom fills the bedroom and the creaking of the bed adds a filthy undercurrent to the way yuuji is pleasuring you. he can feel your cunt clenching around him, throbbing and you're just as close as he is.

his mouth blindly finds yours, though the sloppy kiss is more tongue and teeth than any of the gentle finesse from earlier. yuuji props himself up on his elbow, driving his cock into you again and again, ramming against your g-spot―before slowing down into a sensual roll that has your hips lifting off the bed, chasing after him for more friction. his hand snakes down your body, returning to your clit.

it only takes a few more quick, rough circles on your sensitive nub for your body to tighten up and release, reaching out for him and panting out broken syllables of his name. it's a sound he won't ever be able forget.

yuuji pulls out, hand around his aching cock. jerking once and then twice, painting your thighs and cunt in thick stripes of hot seed. he collapses into bed beside you, curling around your naked body.

"was that your first time too?" you ask, turning to face him. though, its more like your face is in his chest and a moment later he can feel you mouth at the skin of his neck. it tickles, and he laughs, throat dry.

his hand rubs at your back, like he can't quite be separated from you just yet. nerves still thrumming with energy. he's decided that he'll follow after you into the bath, if you're comfortable with it. that'll be nice. bathing with you.

"it was" yuuji assures, gazing down at you. "i wanted you to be my first―if you wanted to at all." his first and his only. for the rest of his days. for as long as he's known you, he's been entranced. first with figuring you out, then with learning you overtime. and now simply, with being with you for the rest of his life.

a fond look passes over your face. you look just as fond as he does, smitten out of your mind. "i must make every woman in the kingdom extremely jealous, to have the heart of such a good man"

he's willing to argue that he's the luckier one. but exhaustion befalls your face, and you curl up further against him. moments later, you're deeply asleep.

the prince, nearly king now, presses a kiss to your slacken lips and follows you off into slumber.

Ever since the green planet became home to you, you had been forced to grasp a handful of new skills, which just a few months ago would seem obscurely abstract.

It was a lot to take on, especially for a physically rather weak girl, who had to take a big leap into that new world all by herself.

You had known the bitter taste of independence long before you were even old enough to spell the word. With that being the cause of your stubborn, lonesome nature, you had a hard time accepting how little you could manage without reaching out for someone’s helpful hand.

Luckily enough, the hand you had grasped months ago in hope of learning how to skin freshly hunted meat belonged to Bellamy, who happened to be the one sitting across you when the knife slid across your own palm instead. And once you seized it… you never quite let go.

He made sure you sticked by his side ever since.

Bellamy was strong in every sense of the word and you were utterly fascinated by that. By him. His hands held the strength of a skilled man with ability to handle anything that could’ve gotten in his way and his deep voice laced with clout could sharply cut right through wild crowds.

Yet he was anything but edged when he’d lean down to your level and show you how to take a good aim with a patience of a saint when he took you hunting. When he’d explain to you anything you did not understand in a group conversation, his expression lacked any signs of his usual grumpiness.

Soon enough, you felt quite capable in the majority of the fields required to survive on this violent planet. Handling a gun, hunting, preparing meat, or even moving around the forest in the right, most tranquil way — he taught you all of it.

Yet despite it all, there still remained one elusive mastery that kept you from walking with your chin up. One thing, that every person around you seemed to had mastered with flowing ease.

Kissing.

People kissed every chance they got. Everywhere. With everyone. Sneaking around and making out became a crucial part of a daily routine for the majority of the freedom-starved teenagers.

Bellamy did it a lot. Too much for your taste. Every time a new girl amorously flew in and out of his tent with hearts for eyes and loud giggles taking place of any coherent sentences, your stomach squeezed in an awfully uncomfortable way, making your insides hurt.

Sometimes, you’d hear sounds of bliss seeping through the thin material of his tent when you passed by it under the cover of nightfall. Flooded with a nameless feeling of emptiness in your heart, you’d retreat back to the solitude of your own, cold bed. Sullen and abashed, you fiercely fought back every returning memory of the way his voice dripped with pleasure, the way his distant, laboured breaths sent a wave of heat to your core.

Why would his hands that felt like rays of sunshine to you, wrap around other girls’ bodies?

What was so bad about your own body that he had never desired to touch it with more intent than just a friendly one?

You couldn’t remain isolated from experiencing something so primal, something that seemed so essential to everyone else. You wanted to be let in on the big secret that the feeling of two mouths sharing one breath was.

In order to do that, you decided to do what you always did when you sought guidance — ask Bellamy.

He never denied you anything. That must have been why, when you insisted on paying him a visit later one night in the hope of learning more Earth skills, he was more than happy to be of service to his dear friend.

Just a few hours later, you found yourself sitting across from him. Ribbons of silver moonlight seeped through the holes in his tent, merging with the yellow hue of the lantern behind you when your throat worked with a heavy swallow after you barely uttered the question that actually brought you there, that now hung in the silent air for a good few seconds before pulling a huff out of Bellamy’s chest.

“Let me get this straight—” he narrowed his eyes and readjusted in his seat, convinced his ears must be betraying him. “You want me to teach you how to kiss as part of our ‘Earth skills training’?” those words came out backed up with a silent chuckle.

“Yes,” You looked stern and more ready than ever. You were nervously fidgeting at the rim of your sleeve, yes, but you were ready! “Just teach me how to do it. Like you taught me how to shoot. It can’t be harder than that.”

His eyes had a hard time deciding whether they should rest upon your gaze, or your lips, as his head tilted with a gleam of curiosity.

“Well, there’s quite a spectrum between shooting and kissing, don’t you think?” he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to tease and watch maroon splash your cheeks comically fast.

“Yeah. But I’m a fast learner.”

“Know you are, sweetheart,” he assured. “C’mere then. Can’t begin the lesson with you so far away.”

A shaky breath passed from your nose once your body settled so close to his that his distinctive, manly scent riddled your thoughts.

“Good. This we can work with,” he breathed.

Not a single move of his muscles beneath his worn-out, navy blue t-shirt went unnoticed by you. The heat of his much bigger body was endowing your own skin in no time, and it felt like the fieriness was getting to your head as well, leaving you dizzy with it.

It was awfully intimate to see him like this, so near that the small scar over his upper lip was all on display, the placement of it taunting you more than ever. The closeness betrayed the number of freckles splattered all over his face, making you regret to not have enough time to take on the challenge of counting them. You mentally noted it down as an activity for another time.

“Now, there actually is something similar to when you are holding a gun… hey, don’t laugh, I’m serious.”

“What is it?” you raised your eyebrows.

“Timing. You take good aim…” His thumb rubbed over the plush of your cheek and coaxed you into leaning forward, the merest touch unfurling the sweetest ache in your heart which was pounding like a hammer, trying to crush your ribcage. “And then, you have to feel the moment it’s right to pull the trigger.”

Bang.

His lips landed on yours.

Yet it wasn’t anything like the roughly fair comparison he made to the violent act of freeing a bullet.

The warmth of his light coral lips coated your mouth as haltingly as a whisper of the forest wind would. His palms radiated with calm as they turned to vices creeping up your waist, showing you how to move in harmony with the slow rhythm.

You sloppily attempted to return the…affection? Faux-affection? You weren’t sure what name to give to the way he touched you. What you were more than sure of though, was that you dreaded the moment of its evanescence.

A string of saliva followed his lips that drew a few inches away again, as his brown irises searched yours.

“Yeah, like so,” he husked and smiled at the sight of your lips, feverishly plump, and eyes opened wide and gave your arm a few reassuring rubs. “Now, I’ll go faster, and you try to answer to that. Like we’re communicating. Think you can catch up, sweetheart?”

“I can,” you nodded breathlessly, way more eagerly than needed.

You couldn’t have him thinking you couldn’t handle intensity. You would take anything he would be kind enough to offer you. Every word, every touch, no matter how insensitive or rough — you’d appreciate it equally as much.

With those thoughts driving you, you leaned into him.

His mouth swallowed yours with great precision. Your chest flowered with unfamiliar sensations when your ears filled with wet sounds your connection was making.

He had kissed plenty of girls before, yes, yet he had never enjoyed the taste of their lips even half as much as yours. You were the sweetest.

A strained whimper escaped your throat as he angled your jaw with his fingers, burning goosebumps into your stupidly responsive skin as his tongue began to slip into your cavity.

Judging by faint groans he suddenly let out and the way his lips curled upwards, you guessed he liked the odd sound.

Oh, how nice it was to hear him, how winsome to have felt his breath hit your face and know that the sound was meant for your ears only.

His tongue gently slid and circled against yours as his thumb traced over the rim of your lower lip.

You wanted to be bolder, seem fearless. So you arched your back with cupidity, gravitated forward and pushed your mouth against his with more urgency, not really knowing your way around but still taking the risk of it. Well, the soft clashing of your teeth quickly made you aware of the sloppiness of the movement.

Before your mind could shove shame down your throat for that, Bellamy’s chest rumbled with a chuckle, making you forget the embarrassment.

“You’re fine, ‘s alright,” he cackled lowly, barely making it in time before your lips shyly seeked him back.

He then clasped your wrist, guiding your hand upwards, since up until then, it just awkwardly rested on the sheets underneath you. A shiver sprinted up your spine as soon as your digits met his olive skin.

“Go ahead. Be brave, explore a bit,” he offered as his nose nudged against your own.

So, brave you were.

The softness of your touch painted with tingles his arms, his biceps.

You played with his hair, admiringly twirling the curls in your fingers. You had always wanted to know how it’d feel.

Curiosity seemed to be filling your whole body. It pooled in your lower stomach and made you tingle funnily. It drove your every move as you kept squirming closer and closer.

When you eventually broke the kiss to get a breather, you couldn’t help but wonder…

“Am I doing okay?” you whispered so quietly he barely caught it.

“You’re doing great, don’t worry. It takes practice, you’ll get better with time. Just like shooting, yeah?”

“Yeah. Like shooting,” you smiled back and for a moment battled yourself over whether to ask the question balancing on the tip of your tongue. “So we’ll practice more?” you hoped it didn’t sound too much like a plea.

“However often you need, sweetheart,” he said, recognising the undeniable beginning of something new. Something exciting.

Oh, there was so much left to learn. Good thing you had always been hungry for knowledge!

You should have just listened to your gut instinct. The first fifteen minutes of the drive is quite possibly the most tense, awkward, unpleasant experience you have ever had to sit through. Apparently, the same can’t be said for Graves, because every time you cast a glance over his way, he has a comfortable smile on his face and a relaxed looseness to his posture.

If it were up to you, this entire drive would be spent in complete silence. No teasing remarks from Graves, and no annoyed responses from you. He would simply drive you to your place and drop you off without a word.

But nothing is up to you when it comes to Graves, is it?

“Y’know, it’s a damn shame I didn’t get to see more of you tonight. You look real pretty—I mean, when do you not, huh?” He flashes a smile in your direction, and the most you care to give as a response is a hum.

“I guess I can’t complain too hard, though. I definitely ain’t losin’ out on any quality time with my favorite girl by the time this drive is done.” That comment makes you think; Just how committed to this bit is he? He just abandoned the party he was hosting, leaving a crowd of people to their own devices in his home just so he could give you a ride. It actually bothers you so much that you ask him.

His brows furrow a little, like he hadn’t considered any of it. “Oh, that?” Graves shrugs dismissively. “Well, I really do all of those things just for my boys. They can celebrate with the party, but I also wanna be able to celebrate how I want. This? I’m doing this purely for myself.”

With a clench of your jaw and a faint wrinkle of your nose, you turn your head to look out the window again. Graves looks your way again, expecting to see your face looking back at his, but your irritation with him is evident by the way you seem to try and angle yourself away from him as much as possible. It causes his confidence to waver as he looks back out at the road.

“M’sorry,” he mumbles after a beat, clearing his throat. “Really—I don’t want you upset with me. It ain’t gentlemanly of me to be all pushy with you like this.”

Gentlemanly? Is anything Graves does supposed to be gentlemanly?

You reply with something huffy—something along the lines of oh, yeah, real gentleman you are. Quipping that his posse isn’t even in the car to give him the reaction and attention he’s so clearly craving, you feel yourself growing more and more defensive each moment. His presence alone is typically enough to turn you prickly. That being said, you don't feel nearly as self assured as you did when those words left your mouth.

It feels strangely vulnerable to admit to him that you're aware of what he's doing. It feels like admitting your own weakness—admitting that you were never strong enough to stand up against him before, and instead just sat there and took it. Images of people laughing at your interactions flash through your mind and coil your muscles tighter.

Any semblance of strength you had in your argument is chopped down by his expression, though.

“What?” he immediately replies, sharp and low, yet something like offense and hurt is woven in. “I mean, yeah, I guess I sure as hell am thankful there ain’t more people here—I’d rather have you all to myself.” It’s like even when he’s the one being serious he still feels the need to try and defuse the situation with flirting. “Lemme get this straight: you think that I’m bein’ sweet on you for other people’s attention and entertainment?”

Graves’ hands grip the wheel tighter as he stares ahead at the road, only illuminated by his headlights at this point. His jaw is set and there’s a swirling in his eyes as they squint, like the concept alone is dizzying. All you can do is agree with his question.

"I mean...if I'm being entirely honest—”

And here comes the confession. Here is the sweet admission of guilt.

"I'm a lil' hurt you think I'd do sumthin' like that; and I'm admittedly even more hurt that I made you feel that way." He looks at you with a searing intensity. "Seriously, it was never my intention."

What?

He looks back at the road as you're left completely confused.

Taking a few moments to carefully consider his words, Graves lifts a hand to rub it over his mouth, biting his cheek too hard to be comfortable. “They ain’t laughing at you,” he suddenly says shortly. “My friends—it’s not you they’re laughing at; they’re laughing at me.” After a pause, he glances over at you with confusion. “What could they be laughing at you for?” The only response you’re willing to give at the moment is turning the question back on him.

His response is immediate. “Hah…what isn’t there to laugh about? My friends know how stupid I am for you, baby. Obviously they’re gon’ laugh at how much of a fool I’m makin’ of myself every time I talk to you.” You think your head might just explode at what you’re hearing. The entire reality and relationship you’ve built around Graves in the time that you’ve known him has completely shattered.

Still, something in your brain refuses to believe it. If he has lied for this long, why wouldn’t he be lying now? So, as is consistent with your behavior, your response to him is sharp and defensive, loudly proclaiming that your tired of his act, and that you don’t appreciate being teased just so he can feed his ego. You’re confident in yourself (no you aren’t) and if he can’t appreciate that, then he’s perhaps the most self absorbed and self conscious man you’ve ever met.

His mouth opens, then closes. Then opens with a small sputtering sound, only to close again.

"M'sorry—I really am." That's all he says, and it sounds like it's all he's planning on saying for the rest of the ride.

Somehow you feel like you're the asshole in this situation now.

He sounds so soft and defeated. He sounds like he cares, and, God, how you just wish someone would care.

Right before the threshold of where it would be strange for you to respond after such a long bout of silence, you quietly thank him. Despite how hard you try to distract yourself with looking out the window—at how the shadowed trees and dusty dirt road slowly transition into highways and flashing city lights—you find your eyes are annoyingly drawn in his direction.

That guilt from earlier begins to creep up again. He's never been rude. He's never been offensive. And now, something in you is beginning to second guess your previously firm belief that he's some mastermind with a cruel plan to humiliate you.

Your gaze lingers on him for longer than you intended, observing his solemn expression and the way he seemingly refuses to allow himself to look at you now, despite how eagerly he typically finds any excuse to look at you. Stoplights are full of awkward silence and averted looks rather than teases and stolen glances. The car ride is turning out to be so much worse than you ever could have predicted, and it's only about halfway done at this point.

Enough time passed that you simmered in your feelings, and the grip he seemed to have on your eyes finally begins to waver. Slowly you begin to look between the window, to him, to your lap, and then to him again, painfully restless. Unfortunately for you, his eyes finally flicker to yours again right as you look at him, and a punchy, frustrated sigh huffs from his nose. You quickly look away again before you can catch any other reaction on his part, but its already too late.

You cast a sideways glance at him, just enough to see that he's looking back at the road again, and then you look back out the window. There's no coming back after this. You can seriously never go to one of these "morale boosting parties" ever again. The worst part is you can't even tell your friend why the topic is suddenly so awkward for you.

Oh, even worse, what if Graves tells your friend about all of this. What if they already know? If Graves is being truthful, then it seems you're the only one who's stupidly been blind to this situation the entire time, despite being involved in it. If Graves isn't being truthful, though, then that's more pathetic. What if your friend has known about this teasing this entire time? What if everyone else is in on it?

What if you've always just been a circus clown for his parties?

The car is full of the red glow from a stoplight and you're too distracted with your spiraling thoughts to even fully remember that you're currently sat in Graves' car. A muffled rustling of fabric can be heard to your left, but you don't think twice about it, and subconsciously keep your arm tighter against your side when you realize his arm is now resting on the center console.

A beat passes. Another shift. His warm skin is touching yours again. You shrink yourself, again.

When you feel that somehow his arm still manages to touch you, it's enough to derail your train of thought. It's physically impossible to make yourself any smaller. Your thighs are sore from keeping your legs pressed together, your body is hot from keeping your arms crossed, and your back aches from the awkward angle your tilting at to create extra distance between the two of you.

A hand lands on your knee.

His skin is rough and callous, and his hand holds weight to it, though you can tell that he's attempting to be careful and gentle in the way he touches you. A deep, unwelcome warmth blooms in your lower belly at the feeling, and despite knowing better, you look at him again.

There's an intense, trained focus to the way he watches the road. His jaw is tight and nostrils are flared, like every ounce of energy is being used on both not acknowledging what's happening, and praying that you won't just jump out of the car right now. The red light catches the beads of sweat on his hairline, and if you watch his chest close enough, you can see that his breaths are fast and shallow.

When you look away again, it's only a few moments before he moves once more. Like he's attempting not to scare off a skittish animal, his hand carefully applies more pressure, sliding just an inch higher up to your lower thigh. The sensation sends a shiver up your spine and spreads goosebumps over your arms. It feels like your body already knows what your brain refuses to accept.

Your thighs relax slightly, allowing them to just barely part and he doesn't hesitate to take advantage, sliding his hand just barely higher once more. The tips of his fingers just barely graze your inner thigh, and your breath catches in your throat.

When you shift in your seat, his hand tightens over your flesh like he's worried you'd somehow manage to runaway despite being trapped right next to him in the confines of the car. You swallow thickly and squeeze your eyes shut, both trying to focus on the feeling of his wandering hand, and also focus on keeping any semblance of reason in your thoughts.

You don't dare look at him at the next stoplight, but you don't have to look at him to feel the burning of his eyes on your face. A quiet whisper of your name leaves his mouth, low and gravelly. Still, you don't look, and don't attempt to remove his hand. The light turns green, and he continues driving.

Time seems to pass much quicker than the beginning of the drive. The weight of his hand carries every convincing argument he failed to make when proving his innocence, and your lack of rejection is the only confirmation he needs that he's not completely in the doghouse.

The car almost becomes its own bubble separate from the rest of the world, shielding you from the prying eyes of colleagues and friends. He doesn't have to perform. You can both be vulnerable. Whatever interactions you've shared and opinions you have formed in the past don't have to exist here.

Before you know it, you see how the buildings around you become increasingly familiar, and it its not long before he turns onto your street. Part of you could not be more relieved that the end to this fever dream is in sight, yet the other floods with disappointment.

Part of you knows that this won't lead to anything. You'll thank him, exit his car, and go up to your place. His hand won't be on your thigh anymore, and his gaze won't be on your face. You'll go to your bedroom and sit on your bed for god knows how long mulling over the car ride: what you should've said, what you could've done differently, what he's thinking.

Now that you think about it, you're pretty sure you don't even have Graves' number. The next time you'll see him will be at one of his parties probably months from now, and both of you will pretend that none of this ever happened; that is, if you can even build up the courage to go to his house again.

He pulls up to your apartment, stopping as close to the entrance as he can manage. The way he puts the car in park and turns down the radio gives you the impression that he has the intention to talk to you now—to have some sort of uncomfortable heart to heart—but you could not be less interested in exploring that avenue.

By the time he turns to look at you, you're already frantically clambering out of his car and awkwardly thanking him for the help, his hand falling and landing on the warm leather of your seat. The night air feels especially cool on your hot skin, and the streetlamp seems to perfectly illuminate the red, flushed hue of your face.

When he doesn't immediately respond, you mumble something about promising to pay him back for the gas money, and turn to begin to making your way over to the stairs. With your back shielding you from his view, you cringe and scrunch your face, already beginning to freakout over the events of the night. You're only stopped by the sudden sound of your name being called out in that deep drawl.

When you turn around, you find the drivers side of Graves' car open and him stood right outside of it. His car is off and there's a certain needy desperation to the way he watches you.

"It's dark—Lemme walk you to your door."

...

"Please?"

© urprettybird

A/N: I'm not dead !! omg i totally didn't mean for over TWO MONTHS to pass between this and the last chapter. hopefully u guys haven't forgotten about this fic lol. i was supposed to get a laptop and thought "ok, I'll just wait to write the next chapter when i have a laptop," bc I hate writing longer stuff on my phone, but then i didn't get a laptop. it was too late tho. my brain was already stuck in "I'm not writing this again until I get a laptop" mode, and then that ended up taking two extra months. Also I didn't like proofread or edit this chapter at all so it's lowkey not the greatest. TLDR I'm dumb. i hope u guys liked it tho!! all of the love u guys have given to this fic means sooooooo much <333

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@bookishpuppytale @jellychannie @cumikering @atlas3rr0r-1974 @pistolprinc3ss @slittlewing @vused