#ahsjaksjsj

strange guy, he was— never once in your life had you thought that you’d think of someone else other than yourself and your never-ending books, but here you were— life proving you wrong once again.

although, you weren’t exactly complaining, were you?

slender hands of his skimmed over the book covers, concentrated dark eyes like an abyss of mystery— the faint sunlight casting them in such an ethereal glow that made them seem like rich pools of honey. his silky black hair was kept loose down his shoulders today, you noticed— save for the messy bun he had made with the upper half.

like hell were you complaining.

nimble fingers of yours fidgeted with the now crumpled sheet— and you let out a hiss, only just realising that you had crushed the poor paper that contained your to-do list for the day.

sorry, to-do list.

but hey, it’s not like destroying your to-do list had rendered you completely jobless— now you could watch the one whom you secretly admired in peace.

reason? your list got so crumpled up that you couldn’t even read it, duh.

and who was the one who crumpled it?

. . .

ah, maybe let’s not think about the list anymore.

where were you again? ah, yes, back to being your admiring self. the thriller book you’d always had since a high schooler by your side— you gave it a little tap of confirmation, speaking to it in a language only you and the book seemed to understand.

those eyes of yours fixed upon the man— could he even be called a man, at this point?— he was simply so . . . other-worldly that you often found yourself mentioning him to your co-workers, just to make sure that he was real and not just a figment of your imagination.

you still remembered the looks on their faces— small frowns embedded on their expression as they eyed you suspiciously, until your manager snapped at you all to start working already (“college kids these days,” he had muttered under his breath) but— did you mind?

not one bit, if he was involved.

his slow, sauntering footsteps made the wooden floor hum a soft clack— and you strangely found yourself listening to it, as if immersed in a melody only he was singing to you— a melody which only you could hear, and no one else.

your gaze lingered on the way his dark strands looked, especially those curiously styled bangs of his— wondering how it could look so soft and silky as the gentle sunlight painted it a shimmering brown— how, somehow, you had never wanted anything in this whole damn world other than running your fingers through those alluring locks. humming to yourself, you took occasional sips from the water bottle you had brought along— only to notice that it had long got over, and yet, here you were, still holding it to your lips like a complete idiot— eyes peering over the lid at a certain someone.

but, somehow, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

not one bit.

didn’t care if you looked like some lovesick fool right now— hey, at least he was the cause.

and you’d gladly be any fool in this whole damn universe if it comes to him.

you tilted your head, catching a glimpse of how his hand went back to scratch the back of his neck— a thoughtful expression on his face, and oh how your heart did a little flip when you saw that little, focused frown of his— making you almost drop the bottle, but you weren’t a complete idiot.

or were you?

“. . hey,” a small, annoyed voice says, snapping you out of your trance as you jerk your head downwards, to find a boy who looked no older than seven stare up at you with a scowl on his little face. “i’ve been callin’ you for five times, y’know.”

okay, maybe you were an idiot.

“oh,” you blinked, before letting out a sheepish chuckle, “sorry, lil’ guy. what can i help you with?”

“sorry yourself, miss girl who stares creepily at guys,” he said, making your eyes widen in an almost comically surprised way— okay, you were seriously doubting whether this kid was seven or not— “i wan’ this.”

the boy’s tiny hand placed a magazine on the table, the smooth cover sliding across the wooden surface.

you raised a brow, eyes narrowing whilst you read the oh so interesting title— ‘Girls’ You Can’t Get, So You Can Stare At Them Instead’— and regretting your life decisions as you flipped just one page— only to be met with some very . . not-so-family-friendly pictures of women.

swallowing a lump in your throat, your gaze flickered back to the menace— boy— in question; a small, flickering smile on your face.

“that’d be, uh,” you hastily flipped over to the back cover of the magazine, checking the price, “two hundred and ninety eight yen.”

handing him the receipt and the change after he had paid, you noticed how the kid immediately held onto it in an overly possessive grip, eyeing you warily, as if you were gonna snatch it out of his grip.

as he turned to walk out, you couldn’t help but blurt out the question you’d been pondering over since the past few minutes.

“hey— kid,” your voice said awkwardly, and he stopped in his tracks, raising a brow whilst looking at you over his shoulder, “how . . old are you?”

he let out a small ‘tsk’, rolling his eyes— a scowl settling over his features again.

“five.”

you could only stare as he stepped out of the store, mouth slightly parted in disbelief and surprise— eyes wide. five? and here you were, thinking that lil’ shit was seven.

you made sure to set a reminder to talk to your manager about stacking those— magazines— strictly in the adult section.

squinting your eyes at the place from where the kid must’ve taken that book, an audible gasp escaped you when your gaze landed on the sign-post just beside the shelves.

kid’s section.

and whilst you sat there on your chair, rethinking every single life decision you’ve ever made, a certain someone chuckled to themselves— the sound small and barely audible— filling the air for only a few seconds, yet lingering on for eternity.

｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+ even if the world stops shaking

suguru had always been a patient, patient man.

some would say that was nature all along— the polite child he’d been, smooth voice so full of charm that he everyone was drawn to him and his beautiful, beautiful self— like a moth finding a source of light for the first time, a found serendipity that made him treasured by everyone he knew.

his head tilted upwards to gaze at the pink-tinged sky— dark pupils lingering on a moment too long at a peculiar shaped cloud as his white-haired friend’s voice filled the air, going on and on like a tuneless hum— hey, that looked a bit like satoru’s glasses, didn’t it?

“have any left?” suguru’s smooth voice muttered— and although satoru’s loud rambles drowned his words— a cigarette was placed into his hands by shoko, who gave him a knowing look.

good ol’ shoko.

“heyy, are you guys even listenin’ to me?” satoru’s whine earned him a light shove on the shoulder from suguru, who couldn’t help but let out an amused chuckle.

“took you long enough to figure out that we weren’t,” shoko’s voice took a sarcastic turn whilst she twirled the cigarette between her fingers idly, bored eyes staring at the male.

“i was listening, senpai!” eyes lighting up with sparkles, haibara gazed at his upperclassmen in childlike awe; looking very much like an excited puppy— but then again, when was he not cheerful and excited?— suguru couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped him yet again.

good ol’ haibara, suguru thought.

“uh huh? what was i saying then?” satoru grumbled, a pout on his boyishly hansome face whilst he crossed his arms— still a bit put off by the fact that his friends weren’t really paying attention to him.

“you were saying somethin’ about— the . . . the sea cucumber you found the other day when you went at the beach?” haibara stammered, an almost pitiful frown embedded on his face as he tried to remember what exactly satoru had been talking about— which of course earned a laugh from shoko and suguru.

“sea shells,” said a quiet voice, holding a tinge of irritability to it— and all of their heads jerked towards the direction of kento— who they thought hadn’t even acknowledged their very existence whilst being immersed in his book, let alone listen to satoru’s little chatters— before erupting into fits of laughter.

“oh, man,” satoru held onto his aching stomach, pretty blue orbs already reduced to tears— even he, though the one speaking, knew that kento usually paid as much attention to him as a person generally would to a roadside rock— but then again, they wouldn’t have been friends for so long if it had been as simple as that.

“kento, you really were listenin’, huh?” haibara slapped his hand on his shoulder, positively beaming— and oh how kento’s ears burned red in embarrassment.

“shut up,” he mumbled— shrugging the male’s hand off his shoulder as he busied himself with his book again, almost painfully obvious in the way he was avoiding either of their gazes.

good ol’ kento, suguru thought.

“mhmm, you’re right, my dearest kenny,” satoru cooed, slinging an arm around the younger male’s shoulder, positively relishing in the way he earned himself an irritated sigh from oh so grumpy kento— a bark of laughter escaping him as he ruffled his hair.

the sound was so youthful— filling the air like a harmonious tune, rough though it came off as— yet producing such a soothing effect because of the sheer joy it carried, a joy which was pure, a joy which was real.

good ol’ satoru, suguru thought.

“ooh, you might wanna be careful with the hair,” shoko snickered, puffing out a cloud of smoke— her laugh mirroring satoru’s.

“i’m making it look a bit more presentable, mind you,” satoru retorted, sarcasm oozing from his words as yet another laugh escaped him— suguru shook his head, heaving a light-hearted sigh; oh god, not one day passed without someone commenting on poor kento’s hairstyle— not that he was entirely sorry for him, as he took part in it quite as much.

and as his eyes watched kento furiously struggling to get out of satoru’s vice-like arm lock, a strange feeling emerged in his heart— a feeling he couldn’t quite place his finger upon.

longing.

for what, though? suguru couldn’t help but ponder, the cigarette resting lazily between his lips— completely unaware of the fact that it was still unlit— his friends were right here.

sure, they were. but something wasn’t there as well. something that made his head spin in such a dizzyingly sweet manner that he wanted it to never, ever stop.

something.

and where was this something?

he paused. slender fingers reaching up to slowly remove the cigarette from his lips— exhaling air, expecting to see a puff of smoke— dark eyes widening the moment he saw nothing.

the cigarette was still unlit.

still unlit.

and suddenly, he knew where it was. this something.

standing up gingerly, suguru brushed some dirt off his jeans, slinging his bag over his shoulder— heads turning to look at him, his friends’ curious eyes peering into his own.

suguru was a patient, patient man. a man who’d learnt to share his comforts— a man who’d been accustomed to comforting people just by his mere presence—

but strangely enough— for once in his life— he didn’t want to share.

this something of his.

“where’re you goin’, suguru?” satoru asked, his grip on kento’s face loosening— and kento taking the chance to immediately distance himself from satoru by at least five feet— “oh, don’t tell me.” —those mystifying, cerulean eyes of eyes threatened to roll to the back of his head— “you’re going to that crappy bookstore again.”

raising a brow, it was now suguru’s turn to roll his eyes.

“indeed, i am going to that crappy bookstore, satoru,” he tittered, a small, amused smirk on his face, “i have to buy this book i looked up yesterday—”

“since when were you the one to read so many books?” shoko narrowed her eyes— and, for the first time in his life, suguru didn’t want to be questioned— didn’t want to be the found serendipity, just— a quiet getaway.

to his something.

“senpai’s very smart, though!” haibara beamed, lips spreading into a wide grin. “i once saw him—”

“shut up for a while, haibara,” shoko retorted— which earned a small ‘sorry, senpai’ from the younger male— “and you, suguru. what’s up with you these days, huh? you keep disappearing on weekends. and— and you have this strange sorta look— like you wanna be somewhere. what’s goin’ on?”

suguru almost wanted to let out a gentle laugh at how those brown eyes of shoko were filled with suspicion— and underneath all that façade, concern; drowning in honey pools full of questions.

and for once, he didn’t want to answer those questions.

for once, he just wanted to go away.

to his something.

“no reason,” suguru said, his back now facing them, hand raised in a goodbye— which haibara eagerly returned with an overly enthusiastic wave of his, even though the ravenette couldn’t see him— “i’ll be back in a few.”

he felt their gazes on him. pointing, but not piercing.

and oh how he was thankful for that.

hands in his pockets, suguru’s gaze lingered on the cracks between the footwalk, noticing how the little flowers managed to bloom, though being surrounded by a world of concrete. but hey, the sun was to keep them company, wasn’t it?

slender fingers of his fidgeted with the unlit cigarette in his pocket— as he reminded himself back again where he was going— feet abruptly stopping as he realised that he was here already.

suguru’s hands pushed open the door, as he passed by the ‘smoking is strictly prohibited’ sign pasted on the glass— the gentle tinkle of the bells announcing his presence as he walked his way towards the non-fiction section. his usual stop.

and from the corner of his eye, he gazed at your sleeping figure at the desk— a small chuckle escaping him— a glint of pure adoration in his eyes.

why?

of course, he knew. but he daren’t say that, even to himself.

he was back.

to his something.

you.

your eyes shut and your hair slightly obscuring your face, suguru relished in the peaceful expression on your face. quiet, like a deer— resting in a open foliage— in a small patch of tender grass it found, upon which sunlight hit so softly that the poor animal couldn’t help it. innocent, like it didn’t know that it could be get pounced upon by the tiger— just like you slept on your job, blissfully unaware that the tiger— your manager— could come into the shop anytime.

good ol’ you, suguru thought.

∘⁠˚⁠˳⁠° pretty boy, you did this to me, boy

fixing your gaze upon the ceiling, a sigh escaped you— almost inaudible, as if you were afraid of disturbing an unknown presence.

yet, you knew you were alone.

and yet, strangely enough— it didn’t bother you, like it usually did. at least to most people.

it wasn’t as if your thoughts were all sunshine and daisies either, hell no— far from that, in fact. but hey, at least you weren’t drowning in your thoughts like you did before.

you had grown, hadn’t you?

maybe that little, nagging voice said otherwise— 'grown? you've deteriorated even more from before, you idiot,' it snickered, the little scoff that left it resonating through your entire soul, like a haunting siren’s call— yet another voice— a quiet but steady one— seemed to soothe your mind.

‘she’s healing. don’t you forget that,’ it said— its presence so welcoming that you might as well regard it as the sailor who had saved you from the grasp of that malevolent little siren. it’s voice didn’t resonate, didn’t linger on in your thoughts, as that one had— yet it had a more lasting effect.

you were healing.

you’ve grown.

one of your hands, which had been resting at the back of your head, reached out to stretch in front of your eyes— which had long grown accustomed to the dim moonlight peeking through the window of your room— as if you were trying to shield yourself from some sort of light. you simply stared at it; gaze fixated on your spread out fingers, eyes flickering towards the veins running along your hand now and then, like some forbidden sort of creeper living inside your body.

except that this creeper was the reason you were living.

crap, you’ve missing out on your biology lectures a bit too much haven’t you?

and as your gaze lingered onto your skin you couldn’t help but ponder— did you really know the back of your hand well enough to live upto the expectations of people actually deciding to pose a proverb based on it— did you know the back of your hand like the back of your hand?

it was a silly thought, but then again, no one— except you— was here, in the confines of your room.

no one to chide you, except you.

eh, you might as well do it— you’ve called yourself much worse things than ‘silly’ in the past, anyway.

flipping over your position to rest on your stomach instead, you laid your hands onto your pillow; stray strands of your tousled hair falling over your eyes— but you didn’t tuck them behind your ear, not now— you had a very important examination to do.

at least, it was important to you, anyway.

your fingers stretched out on the soft fabric of your pillow— and oh how gently did you treat them, like a fragile test subject which could crumble away at the slightest bit of mishandling— eyes gazing at the various lines running across your skin.

and strangely enough, each one told you a story.

not stories just anyone could understand— just you, of course, because you were the one who’d know the back of your hand well, after all.

your gaze travelled across the sharp ridges and falls of your knuckles, noting how the tender skin between them stretched as you folded your hands into a fist— eyes filled with an unexplainable awe that you yourself couldn’t describe.

this was how it felt like knowing something.

knowing, not in a crude way— like going on a quest for an unsure treasure, like getting information— no, it was knowing.

it was a pleasant feeling.

and as you stared at the back of your hand, a strange longing spread throughout your chest— a longing which you failed to understand, yet knew where it came from almost a second later.

of course.

to discover, to know— the thought whispered such encouraging little wants that you found yourself yearning for more— for more to discover, for more to know.

who, though?

. . .

maybe you knew the answer to that already.

and suddenly, you were sitting up on the mattress, fingers fumbling in a frenzied fashion to get out of your duvet— your feet taking quick steps towards the study desk placed just aside your bed, hands grabbing a pencil and a piece of paper that you managed to catch sight of at the corner of your eye.

a hasty stroke here, and a line there. you might have wanted to give the edge a bit of a softer tone, but you quickly dismissed the thought when you tried it out— impatiently rubbing away the unwanted addition.

your heart was pounding, so loud that you could hear it— as if it had suddenly lurched up to your throat— slightly ragged breaths escaping your parted lips; but you were not to stop anytime soon.

it didn’t take you long.

knees wobbling slightly due to the unexpected tension you had launched upon yourself earlier, you flopped back down on the bed— holding up the piece of paper up to your face just like you had held up your hand earlier— and you stared.

it wasn’t perfect, you knew— but oh how it made a faint red tinge to your cheeks appear— the sweet blush spreading across your face.

you’d been careful with his eyes— how they’d crease ever so slightly when he had that focused frown plastered on his face, how his bangs obscured the vision of his left eye a bit— how his lips pursed in a thoughtful manner whilst he decided which book to pick.

and before you knew, a smile had spread across your lips— one that you didn’t initiate, but rather your heart.

you longed for something, and here you had it right here— as if shielding you from some unknown light whilst you held it up to your face— and oh how your heart did a little dance.

a dance of longing.

longing to know this something of yours.

him.

｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+ baby girl, look where we made it, girl

damn, he’d really outdone himself today.

first, dealing with satoru’s dramatic ass when he kept insisting on singing some cringey romantic songs to piss kento off— when he obviously wasn’t opposed to the idea— but then again, the song that his best friend had chosen had made bile come up to his throat, so he had very (not) respectfully declined the offer.

that was a big achievement itself, but here he was— having an umbrella clasped in his hands when he always was without one, most of the times.

it wasn’t that he forgot— nature had a strange relationship with him, somehow, always wanting him to get drenched in the little pelts of water it showered upon him— all the while sending everyone but him some sort of signal that it was going to rain.

changed, have you, nature?

suguru watched as his boots stepped over the little temporary ponds that the rain had created in the busy streets— occasionally, someone would run past him in search of a dry place— reminding himself of him, when nature had some sort of grudge against him.

his feet slowed down, eyes gazing up at the gray skies whilst tilting back his umbrella to a distance enough to keep himself dry— silently pondering over the endless horizon of nothingness, all the while raindrops pelted against his walking shelter— bouncing against the black fabric with an almost repetitive synchronization; like some sort of message that they were trying to whisper to him, some sort of thing that only he was supposed to know.

eyes turning back to the path ahead, he resumed his walk— picking up his pace, about to turn towards the left to head to his apartment when—

suguru paused, his breath catching in his throat.

you.

you looked beautiful in the rain.

though being drenched from head to toe, stray strands of your hair sticking to your face as you took hurried footsteps across the street with that exasperated look on your face— suguru thought you looked like the most breathtaking thing in the world, like something he was meant to stare at for eternity.

his gaze lingered on your figure as you walked fast enough to not let yourself slip— simply entranced by the way you moved— even though your movements were a bit jittery.

and oh how his heart clenched at the realisation.

you were shivering.

cold, you were— and here he was, unable to do anything but simply watch you from afar. here he was, warm in his overcoat and dry in under his umbrella— whilst your body trembled in the rain.

it wasn't fair, suguru thought.

you shouldn’t be there— shaking under the mocking, heavy raindrops that the sky hurled towards you, as your feet deseperately carried you to a dry place— no, you should be right here, with him; in his arms, all the while he shielded you from the rain and provided you with his warmth—

suguru paused, forced to tear his focus away from his thoughts as he watched your figure abruptly stop next to a small box on the ground.

his eyes narrowed— what were you thinking? you shouldn’t be out here, what if you got sick?—

the male’s breath catched in his throat.

you were crouching down infront of the box, a hesitant expression on your face— which made his heart clench— it was almost as if you were making a difficult choice, one that tore your heart apart.

yet, you did it anyway.

suguru’s eyes widened as you took out a book from your bag— the very same book you had with you at all times, one that he believed was your source of comfort— and pried it open, parting it in half— before you placed it upside down, over something in the drenched box.

your little smile as you walked away was something suguru would never forget in his entire life.

his eyes watched your retreating figure as if caught in a daze— he hadn’t even noticed how tight his grip had become on the handle of his umbrella, hadn’t noticed how he had been holding his breath.

though suguru did not know much about you, he knew that— that book mattered to you.

it had mattered to you so damn much.

watching you from the corner of his eye as his fingers had skimmed over the various covers of the non-fiction books arranged on the mahogany bookshelves, he had seen how you always had that book with you— like a companion, like a constant being that stayed with you no matter what— suguru had watched it being a part of yourself.

and yet, you had left that part of yourself today.

for what?

and before he knew it, he was walking— taking long strides over to the box, expression hardened and demanding— he simply had to know—

oh.

a small meow escaped the little kitten as it stared curiously up at suguru, sheltered underneath the hard cover of your book.

oh.

for this.

and as suguru walked back to his apartment, the raindrops soaking him through, he couldn’t help the little grin on his face— the image of his umbrella over the box while it kept your book and the lil’ feline dry playing on and on into his mind like a broken melody.

a melody he would never get tired of hearing.

so this was the message nature was trying to tell him?

that he’d always get drenched in every rain, even if he did bring an umbrella with him.

suguru shook his head, sighing to himself.

good one, nature.

｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+∘⁠˚⁠˳⁠° I'm taking this moment, ooh, with me, nah Wherever I'm going I'm happy you're coming, ooh, with me With me, yeah

you were distracted.

you knew that.

even when he walked in, the gentle tinkling of the bell filling the air; your head was down in your arms— a blank expression on your face, as you simply breathed.

or tried to focus on your breathing.

but there was just this constant lump in your throat that restricted you from doing so— this very lump that made you feel as if you were drowning, as if you were suffocating in your own turmoil of thoughts—

you missed it.

your book.

oh, how you missed it— so much that your heart hurt whenever you thought about it.

but you also knew that it would have been reduced to a soggy, barely readable mess now— probably taken away by a pick-up garbage truck, gone; just like that.

just like how you had given that kitten a temporary shield from the rain. just like that.

hey, at least that was the little silver thread— if not lining— on the this cloud that weighed over your head like a constant, haunting ghost; making your heart feel a bit lighter, if not lifting your spirits entirely.

if you had been your usual admiring self today, you would’ve noticed how he had gone to the thriller, not non-fiction section of the bookstore— how his fingers hadn’t lingered onto the book covers thoughtfully, how he had a knowing, not contemplative expression on his face— how he had picked out a book and came back without staying for a bit and browsing through some other ones. as he usually did.

strange how things work when you decide to let go of yourself for a while.

a sudden tap on the counter made you jump— and oh your heart did a little flip; your eyes meeting his dark pools, how you wanted to drown into them— how you wanted to just get lost in them and, gladly, never be found again.

you stared at him, and he stared back— neither of you saying anything for a while.

an unspoken connection between you two coursed through your minds— and both of you were sure that the other could feel it too— how could you not, when it was so painfully obvious in the way your eyes glimmered and his dark gaze softened as he watched you?

. . .

“good afternoon,” he said, and you thought you’d fall if not for your chair beneath you as you stood, knees wobbling slightly— you could listen to that voice of his everyday, and you still wouldn’t get enough— “may i buy this book?”

your gaze flickered down to the book in question, and your eyes widened ever so slightly— breath catching in your throat.

it was another copy of the same book you had left some days ago.

swallowing that lump in your throat, you raised your head tentatively to meet his eyes, a small, hesitant smile grazing your lips—

“y-yeah, uh..” you stammered, and almost immediately regretted it, cheeks burning oh so red in embarrassment, “that’d be . . three hundred and ninety nine yen.”

“alright,” he said in that dizzying voice of his, and you quickly looked back at the book to not let it affect you.

you tried not look, tried not to pay attention to how his hands slid the coin so gently onto the counter— as if he was afraid you’d crumble away if he was a bit too harsh— tried not to notice the small, almost fond smile that tugged at the corner of his lips as he gazed at you, not the book.

you tried not to see, but then again, how could you not when he was involved?

your fingers trembled ever so slightly as you returned the change, hands putting the book in a bag in an almost mechanical manner— but as you raised your head to hand him the book— he wasn’t there.

gone.

your eyes widened, mouth opening to call out to him— but you paused, catching sight of a little note on the counter you hadn’t noticed before.

‘i thought i’d explore another genre other than non-fiction.

tell me about it when you finish reading, won’t you?

suguru geto.’

and oh how you fell to your chair, slumping back as a stupidly wide grin made way to your face— how your cheeks flushed red, and how your fingers trembled as you held onto that note— how a hushed, little laugh escaped your lips in such a tender, genuine manner that it seemed as if you were being embraced by a soothing spirit.

but did you care?

not one bit, if he was involved.

and as suguru walked back to his apartment, he gazed up at the sky— a small smile plastered on his face, hands shoved in his pockets as he felt the breeze caress his face in a gentle, reassuring manner— as it was proud of him.

and so he was, too.

proud of himself and his little something.

you.