#appled asks

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across Ishigami Village as people finished their daily work. The sounds of stone grinding, distant laughter, and the steady rhythm of Kaseki's hammer echoed through the settlement.

A little away from the bustle, you sat beneath a tree with a small stack of handmade paper Senku made earlier resting on your lap.

Carefully, you dragged a charcoal stick across the page.

The grain of the wood...The curve of the rooftops...

The villagers passing by...

It wasn't anything spectacular, but you enjoyed it. Drawing helped you slow down after long days of gathering supplies or helping around the village.

"...Whatcha doing?"

Chrome's voice made you glance up.

He crouched beside you, staring at the page with complete fascination.

"I'm drawing."

"I can see that." He pointed at the sketch. "But...why?"

You blinked.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean..." Chrome scratched the back of his head. "It doesn't do anything."

You laughed.

"I just enjoy it."

"You just enjoy it?"

Before you could answer again, another voice joined the conversation.

"Hard concept for you, huh?"

Chrome turned.

Senku stood a few feet away, carrying a bundle of glass test tubes under one arm.

"Tch."

Chrome frowned. "I'm just asking!"

"I know."

Senku glanced toward your sketch.

His eyes lingered on it for barely a second before returning to the glass.

"People have been making art since prehistoric times. Cave paintings are older than agriculture."

Chrome tilted his head.

"So...it's useful?"

"I said people have always done it."

"You keep answering questions I didn't ask."

"Because you're asking the wrong ones."

Chrome sighed dramatically.

"You're impossible."

"Objectively."

Senku continued walking toward the workshop.

Before disappearing inside, he spoke without turning around.

"The perspective's slightly off."

You looked down at the page.

"...It is."

"But your shading's consistent."

Then he disappeared into the workshop.

Chrome looked at you.

"...Was that a compliment?"

"I...think so?"

The next morning began like any other... Until Senku called everyone together.

"I need a few hours."

Chrome grinned.

"What're we building?"

"Nothing complicated."

Gen folded his arms. "I don't trust that sentence, knowing our dear Senku, it just means azy-cray manual labor."

"We're making pigments."

Silence.

Chrome blinked.

"...Pig...what?"

"Color."

"Oh."

Kohaku looked between the two boys.

"Why?"

"Because we don't have any."

Gen raised an eyebrow.

"And suddenly that's become important?"

"We've got charcoal."

"We do."

"We've got clay."

"We do."

"We've got berries that produce stable dye."

"We do."

"So we're testing combinations."

Gen's smile grew just a little.

"You mean we're making drawing supplies."

"We're testing naturally occurring pigments."

"Mhm."

Senku ignored him.

"Chrome."

"Yeah?"

"Collect different colored rocks. The softer the better."

"Got it."

"Kohaku."

"huh?"

"Flowers. Berries. Anything with noticeable color."

She nodded.

"Suika."

"Yes!"

"Find straight branches about this long." He held his hands apart.

"For what?"

"For brushes."

"Brushes?"

"Exactly"

Suika beamed. "I can do that!"

Within minutes, everyone scattered.

The village became surprisingly busy.

Chrome returned with stones ranging from pale white to rusty red.

Kohaku brought flowers, berries, and strange roots she'd found deeper in the forest.

Suika proudly carried an armful of smooth twigs.

Even Kinro and Ginro ended up helping crush minerals using stone mortars.

You watched from nearby, confused.

"..What's going on?"

Chrome looked up.

"Some bad science, duh."

"That explains nothing."

"It never does," Gen replied with a grin.

At the workbench, Senku carefully examined every material.

"This one contains enough iron to produce a reddish pigment."

He crushed part of the rock into powder.

"This chalk's too coarse."

Another attempt.

"Better."

He mixed powdered charcoal with a small amount of water.

Too thin.

He added animal fat.

Still wrong.

Another adjustment.

"Hm..."

A brush made from tied animal fur left a clean black line across the paper.

"There we go."

Hours passed.

Every mixture was tested.

Some cracked after drying.

Others faded almost immediately.

Several turned into nothing more than muddy brown stains.

Senku discarded failures without hesitation.

"No good."

"Too weak."

"Doesn't bind, not even one millimeter."

Eventually, several small clay containers sat neatly on the table.

Black charcoal.

Deep reddish pigment.

Muted yellow.

A soft purple made from crushed berries.

It was primitive, but functional.

Chrome whistled.

"That's actually pretty cool."

"It'll work."

"That's all you have to say?"

"It works."

By evening, you returned after helping gather firewood.

The workshop seemed unusually crowded.

Everyone looked toward you.

"...Did I miss something?"

Chrome grinned.

"Come here."

Confused, you walked over.

A folded piece of cloth sat on the workbench.

You carefully opened it.

Inside rested several charcoal sticks wrapped neatly in plant fibers.

Small clay cups held different pigments.

A bundle of handmade brushes lay beside fresh sheets of paper.

You stared.

"...What's all this?"

"The experiment," Senku answered.

You looked at him.

"...Experiment?"

"We wanted to see if naturally sourced pigments could be reproduced consistently."

Gen smiled knowingly. "And once they worked..."

Chrome finished for him. "...We figured you should have them."

You looked back down at the collection.

Every brush had clearly been made by hand.

The paper was smoother than what you'd been using.

Someone had even shaped little lids for the pigment containers.

"...You all did this?"

Chrome nodded proudly.

"Mostly Senku."

"I handled the chemistry," Senku corrected.

"Kaseki made the cups."

"Kohaku found most of the plants."

"Suika found the sticks."

"It was everyone's work."

Your fingers carefully brushed over one of the handmade brushes.

It was simple. Sure, a little uneven, but someone had taken the time to make it.

For you.

"...Thank you."

Chrome laughed.

"Try thanking the scientist."

You looked at Senku "Thank you."

He shrugged.

"No reason not to."

"You still didn't have to."

"We were already testing the materials."

Gen coughed into his fist. "Convenient."

Senku shot him a flat look.

"You planning on saying something useful?"

"I am."

Gen smiled. "You could've just admitted you wanted to make them."

"I wanted to verify whether they worked."

Chrome snorted. "Sure."

You couldn't help smiling.

Even if Senku refused to admit it outright... He had still organized the entire project.

You stepped a little closer.

"I really appreciate it."

"Tch."

"They're not perfect."

"I don't care."

"They'll probably fade over time."

"I still don't care."

He folded his arms.

"As long as you understand the limitations."

"I do."

For a brief moment, neither of you said anything.

Then, acting on impulse, you leaned forward.

A quick kiss landed on his cheek. "...Thank you."

It lasted less than a second.

When you stepped back...

Everything stopped.

Chrome stared.

Ginro nearly dropped the basket he was carrying.

Even Kohaku looked mildly surprised.

Senku himself didn't move. "..."

Exactly one second passed.

Then he cleared his throat.

"...That was scientifically unnecessary."

There was the faintest hint of pink across the bridge of his nose.

So subtle that someone who didn't know him might have missed it entirely.

Gen certainly didn't. "Oh?" He smiled far too innocently. "I wasn't aware gratitude had become so...hands-on."

"It hasn't."

Chrome pointed. "You're blushing."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"The temperature increased."

Chrome looked around. "...It didn't."

"It did."

"It definitely didn't."

Senku adjusted the collar of his outfit before picking up one of the clay pigment containers.

"We've been standing around all afternoon."

Chrome frowned.

"...That has nothing to do with your face."

"It has everything to do with circulation."

Gen laughed. "What a fascinating hypothesis."

Senku looked completely unimpressed.

"You done?"

"For now."

"Tch."

Without another word, Senku turned toward the workshop.

"I ten billion percent still got work to do."

Chrome watched him walk away.

"...He's running."

"I'm working."

"You didn't deny it!"

"I don't need to."

"You totally—"

"Chrome."

"...Yeah?"

"If you've got enough free time to analyze facial coloration..." Senku glanced over his shoulder. "I've got plenty of manual labor waiting."

Chrome immediately looked elsewhere. "...I suddenly remembered I have other things to do."

"Thought so."

As the villagers slowly returned to their work, you looked back down at the bundle in your hands.

The charcoal.

The brushes.

The pigments.

A quiet smile spread across your face.

Whatever scientific explanation Senku insisted on giving everyone... You knew the truth.

If it had only been about testing pigments, he could have stopped once they worked.

Instead, he'd made sure there was enough paper.

Enough brushes. Enough color. Enough for you to keep drawing.

And somehow, that meant more than if he'd said anything at all.

This is so late I know... Sorry hon! Also this isn't my best work I'm so sorry (⁠╯⁠︵⁠╰⁠,⁠)

Taglist: @i-heartdinos , @cloverbbun

Please DO NOT repurpose my work, feed it into ai, or use it as your own.

GENERAL HEADCANONS:

Senku doesn't really care all too much about spicy food, but he can handle spice really well

He prefers salty/savory foods

In my heart (I'm projecting a little) hes autistic

Xeno has definitely bought Senku some of his science materials before the petrification

Has an amazing immune system but once he gets compromised he's down for a while

He talks to himself while working for sure

Despite popular belief, has an amazing sleep schedule– definitely not a normal one but probably gets 7 hours regardless of when he sleeps

ROMANTIC HEADCANONS:

He shows his love through acts of service 100%

Acts of science?

Isn't the most physically affectionate, but if you initiate it won't decline you

He wouldn't be the one to confess, I feel like he's the "they fell first, he fell harder" trope type of guy

At first when he does like you, you wouldn't even realize he likes you.

You didn't get special treatment

You still did the manual labor he made everyone do

The difference is that somehow, he always remembers the tiny details about you.

If you got sick, he'd become VERY attentive

For sure knew well before you even finished saying you didn't feel well, he'd already have a diagnosis list, treatment plan, etc

Physical affection would take time. A long time.

One of the biggest signs he trusts you is letting you see his exhaustion.

He's not possessive, the fact you chose him is enough for him.

He does get a little jealous though once in a blue moon

Gifts from Senku are incredibly specific to you and you alone

He'd hand it over like it was no big deal before immediately start pretending he wasn't waiting for your reaction.

Ik worlds shortest post EVER. Also, Senku does NOT deserve Luna, because I do. that's literally my wife. ALSO IF ANYONE HAS ANY REQUESTS OF HER PLS HMU

No taglist because this is shameful

Please DO NOT repurpose my work or feed into AI, I do not own any of my dividers besides my character ones.

The first sign you’ve been found isn’t the sound, It’s the shift in the air that makes your hair stand on end. And it's a presence you know all too well; the kind that prickles at the back of your neck and settles low in your spine like instinct whispering you’re in trouble now.

You grin anyway.

“Bit late,” you call out, not even turning around as you drag your weapon free from where it’s embedded in the wall. “Job’s already done.”

Silence answers you. It's not empty silence, she's there, it's just a lurking silence.

You sigh, rolling your shoulder as you swing the axe loosely at your side. “You know, most people say hello first.”

Still nothing.

You click your tongue. “Rude.”

Then you turn and barely manage to bring the axe up before she’s on you. Cthoni moves like she always does; fast, deliberate, inevitable.

Your weapon meets hers—no, not a weapon. It was her forearm braced and angled just right to deflect the blow rather then of absorbing it. The impact jolts up your arm, forcing you a step back.

“Oh, you’re in a mood today.”

“You disappeared,” she replies, voice flat and sharp as steel.

“And you found me,” you shoot back, pivoting, swinging again. You weren't trying to land a hit, but you were aiming to test her, and to feel her rhythm again. “Looks like everything worked out.”

She catches the handle of your axe this time, and it wasn't gently.

You attempt to tug back, but she doesn’t let go. For a moment, the two of you are locked there; hands gripping the same weapon, tension crackling between you like a live wire.

“You took a job alone,” she says.

You tilt your head, smiling. “You sound upset.”

“I told you not to do that.”

“And I told you I don’t take orders.”

Her eyes narrow. “And yet,” she says quietly, “you keep acting like you want to be handled.”

That sends a little thrill down your spine, and you grin wider. “Maybe I just like getting your attention.”

Her response is immediate. She yanks your axe toward her, using your grip against you— and when you stumble forward, she twists, hooks your leg, and sends you crashing to the ground hard. The air leaves your lungs in a sharp whoof, but you’re already laughing again as your weapon clatters away across the floor.

“Miss me that much?” you gasp.

Cthoni doesn’t answer. She just steps in, pins your wrist, and drops her weight down with her knee pressing into your abdomen anchoring you in place like she has every intention of keeping you there.

“Found you,” she says again, quieter this time as she shifted slightly closer.

You blink up at her, chest rising and falling as you catch your breath. “…Hi.”

Her expression doesn’t change.

But her grip tightens.

“You ran.”

“I was working.”

“You vanished from out walk”

“I was busy.”

“You ignored me.”

You pause. Then with a softer albeit still teasing tone– “I figured you’d come looking.”

That does it. Her other hand snaps down, catching your free wrist before you can even think about moving. Now both your arms are pinned above your head, your shoulders pressed into the ground, her weight keeping you completely, utterly stuck.

“You think this is a game,” she says.

“Isn’t it?” you shoot back. “You chase, I run, we fight, you win—usually—”

“Always.”

You grin. “Confidence looks good on you.”

Her knee shifts slightly, pressing more firmly into you. It wasn't enough to hurt, but enough to remind you exactly who’s in control here. You suck in a breath through your teeth.

“Oh, that’s new,” you murmur. “You trying to make a point?”

“Yes.”

“Bit aggressive for a conversation.”

“This isn’t a conversation.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

She leans down then—slow, deliberate—until her face is just above yours. She was close enough that you can feel her breath. Close enough that if either of you moved just a little—

“You’re reckless,” she states “You could’ve been killed.”

“But I wasn’t.”

“That’s not the point.”

You study her for a second. You saw the tension in her shoulders. The way her jaw is set just a little too tight. The fact that she hasn’t eased up at all, even though she absolutely could.

“You were worried,” you finally answer aloud. Her gaze flickers just for a moment before it steadied again.

“I was annoyed.”

You huff a quiet laugh. “Sure.”

Her grip tightens again.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Call you out?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what you’re doing.”

You raise a brow. “Enlighten me.”

“You provoke me,” she says. “You push. You disappear just long enough to make me come after you.”

Your grin sharpens. “And you always do.”

There was a heavy silence before you earned a sighed “Yes.” from her.

That knocks the breath out of you more effectively than the fall did.

Cthoni doesn’t look away. “I don’t like not knowing where you are,” she says. “I don’t like not knowing if you’re alive.”

Something in your chest twists.

You cover it the only way you know how.

“So you track me down and slam me into the ground?” you say lightly. “Real sweet of you.”

Her lips twitch—barely. “You respond better to force.”

“Do I?”

“You’re still here.”

You shift slightly beneath her, not to escape, just enough to test the space, the boundaries.

She adjusts instantly and presses you back down.

You laugh under your breath. “You like this.”

“This?” she repeats.

“Manhandling me.”

Her eyes flicker again– down, then back up– but she doesn't give you a reply. That does something dangerous to your heartbeat.

You tilt your head, still smiling, but slower now.

“You’re getting honest again.”

“You’re getting comfortable.”

“Hard not to,” you say, testing her grip again, just lightly. “You’ve got me exactly where you want me.”

Her answer is immediate.

“Yes.”

You swallow and grin again, because you don’t know what else to do with that kind of intensity except meet it head-on.

“Careful,” you murmur. “You keep saying things like that, I might think you missed me.”

Her knee shifts again closer and your breath catches

“I did,” she says.

And for once— you don’t have a clever reply ready.

The silence stretches.

You break it first, because of course you do.

“…You gonna keep me pinned all day?” you ask.

“If necessary.”

“To stop me from working?”

“Yes.”

You tilt your head again, softer now, “What if I said I wasn’t running from you?”

“I know you weren’t.”

“Then what’s all this for?”

Her grip loosens— just a fraction. But she doesn’t move off you.

“This,” she says, “is because you don’t understand limits.”

You grin faintly. “I understand them.”

“Then you ignore them.”

“Same thing.”

“No.”

You shift again— this time more deliberately. She lets you move a little further before stopping you.

“…You like pushing until someone stops you,” she continues. “So I stop you.”

Your smile grows.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “You do.”

There’s something in the way you say it that changes the air again. It felt oddly warm and heavy. Her hand slides slightly on your wrist not letting go, just adjusting. Her thumb presses briefly against your pulse.

You feel it spike, and so does she.

“…Still think this is a game?” she asks.

You meet her gaze.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “Something like that.”

Something in her expression shifts, you didn't receive a reply but something close enough to a 'go on' in a look.

You tug lightly against her hold, and she lets you– although just barely.

“You chase me,” you say. “You pin me. You get all intense and territorial—”

“I’m not”

“—and then you act like you don’t enjoy it.”

“I don’t—”

“You do,” you cut in, smiling again. “You love this.”

She stills.

“And what makes you so sure?”

You tilt your head, eyes flicking briefly to where your bodies meet, where she’s still holding you down, still not letting you go.

Then back to her face.

“You’re still here,” you say.

Another pause.

Then her grip loosens slightly.

You take advantage immediately. You twist away trying to roll, to flip the position and she lets you get halfway– Just enough to think you might win– Before she shifts her weight and sends you right back down again.

Harder this time.

You laugh, breathless. “Okay—okay, that one’s on me—”

“Dont add fleeing the scene to your list of crimes.”

“you’re unfair.”

“Mhm.”

“And mean.”

“And you’re pinned.”

You grin up at her. “Again.”

Her lips twitch. “yeah, again.”

You both go still after that.

The fight is still there, but it’s quieter now. It's less about winning and more about something else.

Your voice drops a little. “…You could just ask me to stay.”

“I did.”

“You threatened me.”

“That was me asking.”

You laugh again, softer this time. “You’re terrible at communication.”

“And you’re impossible.”

“Yet you keep me.”

Her gaze sharpens.

“Don’t twist that.”

“Why not?” you murmur. “You said it yourself. ‘What’s already mine,’ remember?”

She exhales slowly.

“…You’re not an object.”

“Didn’t say I was.”

“Then don’t—”

“But I am yours,” you interrupt, voice light but steady. “Aren’t I?”

"you were met with silence for a moment before you earned a "yes, you are."

It’s quieter this time, but much heavier. You feel it settle somewhere deep in your chest. You just look at her.

“Good,” you say.

Her grip loosens again, more this time. You could get free now, probably, but you don’t move, and neither does she.

“…Next time,” she says after a moment, “you don’t go without my knowledge"

You smile faintly. “Next time,” you reply, “you keep up.”

Her eyes narrow slightly. “Oh, I will.”

You grin as she shifts again, deliberately re-centering her weight, pinning you just as firmly as before.

You laugh. “Wow. Not even pretending to let me go, huh?”

“Not yet.”

“Youre greedy.”

“how careless.”

“And possessive.”

“and you're reckless.”

You grin wider.

“Yeah,” you say. “That sounds about right.”

She watches you for a long moment.Then, finally she lets go of your wrists although not completely, just enough.

You flex your fingers, testing the freedom.

You don’t run; Instead, your hand lifts with a light, deliberate grip and catches against her arm.

“…I’ll come back,” you say quietly.

“I know.”

“You won’t have to chase me every time.”

“I know.”

“…But you probably will anyway.”

Her lips curve— just slightly. “perhaps so.”

You laugh under your breath. “Thought so.”

Another pause.

Then you earned another sigh. “Get up,” she says.

You raise a brow. “You sure? I might try to escape again.”

“You can try.”

“You’ll just pin me again?”

“Yes.”

You grin. “…Alright. Worth it.”

When you finally sit up and the distance between you shifts from forced to chosen– it doesn’t feel like the end of the fight. It was just the pause before the next one.

And you both know you’ll be right back here again.

I think this might be the worst thing I've ever written. But to get better I gotta fail sometimes😞 Also I never really got being possessive like as in I don't understand it bcs I've never felt it, so I made cthoni more protective

Taglist: @neluvias , @i-heartdinos , @n4tsukis

Please do not repurpose my work or feed into AI. - APPLE DIVIDERS / LACE ARE NOT MINE!

–MISS CTHONI–

She doesn't really understand you at first. She's not one for brightness, and yours just feels illogical to her.

You're one of the only people who talks to her without being intimidated– and she notices immediately.

Another yapper × listener trope, except she doesn't really respond much, but she always listens. Always. Even if it seems like she's ignoring you, she's not.

You earn her respect through her watching how you treat people when no one else is around through her manhole cover.

She likes to suddenly appear beside you without warning or context, but won't leave without at least waving goodbye to you.

She's more of a "acts of service" type of gal. She loves doing things for you without warning and usually doesn't let you thank her either

She's fairly possessive, and tends to just snatch you up and disappear if she doesn't like who you're talking to.

She doesn't tolerate people trying to dull your brightness, and usually takes care of it or makes sure they'll never be able to again

She enjoys holding your hand, but usually just has an arm around your waist.

The relationship wasn't really ever established if you didn't make the first move, just one day she decided you were hers.

–SCENARIO BELOW–

Mornings with Cthoni don’t begin gently in the slightest, they usually begin with resistance.

You wake up before her. It's never intentional, but considering as Cthoni tends to sleeps like someone nocturnal, and someone with no trust in humanity– like she'll roll her eyes at the very first thing she wakes up to. Even at rest, there’s tension in her shoulders, and faint tightness in her expression like she’s braced for something even in dreams. Right now, though, she’s still. Her breathing is slow and steady with one arm draped loosely across your waist as she sleep on top of you. That part still surprises you sometimes. Cthoni isn’t naturally affectionate. She doesn’t reach out often, she doesn’t cling, and she doesn’t seek softness for its own sake. But in sleep she holds on like she forgets to guard herself

You decide to shift slightly, testing it only to be met with her grip tightening immediately. It wasn't enough to hurt, just enough to stop you from going anywhere.

You smile to yourself. “Okay,” you whisper. “I see how it is.”

No response.

You decided to give it a few minutes before trying again.

Carefully this time.

“Cthoni,” you murmur, nudging her shoulder lightly. “You’re crushing me.”

A pause.

A low, barely-there sound like something between a hum and a complaint escapes her. Her face turns slightly into your chest to block out the light, her brows knitting together.

“No.”

You blink. “No?”

“…Stay.” Her voice is rough with sleep, quieter than usual but still firm in that unmistakable way she has.

You laugh softly. “I wasn’t leaving, I just— okay, wow, grip’s definitely getting tighter—”

Her arm squeeze you closer without opening her eyes. Already it was the end of the discussion.

So, a while later you try to deploy a different tactic.

“Cthoni,” you say again, a little brighter this time. “It’s morning.”

Silence.

“…That’s unfortunate.”

You snort. “You have to get up eventually.”

“No.”

“You literally do.”

“…Later.”

You tilt your head, studying her.

She looks softer like this. Not in a dramatic way, shes just less sharp around the edges. Her usual composure is still there, but dulled by sleep, like a blade not yet drawn.

And seeing her weakness in the moment makes you bold enough to tease her.

You lean in slightly, voice teasing. “You’re not a morning person, are you?”

One eye cracks open and a slow, unimpressed stare meets yours.

“You’re observant.”

“Thank you.”

Her eye closes again.

“Stop talking.”

You don’t, of course. Instead, you shift just enough to face her more fully, your hand lightly brushing her arm– the one still keeping you firmly in place.

“You know,” you say, softer now, “most people say good morning to their girlfriend.”

There’s a long pause along with a sigh “…Good morning, my love.” It’s flat. It's half asleep. And it's completely unenthusiastic.

You grin. “Wow. So heartfelt.”

“…You asked.”

“I implied.”

You were only met with her hiding her face in your chest in reply. Eventually, she starts waking up but it’s slow, it was more akin to something settling into place piece by piece like a puzzle than anything else really.

Her grip loosens slightly, and her breathing shifts. Her eyes open again– both this time although still heavy-lidded.

She doesn’t move right away, she just looks at you all quiet and focused like shes trying to memorize your sleep kissed face.

“…You’re still here,” she says.

You blink. “Yeah? Where would I go?”

A beat.

“…Nowhere.”

Still, there’s something in the way she says it, it's like she needed to confirm it anyway.

You stretch carefully. “Okay, seriously, we should get up.”

Her expression doesn’t change.

“No.”

You laugh. “You can’t just refuse to do your job"

“mn.”

“You can’t.”

She simply closes her eyes again as you stare at her agast.

“Incredible. Truly inspiring.”

No response.

You nudge her again.

Nothing.

“…Cthoni.”

A pause.

“…What.”

“If I have to get up, you have to get up.”

“…That sounds like your problem.”

You sigh dramatically, shifting enough that her arm finally slips from around you.

That gets a reaction. Her eyes open immediately, sharper now. Her hand catches your wrist before you can fully pull away.

“…Where are you going.”

“To get up?”

“Why.”

You blink at her. “Because it’s morning.”

“thats unnecessary.”

“You’re impossible.”

“mn"

But she’s awake now– albeit reluctantly. She sits up slowly, movements controlled but heavy with lingering sleep. Her hair’s a mess, her expression slightly more irritated than usual but not at you, just at the concept of being awake.

You watch her, amused. And unfortunately she notices.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“…Look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like it’s funny.”

You grin. “It is funny.”

She exhales sharply through her nose, somewhere between annoyance and resignation.

“You’re enjoying this.”

“Very much.”

The rest of the morning is a bit of an uneven blur. You’re energy— movement, chatter, brightness. She’s more resistant, slow, quiet and deliberate.

But she follows you, and you're always within her reach.

At some point, you drift near her again without thinking. Your shoulder brushes hers, and she doesn't flinch but a second later, she adjusts just ever so slightly so the contact stays.

“You’re in a better mood now,” you say.

“I’m awake.”

“Barely.”

“Enough.”

You smile. “You didn’t tell me to stop talking.”

“I considered it.”

“Wow.”

“But... I decided against it.”

You glance at her. “That’s basically a love confession for you, isn’t it?”

A pause.

“Think of it how you would.”

You choke on a laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re still here.” It’s said in quiet matter-of-fact tone, but it lands heavier than anything else she’s said.

Before you leave, there’s always that same pause.

Unspoken. Familiar.

You step closer, and she doesn’t move away.

Your hand finds hers, and she grips it immediately.

“…You’re coming back,” she says.

You squeeze her hand, smiling softly. “Yeah. I am.”

There was a beat of silence before she spoke once more and her thumb shifts slightly against yours. “…Good.” She lets go first this time, but only after holding on long enough to make sure you felt it.

–MISS MOMOA–

I think she's drawn to you because you're the opposite of her usual "quiet isolation" because you fill space, and she's used to empty ones.

It's probably a yapper × listener trope. You talk, she listens- but unlike others, she's actually absorbing everything without the use of asyl.

She finds your voice comforting in the same way she finds music comforting.

I think for her, physical touch would be a bit complex for her due to her vital instrument. so when she chooses to touch you without having asyl near, it's so very intimately intentional and vulnerable.

You're probably the first person you she actually wants to experience in real time, instead of through memories.

She lowkey studies how you laugh, how you react, and like she's learning how to feel more openly.

When she's overwhelmed, she gravitates toward you and usually just hides near you until you guys can leave.

She'll sit beside you or lay her head on your lap in silence while you ramble, and it becomes her favorite kind of noise after a while.

She doesn't say "I love you" easily or very often but she'll let you rest your head on her shoulder beside asyl.

Even with how her vital instrument works, she chooses you over the escape she usually does.

She prefers hovering around you or holding onto your sleeve instead of holding hands

–SCENARIO BELOW–

Mornings with Momoa Rukel don’t really start. You wake up slowly and half-aware, caught somewhere between sleep and consciousness. The world feels quiet, heavy in that soft, early way where nothing has fully settled yet. The first thing you notice is warmth, and the second is weight.

Momoa is pressed against you, and not loosely either. She’s latched on.

Her arm is wrapped around your waist, her face tucked into the space just beneath your collarbone, breath warm and steady against your skin. One of your legs is half-trapped between hers, and at some point in the night, she’s pulled you so close there’s no space left between you at all.

You blink down at her, still groggy.

“…Momoa?”

No response.

You shift slightly, testing the hold.

Bad idea.

Her grip tightens immediately, pulling you closer—like she’s reacting on instinct alone. A quiet sound leaves her, something soft and muffled as she nuzzles a little deeper into you. You freeze.

“…Okay,” you whisper, barely holding back a smile. “Didn’t realize I was your pillow.”

Another small noise— half sigh, half hum.

She was still asleep, and still holding on. You try to move again, slower this time.

“Momoa,” you murmur, voice gentle. “We should probably—”

Her hand presses more firmly into your side. It wasn't forceful, just extremely insistent like she’s trying to anchor you there.

“Mhm... No,” she mumbles, barely audible.

You blink. Was that—? You glance down again. Her eyes are still closed. Expression soft, unfocused.

“…Did you just say no?”

A pause.

Then, quieter— “Its early still, we don't have any tasks. Stay.”

It’s slurred with sleep. Not fully conscious– but it’s clear what she wants.

You soften immediately.

“…Okay,” you whisper.

You settle back into place, letting your body relax under hers instead of resisting. One of your hands comes up almost instinctively, resting lightly against her back.

She exhales. And then somehow she manages to relax more like that was all she needed.

Momoa is always quiet. Reserved. Distant in ways that make it hard to read her sometimes. But like this?

She’s different.

There’s no space between you for her to hide in. No distance for her to retreat into. She’s all instinct– seeking warmth and holding onto it without thinking about it.

Her fingers curl slightly in your shirt with her head shifting just enough to get comfortable against you as her breathing evens out again.

You can’t help but smile.

“…You’re clingy when you’re sleepy,” you murmur softly.

No response, but her leg hooks a little more securely around yours.

The message was clearly received.

Time passes; you’re not sure how long. But it was long enough for the outside world to start creeping in— light filtering in, distant noise, the slow pull of responsibility reminding you that you should get up.

You still don’t because every time you even think about moving, she reacts. A small shift? Her grip tightens. A breath that hints at waking? She presses closer. At one point, you almost manage to slide your arm out from under her—

“…Don’t.” Her voice is barely there. Sleep-heavy and quiet but it stops you instantly.

You glance down only to see that her eyes are still closed.

“…You’re awake?” you whisper.

A pause.

“No.”

You huff a quiet laugh. “Liar.”

She doesn’t respond, but her face presses more firmly into you, like she’s avoiding the conversation entirely.

“Momoa,” you try again, softer this time. “We should get up.”

Silence.

Then you felt a faint shake of her head against you.

“…Later.”

You smile, even though she can’t see it.

“You said that yesterday too.”

“it worked.”

“You’re impossible.”

“…Mm.”

Eventually, you give up. Your hand moves slowly against her back, gentle and absentminded—tracing small patterns without thinking about it. Her reaction is immediate though, she melts.

There’s no other word for it.

The tension you didn’t even realize was there fades completely, her body settling more fully into yours, like she’s sinking into something safe.

A soft exhale leaves her, deeper this time.

She was completely content, and you feel it; and something in your chest softens in response.

“…You’re pretty cold,” you murmur.

A pause.

Then, quietly, “…You're warm.”

You blink.

“You’re definitely awake.”

“…A little.”

Her voice is clearer now, but still soft and still slow. She doesn’t move, though. Doesn’t pull away. If anything, she leans in more.

“Do you ever plan on letting me go?” you ask, teasing.

A small pause.

“Not a chance, pretty.”

You laugh under your breath. “At least you’re honest.”

“Stay.”

It’s more deliberate this time, less sleepy instinct.

So, you do. You stay.

You shift just enough to get comfortable again, your arms wrapping around her properly now instead of just accommodating her hold. Your fingers slip into her hair, smoothing it back gently.

She hums—soft, barely audible and settles.

The morning passes like that.

Nothing wrong this time, just warm silence shared between you, stretching time into something slow and quiet and enough.

Eventually, you’ll have to get up. Eventually, the day will start. But not yet.

Right now— Momoa is half-asleep in your arms, holding onto you like you’re the only thing tethering her to the moment.

And for once, she doesn’t seem to want to be anywhere else.

I'm deadass about to pay (or beg) someone to write a comfort fic, if ANY writer who has even a little bit of like in their heart for me sees this; PLEASE BRO PLEASEEEE🙏

Taglist: @neluvias , @n4tsukis , @i-heartdinos

Please do not repurpose my work or feed into AI. - APPLE DIVIDERS ARE NOT MINE!

Meetings had a habit of testing Kyouka's patience.

Hours spent listening to reports, debating jurisdiction, and settling disputes between departments left even the composed commander eager to leave headquarters. By the time she stepped out into the city, she had already loosened the clasp around her collar, a small indulgence no subordinate would ever witness.

The streets were alive with the comfortable chaos of the afternoon. Vendors called out to passing customers, children darted between market stalls, and workers hurried home after long shifts.

Kyouka intended to walk straight through.

Then she saw you.

You stood just outside a shop, casually flipping through the pages of a worn novel. There wasn't anything particularly extravagant about you. You weren't drawing attention to yourself, nor did you seem interested in the crowd around you.

You simply looked... peaceful.

It caught her off guard.

Most people became noticeably tense the moment they recognized her uniform.

You hadn't even looked up.

"...Curious."

She continued walking.

One step.

Two.

Five.

By the eighth, she'd stopped altogether.

Her brows knit together.

"What are you doing?" she quietly asked herself.

She had no assignment here. No investigation. No reason to interrupt a complete stranger enjoying their afternoon.

And yet... She turned around.

A pair of Hell Guard officers exchanged confused looks as their commander calmly retraced her steps.

Neither of them was brave enough to ask why.

Kyouka stopped beside you, waiting until you naturally noticed her rather than interrupting your reading.

When you finally glanced up, your eyes flicked to the insignia on her uniform before returning to her face.

"You've noticed me," she said.

"I have."

"I dislike pretending chance meetings are anything other than deliberate."

You blinked.

"...That's an interesting way to introduce yourself."

"So I've been told."

She offered a small, respectful inclination of her head.

"My name is Kyouka Nijiku."

You introduced yourself in return.

She repeated your name once, committing it to memory.

"It suits you."

You smiled.

"I've never heard anyone say that before."

"Then others have lacked imagination."

That earned a quiet laugh.

Good.

She preferred hearing that over fearful silence.

"I hope I'm not interrupting your afternoon."

"Not particularly."

"I'm pleased."

There was a brief pause.

Kyouka glanced toward the bookstore.

"You enjoy this?"

You nodded.

"Frequently?"

"As often as possible."

"I've neglected the habit."

"You don't strike me as someone with much free time."

"...An accurate observation."

She found herself continuing the conversation far longer than she'd intended.

You recommended a novel she'd never read.

She admitted that most of her evenings were spent reading reports rather than stories.

You made a face.

"That sounds miserable."

"It is productive."

"It can be both."

"Perhaps."

A comfortable silence settled between you as you resumed walking through the market together.

Neither of you seemed entirely sure when walking together had become the natural thing to do.

You paused at a stall selling handmade accessories.

Kyouka watched as you carefully examined the craftsmanship rather than the price.

"You have an eye for detail."

"I appreciate quality."

"So do I."

She picked up one of the pieces, turning it over in her gloved hand.

"The stitching is excellent."

The elderly vendor beamed.

"Someone finally noticed!"

You laughed. "I think you've made his day."

"I merely stated the truth."

"You've got a surprisingly gentle way of complimenting people."

"Do I?"

"You probably don't even realize you're doing it."

That observation lingered in her thoughts as the two of you continued walking.

Eventually you reached a quiet café tucked between two older buildings.

"I was planning to stop here," you said.

Kyouka looked toward the entrance.

"I've never visited."

"You should."

She regarded you for a moment before speaking.

"Would you permit me to accompany you?"

You smiled.

"I was hoping you'd ask."

...

The café was pleasantly quiet.

Conversation came easier than Kyouka expected.

She learned your favorite tea.

Your preferred places to spend a day off.

Your tendency to wander without much of a plan whenever you finally had free time.

In return, she admitted that she rarely took days off at all.

"You should."

"I've considered it."

"You haven't actually done it."

"No."

"I can tell."

She looked almost offended.

"Am I truly so transparent?"

"Only a little."

"...I'll endeavor to improve."

"You don't have to."

For some reason, hearing you say that settled something in her chest.

The conversation drifted naturally from one subject to another.

Books.

Architecture.

Food.

The city.

By the second cup of tea, Kyouka had almost forgotten she hadn't learned what you did for a living.

Almost.

"What occupation keeps you so busy?"

You answered without much thought.

"I'm a Cleaner."

She stopped midway through lifting her cup.

"...You're a Cleaner."

"I am."

A thoughtful silence followed.

"That explains quite a bit."

"It does?"

"You've been watching every entrance since we arrived."

You blinked.

"I have?"

"You also positioned yourself where you could see the entire room."

You looked around before realizing she was right.

"...Huh."

"It appears you do it unconsciously."

"Comes with the job."

"I suspected military experience."

You smiled sheepishly.

"Sorry to disappoint."

"You haven't."

In fact— Quite the opposite. Kyouka rested her cup on its saucer.

"Join the Hell Guard."

You stared at her.

"...Excuse me?"

"You'd excel with us."

You couldn't help laughing.

"Were you waiting for the right moment to say that?"

"I was considering several approaches."

"You had approaches?"

"I settled on direct honesty."

"You mean recruiting me."

"Correct."

"...On a date."

"..."

"..."

"I've just realized this is, in fact, a date."

You grinned.

"It took you that long?"

"I've been somewhat distracted."

"By recruiting me?"

"Initially by you."

A warmth touched her cheeks so faintly that anyone else would have missed it.

You certainly didn't.

"So you approached a stranger because you thought they were attractive..."

"Yes."

"Then invited them for tea..."

"Correct."

"...And once you found out they were a Cleaner, your first instinct was to recruit them."

"Also correct."

You laughed so hard you had to set your cup down.

"I don't think I've ever met anyone like you."

"I receive that comment with some frequency."

"I bet."

She folded her hands neatly.

"You possess excellent instincts."

"So I've been told."

"Discipline."

"Occupational necessity."

"Calm judgment."

"I try."

"The Hell Guard values all of those qualities."

"The Cleaners seem pretty happy with them too."

"I don't doubt that."

"So why steal me?"

"I prefer the term recruit."

"It sounds suspiciously like stealing."

"It is significantly more professional."

You leaned back in your chair.

"I like my work."

"I can see that."

"I like helping people."

"As do I."

"I've got friends in the Cleaners."

"So do I, though they would object if I called them friends."

You laughed again.

"I think you're wasting your talents."

"There it is."

"What?"

"The real reason."

She inclined her head.

"I dislike seeing exceptional people underestimate themselves."

"I don't think I'm exceptional."

"I do."

Her answer came so quickly that it caught you off guard.

"You've known me for... what, two hours?"

"Approximately."

"And you've already decided that?"

"I trust my judgment."

You held her gaze for a long moment before smiling.

"...That's incredibly flattering."

"It wasn't intended merely as flattery."

"I know."

You reached for your cup again.

"But my answer's still no."

"For today."

"There it is again."

"What?"

"The persistence."

"I warned you."

"You didn't."

"I've remedied that oversight."

You shook your head, unable to stop smiling.

"I suppose I should get used to it."

"I would appreciate that."

As the evening sun painted the streets gold, the two of you stepped back outside together.

Kyouka looked toward you with the same composed expression she'd worn all afternoon, though her eyes had softened considerably.

"I enjoyed spending time with you."

"So did I."

"I would like to do so again."

"I'd like that."

A quiet sense of satisfaction settled over her.

"Excellent."

You began walking together once more.

After a few moments, she spoke without looking away from the road ahead.

"My recruitment offer remains open."

You sighed dramatically.

"We're doing this again already?"

"I simply wished to remind you."

"I haven't even been home from the date yet."

"I believe in consistency."

You laughed, shaking your head.

"And here I thought you were courting me."

Kyouka glanced at you, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

"I am."

"...While recruiting me?"

"I see no reason I cannot do both."

You couldn't argue with that– not when she looked so completely sincere.

Also thank you so much for requesting from me honey, I hope you have an amazing day !!

Taglist: @tsillyy @neluvias @i-heartdinos @cloverbbun

Please DO NOT repurpose my work, feed it into ai, or use it as your own.

The headquarters was dark when you returned and slipped back inside.

It wasn't unusual, it was about the time everyone slept. Plus, Kyouka preferred low light when she was there. There was one lamp in the kitchen, another near the common room, and the rest of the place swallowed in amber shadow. It felt quiet and controlled. Good, everything exactly where it belonged.

...Except tonight. Tonight there was a second pair of boots by your dormitorys door and you froze with your hand still on the knob.

You found Kyouka sat at your bed with a file open in front of her, untouched tea on your nightstand long gone cold. She didn’t look up immediately, but the tension in the room tightened so sharply it felt physical.

“You’re late.”

Her voice was calm.

You exhaled slowly, already exhausted from the mission. “It ran longer than expected.”

Silence.

Kyouka finally looked at you. Her navy blue eyes moved over your face, your uniform, the blood drying near your collar— not all of it yours— and something flickered across her expression so quickly you almost missed it.

Relief.

Although It vanished immediately.

“You left without authorization.”

You dropped your bag beside the door. “I didn’t need authorization for a mission you assigned me.”

“You disappeared for eleven hours.”

“I left a report.”

“You left a note.”

You frowned. “What’s your problem?”

That made something in her snap. Not loudly necessarily. Kyouka never raised her voice at you unless absolutely necessary. But her composure sharpened into something cold enough to cut.

“My problem,” she said carefully, “is that you entered a dangerous district alone without informing anyone of your route.”

“I informed the team.”

“You informed scavengers.”

The way she said it made irritation flare hot in your chest.

“You’re acting like I’m incompetent.”

“I’m acting like you were reckless.”

“I handled the mission fine.”

“That isn’t the point.”

“Then what is the point?”

Kyouka stood abruptly, chair scraping against the floor.

For a second, neither of you spoke. You suddenly became aware of how tired she looked.

Not physically, necessarily– Kyouka always carried herself too rigidly for that– but there were dark circles beneath her eyes, tension in her shoulders, fingers clenched tightly at her sides like she’d been waiting a while.

Your irritation faltered briefly.

Then she spoke again. “You could have died.”

The words came out harsher than expected. They weren't emotional, they sounded almost angry.

You blinked. “People almost die on missions constantly.”

“And usually,” Kyouka replied, “they possess enough common sense to tell someone where they’re going.”

“Oh, so this is about control?”

Her expression hardened instantly.

“This is about responsibility.”

"You don’t get to monitor every decision I make.”

“And you don’t get to act carelessly because you think survival makes you invincible.”

“That’s not what I—”

“You vanished.” The force behind the words stunned you into silence. Kyouka looked away immediately afterward, jaw tightening like she regretted speaking at all.

The room went quiet again.

You crossed your arms. “I didn’t realize I needed permission.”

“That isn’t what I said.”

“It’s clearly what you meant.”

Kyouka’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You seem to consistently mistake concern for criticism.”

“And you consistently treat concern like an interrogation."

You saw it.

A tiny flinch in her expression.

But instead of softening, she retreated behind composure again.

“Fine,” she said flatly. “If that’s how you interpret this conversation, then continue doing whatever you want.”

Your chest tightened. “Seriously?”

“I’m done arguing.”

“Right. Yeah. Of course you are.”

You grabbed your bag again before she could answer and pointed at the door.

The room suddenly felt suffocating.

As she left, she paused near the hallway, half-expecting you to stop her.

You didn’t.

So you said the thing you knew would hurt.

“You know, for someone supposedly worried about me, you have a terrible way of showing it.”

Kyouka went completely still.For one horrible second, guilt crawled up your spine.

Then she answered quietly. “And for someone asking to be understood, you rarely try understanding others.”

The words hit harder than you expected. Neither of you spoke again after that.

You went to bed angry.

...Or tried to. Sleep never really came easily after missions, but tonight your thoughts kept circling back to the look on Kyouka’s face when she’d said you vanished. It wasn't particularly irritated, or controlling– it was more of an afraid expression if anything.

Meanwhile, across HQ, Kyouka laid alone in the dark. The untouched file still lay open in front of her. She hadn’t read a single page.

The clock ticked softly somewhere in the kitchen.

3:30 AM.

She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes briefly.

""You vanished.""

The words replayed in her head with quiet horror. They were much too honest, and way too exposed. Kyouka pressed two fingers against her temple. She hated arguments. It wasn't the conflict though, conflict never frightened her. It was because emotions became imprecise inside them. They grew sloppy, difficult to control, people said things they didn’t mean.

Or worse.

Things they did mean to say.

Her chest tightened unpleasantly.

The mission report had crossed her desk six hours earlier. It was filled with incomplete route information. It was a solo operation with radio silence after entry.

By hour four, irritation had become distraction. And by hour seven, distraction had become dread.

She had checked the infirmary twice without reason. She had reviewed casualty reports personally. She had nearly sent retrieval personnel before realizing how irrational that would appear.

But when you finally walked through the door alive?

Kyouka opened her eyes slowly. The realization settled over her with crushing clarity.

She had been terrified. It wasn't the usual strategic concern she would hint at, hell it wasn't even professionally responsible.

She was terrified for you.

The thought should have felt manageable. Explainable.

Instead, it hollowed her out. Because it explained everything else too.

Why your injuries lingered in her mind longer than anyone else’s.

Why she noticed your footsteps instinctively.

Why silence from you felt different from silence from everyone else.

Why seeing you exhausted near her always somehow made her life feel complete.

Kyouka stared into the darkness for a long time.

Then she quietly covered her eyes with one hand.

“…Damn it.”

The words barely escaped above a whisper.

Love was inconvenient. Love was destabilizing. Love made people irrational.

And sometime between your reckless smiles and unbearable stubbornness, she had apparently fallen into it completely.

...Kyouka did not sleep that night. Not a blink at all.

The following day, rain tapped softly against the apartment windows.

It wasn't heavy enough to storm, it was just enough to turn the city grey.

You stood outside Kyouka’s door for several seconds longer than necessary, staring at the message written neatly on a slip of paper, delivered by one of her men.

"Come by this afternoon. We should talk."

No greeting. Of course there wasn't a greeting, especially not an explanation. How kyouka of her.

You almost hadn’t come.

Part of you was still angry about last night— you were angry at the way she’d spoken to you, angry at how cold she became whenever emotions got too close to the surface. But underneath the irritation sat something worse: Guilt.

Because she had been worried, and because you’d known it even while arguing.

You sighed quietly and knocked.

A few seconds later, the door opened.

Kyouka stood there in dark slacks and a loose black sweater instead of her uniform, crimson hair tied back loosely at the nape of her neck. Without the rigid structure of the Hell Guard coat, she somehow looked less untouchable– mostly just tired.

Her eyes met yours briefly before shifting aside.

“…Come in.”

You stepped inside.

The room smelled faintly of tea leaves, incense, and petrichor..

Everything was immaculate as always, but there were small signs she’d been restless. There was a book left open on the couch, two untouched cups already prepared at the table, and the faint crease between her brows that appeared whenever she hadn’t slept properly.

You noticed them immediately, and Kyouka noticed you noticing.

Neither of you mentioned it.

An awkward silence settled while you removed your shoes.

Usually silence with Kyouka felt comfortable. Today, it felt fragile.

“I made jasmine tea,” she said eventually, like she’d rehearsed the sentence beforehand.

“…Thanks.”

You sat across from each other at the dining table.

Similar posture of when you both had argued last night.

That realization seemed to occur to both of you simultaneously because Kyouka’s fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around her cup.

You took a sip of tea mostly to avoid speaking first.

Kyouka stared at hers like it had personally betrayed her.

It would have been almost funny if the tension wasn’t so dense.

Finally, you set your cup down carefully.

“So,” you said, “you wanted to talk.”

Kyouka inhaled once and exhaled like one would a cigarette before she nodded.

“Yes.” ...And immediately said nothing else.

You waited.

She remained completely still.

If you didn’t know her better, you might’ve thought she’d changed her mind entirely.

Then she spoke abruptly.

“I was unfair yesterday.”

You blinked in shock– mostly because the apology sounded almost physically painful for her to say.

Kyouka continued before you could answer.

“My frustration was misplaced. You did complete the mission successfully.” Her gaze lowered slightly. “And I should not have spoken to you that way.”

Silence followed.

You leaned back slightly in your chair. “You were still angry.”

“Yes.”

“At me?”

A pause.

“…Partially.”

You frowned faintly. “What does that mean?”

Kyouka’s fingers tightened around her teacup again. “You were reckless.”

“There it is.”

“I am not attempting to restart the argument.”

“It kind of sounds like you are.”

Her expression tightened immediately. Then, after a visible effort, she exhaled softly.

“No,” she said quietly. “I’m trying to explain myself properly this time.”

That made something in your chest loosen a little.

Kyouka almost never explained herself emotionally. Usually, she just expected people to understand her through implication alone.

The fact she was trying at all mattered.

You softened slightly. “Okay then, explain.”

Another silence.

Rain tapped against the windows.

Kyouka stared at the steam curling from her tea for several moments before speaking again.

“When your report came in incomplete…” she began carefully, “I assumed you would return within a few hours.”

You listened quietly.

“But communication stopped entirely after your entry point.” Her voice remained calm, but you could hear strain underneath it now filled with barely restrained tension.

“I checked incoming reports repeatedly. Then casualty records. Then infirmary admissions.”

Your expression shifted.

Kyouka looked away almost as if looking at you hurt.

“I told myself it was simply procedural concern,” she continued. “You are a valuable operative. Losing personnel through carelessness would be irresponsible.”

You almost smiled faintly at the wording.

Even now she was hiding behind professionalism.

Kyouka noticed.

“You’re doing it again,” you murmured.

Her jaw tightened.

“Yes, I suppose I am.”

The honesty startled you.

Kyouka closed her eyes briefly before continuing.

“When you finally returned, I was relieved.” The admission came quietly, like something made in fragility. “And that relief immediately became anger.”

“Why?”

“Because,” she said flatly, “you frightened me.”

The room went completely still.

You stared at her.

Kyouka kept her eyes fixed on the table like meeting your gaze directly would make the conversation impossible. “I dislike feeling out of control,” she admitted. “And yesterday, I realized I had become emotionally compromised enough that the possibility of losing you affected my judgment.”

You blinked once. “…Emotionally compromised?”

A flicker of embarrassment crossed her face so quickly you almost missed it.

“Yes.”

“That’s a very dramatic way to say you care about me.”

Kyouka looked genuinely pained.

“It sounded less humiliating in my head.”

You snorted unexpectedly, the sound escaped before you could even attempt to stop it.

Kyouka stared at you in mild surprise.

Then, impossibly, the corner of her mouth twitched upward very slightly.

The tension in the room eased by a fraction. Still, something heavier remained beneath it.

You looked down at your tea. “…You hurt me yesterday.”

The small shift in Kyouka’s expression made your chest ache instantly.

“I know.”

“When you said I never try to understand others…”

“I shouldn’t have said it.”

“You meant it?”

Kyouka was silent for a long moment. “I meant that I felt misunderstood.” That answer hurt less than expected. “I was angry,” she continued quietly. “And when I become emotional, I tend to speak with precision instead of kindness.”

“That’s a terrible habit.”

“I’m well aware.”

You studied her face carefully.

There were no walls up now, or at the least,,, not as many.

Kyouka looked exhausted in a way you’d never really seen before. Not physically, but emotionally stripped bare before you. It was like she’d spent the entire night dismantling herself piece by piece just to sit here honestly, and perhaps she did.

And somehow that vulnerability affected you more than any dramatic confession could have.

You sighed softly.

“I shouldn’t have left without telling you.”

Her eyes lifted slightly.

“I knew you’d be upset about the mission, so I avoided the conversation entirely.” You rubbed your thumb against your cup. “Which was immature.”

“Avoidant,” Kyouka corrected automatically.

You gave her a look.

“Yeah, you're right. Sorry.”

That earned the faintest hint of amusement from her again.

Then silence settled once more, but it felt gentler this time.

Kyouka’s gaze drifted toward the rain-streaked window.

When she spoke again, her voice was quieter than before.

“There’s another reason I asked you here.”

Your stomach flipped slightly.

Something in her tone had changed.

Kyouka seemed to notice too because she straightened subtly, like preparing for impact.

You suddenly realized she looked nervous.

Kyouka Nijiku... Nervous?

That alone nearly stopped your heart.

She folded her hands carefully together on the table.

Then unfolded them again.

Then finally forced herself to look directly at you.

“…I... I realized something last night.”

You stayed silent.

Kyouka inhaled slowly.

“I initially believed my reaction was caused by fear of losing someone important to the organization.”

A pause.

“But after more thought, that theory was incorrect.”

Your pulse quickened.

Kyouka’s composure started fracturing in tiny, almost imperceptible ways. You noticed the slight tension in her shoulders, the hesitation between sentences, the way her fingers curled against the table edge.

She looked like someone forcing herself through a battlefield.

“I was afraid,” she said carefully, “because the thought of losing you was personally unbearable to me.”

The room felt impossibly quiet. Even the rain seemed distant now.

Kyouka swallowed once. Then, with visible effort: “I…” She stopped abruptly, visibly irritated with herself. “This is unnecessarily difficult.”

Your chest tightened painfully.

“You don’t have to force yourself,” you said softly.

“Yes,” Kyouka replied immediately, almost frustrated. “I do.”

And somehow that affected you more than anything else.

Because she was forcing herself. For you.

Kyouka took another breath.

“I love you.”

The words landed softly.

No dramatic flourish, definitely no practiced romance.

Kyouka looked almost alarmed by her own confession afterward, like she’d removed armor she didn’t know how to put back on.

You stared at her.

She continued speaking quickly after a few seconds, likely because silence made her nervous now.

“I did not intend for this to happen,” she admitted stiffly. “It... it's inconvenient. It's distracting. And logically speaking there are several reasons this dynamic could become problematic—”

You laughed suddenly.

Kyouka stopped immediately. “…Why are you laughing?”

“You confessed your love to me like you were filing a risk assessment.”

A horrified expression crossed her face.

“I did not.”

“You absolutely did.”

Kyouka looked like she wanted the floor to collapse beneath her.

You smiled despite yourself.

And just like that, something between you finally broke open completely.

The tension, all that anger, the lingering hurt? All of it softened around the edges.

Kyouka stared at you carefully, uncertain now in a way that felt deeply unfamiliar on her.

“…You’re not upset?”

“I was,” you admitted honestly. “But not anymore.”

Her shoulders lowered slightly.

It was so tiny it was almost invisible.

Still, you noticed.

You reached for your teacup again mostly to steady your hands.

“…You really didn’t sleep, did you?”

Kyouka looked away immediately.

“No, not particularly.”

“That means no.”

“I was occupied.”

“With overthinking?"

“Perhaps so.”

You smiled faintly into your tea.

The silence afterward felt warm now.

Finally, you looked back at her.

“For the record,” you said quietly, “I love you too.”

Kyouka froze.

Completely.

You almost thought she’d stopped breathing.

Then very slowly, unbelievably softly, her expression changed.

You would've missed it if you both weren't so close– but the rigid sharpness she always carried eased completely for one brief moment.

And there she was, all laid bare before you. She wasn't the terrifying Hell Guard officer, not the composed strategist.

She was just Kyouka.

Your Kyouka.

And your Kyouka was looking at you like you’d handed her something impossibly precious.

“You do?” she asked quietly.

The vulnerability in the question nearly destroyed you.

“Yes, I do.”

Something in her gaze softened further.

Neither of you spoke for a while after that.

The rain continued outside, and tea cooled forgotten on the table. And eventually, carefully—as though she was uncertain she was allowed—Kyouka rested her hand near yours atop the table.

Not touching.

Just close.

You looked down at it.

Then gently turned your hand over to her.

Kyouka hesitated only a second before intertwining your fingers together.

Her hand was warm and steady. You could faintly feel her beating pulse.

You felt her exhale softly at the contact.

Not dramatic.

Just relieved.

Like she’d been holding tension in her body for hours and only now realized she could let it go.

Your thumb brushed lightly across her knuckles, and Kyouka looked at your joined hands with an expression so quietly overwhelmed it made your chest ache.

“…This is new for me,” she admitted after a while.

“I know.”

“I may be inefficient at it initially.”

You laughed softly. “At love?”

"At communicating it.”

“That’s fair.”

Kyouka glanced at you carefully.

“…You’ll tell me when I’m being impossible?”

“Frequently.”

“Hm.”

“And you’ll tell me when you’re worried instead of starting arguments?”

A pause.

Then, reluctantly: “I will promise that I'll attempt to.”

You grinned. “That’s probably the most commitment I’m getting out of you today.”

“Correct.”

You squeezed her hand lightly.

She squeezed back immediately.

And for the first time since the argument, the building finally felt peaceful again.

Also y'all I got dumped so if no one requests fluff, just know for at least a month you're getting nothing but hurt no comfort.

Taglist: @neluvias , @i-heartdinos , @n4tsukis

Please DO NOT repurpose my work or feed into AI, I do not own any of my dividers besides my character ones.

The kettle hadn’t even started to simmer before Kyouka was already watching you like it was life or death. Her arms were crossed, her posture straight, and her navy eyes sharp.

“You said this was simple.”

You glanced over your shoulder, smiling faintly as you set a small mortar and pestle on the counter. “It is simple, you’re just treating it like a mission.”

“I'm not. I'm simply paying attention."

You huffed a quiet laugh. “It’s chai, Kyouka. Not a job.”

Still– she didn’t look away. If anything, she looked even closer.

You opened the spice tin slowly, letting the scent drift into the air.

“First step,” you said, softer now. “We start with whole spices.”

You placed them one by one into her palm. “we have cardamom, cloves, cinnamon, and a little black pepper.”

Her fingers curled instinctively, holding them like something important. “…Why whole?”

“Because we crush them fresh, so it releases more flavor.”

Kyouka nodded once, committing it to memory.

You guided her hand down to the mortar.

“Now, press. Don’t just hit it.”

She tried. At first, it was too controlled– too careful to even crush anything.

You moved behind her, reaching around, gently adjusting her grip.

“Like this.”

Your hands covered hers again, steadying her hands as you guided her into it.

The spices cracked softly beneath the pressure.

Kyouka paused. “…I felt that.”

“Yeah,” you murmured. “That’s how you know it’s working.”

Once the spices were crushed rough and fragrant and imperfect, you stepped back just enough to reach for the pot.

“Next,” you said, “water."

You poured about a cup and a half into the saucepan, the quiet splash filling the space between you.

“Add the spices.”

Kyouka did so immediately. There wasn't any hesitation in her movements, but this time she looked at you afterward waiting for your approval.

You smiled in response. “Perfect.” It was subtle, but her shoulders eased.

“Now tea leaves.” You measured them loosely into her hand to which she frowned.

“You arent measuring precisely.”

“I am, just not with tools.”

“How inefficient.”

“It’s experience,” you corrected gently.

She hesitated for a moment, then added them anyway.

You turned the heat on.

“Now we let it come to a boil,” you explained. “Medium-high.”

Kyouka leaned slightly closer to the pot, watching the surface like she expected it to react on command.

“…How long?”

“Until it rolls.”

“How vague.”

“You’ll see it when it happens.”

She didn’t like that answer, but she stayed and watched. And once the water finally began to shift into small bubbles turning into a rolling boil— her eyes sharpened.

“Now?.”

You smiled. “Yeah, now we have to lower it.”

She reached for the dial before you even finished speaking.

“Let it simmer for about two to three minutes,” you said.

“For what purpose.”

“So the spices and tea actually infuse,” you explained. “You’re pulling flavor out of them.”

Kyouka nodded slowly.

You stood beside her while it simmered, it was quiet and warm as the scent filled the space between you both– and without thinking, your hand found hers again.

This time, she didn’t freeze. Her fingers slid into yours like it was something she’d learned.

“this step seems to require patience,” she murmured.

“mhm,” You hummed softly. “You’re doing great.”

After a couple more moments, you nodded toward the pot.

“Okay. Now sugar.”

She added it carefully.

“How much?”

“As much as you like.”

“Thats not an answer.”

“It’s a preference.”

Kyouka paused before she added a moderate amount.

“is this an acceptable baseline?”

You grinned. “Sure, Commander.”

“And now—milk.” You handed her the carton, and she hesitated. “You said timing matters.”

“Yeah,” you said gently. “We add milk after the tea and ginger have boiled. Otherwise it can curdle.”

She nodded once—and poured.

The color shifted instantly from a dark hue to warm brown soft and comforting.

“it changed,” she said quietly.

“Yeah, that’s the best part.”

“Now we bring it back to a boil,” you continued. “Then let it simmer again for a couple minutes.”

She watched like she was memorizing every second.

And when the tea finally began to rise with foam forming, threatening to spill— she reacted instantly, lowering the heat before you could say anything.

You blinked. “Nice catch.”

She glanced at you, and you could tell from the slight smirk she was pleased with herself.

“Last step,” you said quietly.

She looked at you immediately.

“you don't have to– but it's a step nonetheless.” You spoke as you picked up a ladle. “We aerate it.”

“Explain.”

You dipped the ladle, then lifted the tea and poured it back from a slight height, letting it stream.

“it helps break the cream layer; makes it smoother.”

She watched closely before she reached for the ladle herself. Her movements were precise though slower.

You stayed close behind her, one hand lightly steadying her wrist.

“Relax,” you murmured.

“I am relaxed.”

“you look like you're trying to command the tea.” You laughed under your breath, leaning just slightly closer.

“Try again.”

This time, she poured more fluidly. The stream was smooth. It was controlled, but not rigid this time.

“is this improved,” she noted.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “It is.”

You turned off the heat.

“Now we strain it.”

She did— carefully, making sure not to spill even a drop.

Two cups were now evenly filled– and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

The kitchen was warm and quiet and filled with the scent of spice and milk and something softer beneath it.

You handed her a cup and kyouka studied it before she took a sip.

There was a pause for a moment “…This is—”

She stopped. “…its good.”

You tilted your head. “Just good?”

She frowned slightly.

“…Its balanced. The spice levels are appropriate, and the sweetness is controlled.”

You stepped closer.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“…I like it,” she said quietly.

Your smile softened instantly.

“There we go”

You reached up, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. She didn’t move away. If anything, she leaned just slightly into the touch.

“…This process,” she said slowly, “is inefficient.”

You raised a brow.

“But,” she continued, “it produces a result that cannot be replicated through shortcuts.”

You blinked.

“That’s… surprisingly poetic.”

“Im being accurate.”

You laughed and then leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. It was warm and gentle, lingering just a second longer than before.

Kyouka froze only for a moment before her hand came up, resting against your waist, steady and certain.

When you pulled back, she was still close still looking at you like she was learning something new.

“…That step,” she said quietly, “was not in the instructions.”

You smiled, brushing your thumb lightly over her knuckles.

“It’s a part of my version.”

She considered that as leaned in just slightly. “…Then your version is preferable.”

And when your lips met again softer this time– there was no hesitation at all.

Also I done fucking got pneumonia again so y'all will be getting more fics since I can't work💔 ALSO I HAVE NEVER MADE CHAI A DAY IN MY LIFE IM FOLLOWING AN ONLINE RECIPE IM SORRY IF THIS IS INACCURATE

Taglist: @neluvias , @i-heartdinos , @n4tsukis

Please do not repurpose my work or feed into AI. - APPLE DIVIDERS / LACE ARE NOT MINE!

Nobody knew what to call whatever existed between you and Kyouka Nijiku.

Not even the two of you.

You weren't lovers.

The idea would've made both of you immediately deny it.

But friends? That wasn't right either.

Friends didn't stare at one another across rooms with enough tension to make everyone nearby uncomfortable.

Friends didn't seek each other out after every mission just to argue.

Friends didn't remember exactly how the other took their tea.

The truth sat somewhere in the middle.

Undefined.

Uncomfortable.

Dangerously important.

You were a Cleaner, Kyouka was Hell Guard.

That fact alone was enough to start most of your arguments.

The first few had been harmless.

Differences in procedure.

Differences in priorities.

The sort of disagreements that naturally happened when two organizations worked toward the same goal through entirely different methods.

But over time, Kyouka developed a habit. A frustrating habit. Every conversation somehow circled back to the same topic.

"You should join the Hell Guard."

At first you'd laughed.

Then you ignored it.

Then you started expecting it.

Now it just irritated you.

The suggestion came often enough that some people had begun placing bets on how long it would take her to bring it up whenever the two of you were together.

Sometimes, she lasted ten minutes. Sometimes five. One memorable occasion lasted less than thirty seconds.

You'd walked into a room.

She'd looked up.

And immediately said it.

"Join the Hell Guard." As if she'd been waiting all day.

You never understood why she was so determined.

There were plenty of capable people among the Cleaners.

Plenty of fighters, and plenty of individuals worthy of recruitment.

Yet Kyouka seemed fixated on you specifically. It would've been flattering if it wasn't so infuriating.

"You're wasting your talents." That was one of her favorites.

Another was: "You'd have more opportunities."

And then there was: "You'd be safer."

That one always made you laugh.

Safer.

As if becoming Hell Guard suddenly made someone immortal.

As if danger magically disappeared because you wore a different uniform.

Every time she brought it up, you shut her down.

Every time.

And every time she tried again.

The stubbornness would've been impressive if it wasn't directed at you.

The argument that finally broke things apart started like every other one.

With a simple conversation.

The two of you had crossed paths after a long day.

Both exhausted, both irritable, both already in bad moods.

A dangerous combination— You should've walked away immediately.

Instead, you stayed.

And Kyouka made the mistake of bringing it up again.

"You should transfer."

You didn't even look at her. "No."

Her expression immediately darkened.

The response had become automatic.

She could practically hear it before you said it.

"You didn't even think about it."

"I've thought about it every time you've asked."

"Then your answer should've changed by now."

You rolled your eyes. "There it is."

"There what is?"

"The reason I don't listen to you."

Her eyebrows lowered. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"You don't ask me things," You finally looked at her,

"You decide." The air between you immediately became heavier. "You've already decided what's best for me."

"Because it's obvious."

"No it isn't."

"It is."

"No, Kyouka." Your voice sharpened, "No, it isn't."

People nearby had started leaving.

Neither of you noticed– or cared for that matter.

Kyouka crossed her arms.

"You spend your days hunting Trash Beasts."

"I'm a Cleaner."

"You constantly throw yourself into dangerous situations."

"I'm a Cleaner."

"You nearly died three weeks ago."

"I'm still alive."

"That's not the point."

"Then what is the point?"

Her jaw tightened.

The answer sat right there, close enough to reach.

But she didn't say it.

Instead she fell back on the same argument she'd always used.

"The Hell Guard would make better use of you."

You laughed though it was a short humorless sound. "There it is."

"What?"

"You keep talking about what's useful." The irritation you'd been carrying for months finally surfaced. "You ever stop to think maybe I don't want what you want? You don't know what I want."

"Then tell me."

The words came out harder than intended.

The moment they left your mouth, something shifted.

Kyouka froze, though only briefly it was long enough for you to notice.

Tell me– what simple words.

Yet neither of you seemed capable of answering them.

The silence stretched.

Then shattered.

"You have a future."

You blinked. "What?"

"You have a future." Her voice was firm. "You shouldn't throw it away."

The anger inside you cooled slightly, instead replaced by confusion.

"What are you talking about?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about."

"No I dont."

"You take unnecessary risks."

"I do my job."

"You make reckless decisions."

"I do my job."

"You'll get yourself killed."

The words landed like a slap.

For a second neither of you moved, then something ugly twisted in your chest.

Because she sounded afraid.

Not annoyed.

Not angry.

Afraid.

And somehow that made everything worse.

You laughed.

Not because it was funny.

Because you didn't know what else to do.

"You're unbelievable."

Kyouka's expression darkened.

"And you're impossible."

"Maybe." You stepped back. "But at least I don't spend every conversation trying to change who you are."

The words hit harder than intended.

You saw it happen, that tiny flicker. A tiny crack in her composure before she buried it.

But it had been there.

For just a second.

And suddenly you couldn't stay.

The argument felt too personal.

Too raw.

Too close to something neither of you wanted to acknowledge.

So you turned, and you walked away.

Kyouka called your name.

You ignored her.

She called it again.

You kept walking.

The last thing you heard before disappearing around the corner was her voice.

Frustrated, angry, and worried.

And for the first time, you didn't turn back.

The further you walked, the worse your mood became.

You replayed the conversation over and over.

Every word.

Every look.

Every pause.

The things said.

The things left unsaid.

You hated it.

Hated how easily she got under your skin.

Hated how much her opinion mattered.

Most of all, you hated that she'd sounded genuinely scared.

Because if you thought about that too long, you'd start asking questions.

Questions neither of you seemed willing to answer.

So instead, you did what you always did when frustration became unbearable.

You looked for something to hit.

A mission would've been ideal. Unfortunately, Semiu said there weren't any nearby.

So your feet carried you elsewhere.

Toward the outskirts.

Toward the abandoned regions.

Toward danger.

Toward the place everyone knew to avoid.

No Man's Land.

The boundary appeared gradually.

The landscape changed.

The atmosphere shifted.

The feeling of wrongness grew heavier with every step.

Normal people avoided these regions entirely.

Even experienced fighters approached them carefully.

The polluted zones housed stronger Trash Beasts and greater risks.

Everyone knew that. You knew that.

But anger had a way of making people stupid.

And you were very angry.

"Just one." You said it aloud, as if hearing it made the decision smarter.

It didn't.

The first Trash Beast died quickly.

The second took slightly longer.

The third actually managed to injure you.

By then, common sense should've prevailed.

You should've turned around. Gone home. Gotten some sleep. Forgotten the argument.

Instead, like a fool, you kept moving deeper.

Further.

Further.

Further.

Until the realization finally hit.

You'd gone too far.

The silence changed first.

Then the air.

Then the feeling.

Something massive was nearby.

Your instincts screamed.

Every survival lesson you'd ever learned screamed.

Leave now.

Unfortunately, realization came too late.

The creature emerged from the haze, far larger than anything you'd expected to encounter alone.

For a brief moment, everything stopped.

The world.

Your breathing.

Your thoughts.

Then the Trash Beast moved.

And the fight began.

Nobody witnessed what happened.

Nobody survived to report it.

Nobody knew exactly how long you fought.

Only the aftermath remained.

The destruction.

The ruined terrain.

The blood.

The evidence of a battle that had ended badly. Very badly.

You fought.

You survived.

You pushed yourself further than you should've.

But eventually strength ran out as it always did.

One mistake became another. One injury became several. And somewhere in that hopeless struggle, the inevitable happened.

The Cleaner who never backed down, the Cleaner Kyouka had spent months trying to drag into a safer position, the Cleaner she'd argued with countless times had died.

You had died all alone in No Man's Land, with people only finding what remained of you days after the fact.

At first, nobody realized you were missing.

Cleaners disappeared for a day or two all the time.

Missions ran long.

Assignments changed.

Schedules shifted.

It happened.

Then one day became two.

Two became three.

Concern slowly replaced assumption.

People started asking questions.

Looking.

Searching.

Kyouka heard about it almost by accident, it was just a passing conversation.

A casual remark.

A missing Cleaner.

Your name.

The moment she heard it, something felt wrong.

You weren't the type to vanish.

You weren't the type to disappear without warning.

She immediately began searching.

Officially, there was no reason. Unofficially, she couldn't stop herself.

She checked headquarters.

Asked questions.

Tracked reports.

Followed every lead she could find.

With each dead end, the feeling in her chest worsened.

By the fourth day, frustration had become worry.

By the fifth day, worry had become fear.

By the sixth, she finally learned where you'd gone– No Man's Land.

The words hit like a physical blow. For a long moment, Kyouka simply stared.

Waiting for someone to correct themselves.

Nobody did.

The silence told her everything.

"No."

The word escaped before she could stop it.

The room went quiet.

No Man's Land.

Alone.

After an argument.

After she'd told you not to throw your life away.

After she'd warned you.

After she'd watched you walk away.

Someone continued speaking, explaining that a cleaners team traveling there for a mission had found you.

Kyouka didn't hear any of it, her thoughts had become a roar.

A desperate refusal.

You couldn't be dead.

You were too stubborn.

Too reckless.

Too difficult.

Too alive.

But reality didn't care what she believed.

The search team found enough evidence.

There was no mistake, and certainly no misunderstanding.

No miracle waiting around the corner.

You were gone.

For the first time in years, Kyouka didn't know what to do.

She stood there in complete silence as the information settled slowly.

The last conversation she'd ever have with you had been an argument.

The last thing she'd done was try to force you into a future you didn't want.

The last thing she'd heard was your footsteps walking away.

And now there would never be another conversation.

Never another argument, never another chance.

Kyouka lowered her head.

Nobody spoke.

Nobody moved.

The commander who never bent stood perfectly still.

And for the first time since she'd met you, she had absolutely no idea where to find you.

Because there was nowhere left to look.

The seasons changed after a while.

Life didn't stop simply because someone died.

Kyouka learned that lesson quickly though it was one she hated.

The sun still rose every morning, people still filled the streets, the Hell Guard still had reports to file, criminals to apprehend, duties to fulfill, and the Cleaners still hunted Trash Beasts.

The world continued moving forward with cruel indifference.

And somehow that felt wrong, because you weren't there.

The first few weeks had been the hardest.

Everywhere she looked, there was something that reminded her of you.

A stupid comment someone made.

A chair left empty during a meeting.

A familiar route through the city.

Every reminder arrived unexpectedly, and every reminder hurt.

Kyouka never spoke about it, she wasn't the type. But the people under her command knew something had changed.

They could see it.

She spoke less, didn't bother with people like how she did before, worked longer hours too.

But nobody dared ask why. Not when her gaze had become so distant. Not when she looked tired in ways sleep couldn't fix. Not when she carried grief like armor.

Some wounds weren't meant to be discussed.

So everyone pretended not to notice, and Kyouka pretended she was fine.

Months passed, then more.

The sharp pain dulled.

It became quieter like a constant aching presence she carried everywhere.

It was something she learned to live beside.

Not overcome.

On a cool afternoon, she found herself standing before your grave again.

She visited more often than she'd ever admit.

Always alone, usually in silence.

Today was different.

Today she carried a small wooden tray.

Upon it sat a teapot and two cups.

The tea had been prepared carefully.

A habit she had developed more after your death. You always teased her for preferring tea when conversations stretched too long.

You'd say she's much to formal, and Kyouka had always insisted that made no sense.

You'd laughed at her and sometimes she even found herself laughing alongside you.

Now she found herself remembering that conversation in embarrassing detail.

The memory almost made her smile.

Almost.

The cemetery was quiet.

The wind moved gently through the grass.

Clouds drifted overhead.

Everything felt peaceful.

The sort of peace people searched their entire lives for.

Kyouka hated it, because you never got to see it. You'd spent your life running toward danger. And now the world suddenly wanted to be gentle.

It felt unfair.

She approached your grave slowly.

The stone was familiar, far too familiar.

There had been a time when seeing your name written there made her feel sick.

Now it simply hurt.

She could live with that.

Kyouka lowered herself onto the ground, the movement was careful and measured.

She set the tray beside her, and then poured tea into both cups.

Steam rose from the surface.

Thin white tendrils drifting upward into the afternoon air

For a few moments she simply watched it. Then she reached for the second cup.

The one that wasn't hers.

And placed it carefully atop the gravestone.

Right in front of your name.

The gesture had become tradition.

A pointless tradition.

A foolish tradition.

But one she continued anyway.

"You still owe me for all the tea you've stolen."

Her voice broke the silence. It was soft, the sort of voice nobody else ever heard from her.

Kyouka stared at the cup.

Waiting.

Knowing nothing would happen.

Still waiting.

The silence that followed felt familiar.

Almost comfortable.

"You always said it tasted better when it belonged to someone else."

A faint smile touched her lips.

"You were an idiot."

The smile faded almost immediately.

The cemetery remained quiet.

Only the wind answered.

Kyouka wrapped both hands around her own cup.

The warmth seeped into her fingers.

Not enough.

"I saw a Cleaner the other day. From your team"

Her gaze remained fixed on the gravestone.

"He reminded me of you."

The confession came easier than expected. Perhaps because there was nobody left to hear it.

"He was reckless."

A pause.

"Annoying."

Another pause.

"He argued with everything he was told."

A tiny laugh escaped her.

"I almost arrested him."

The laugh faded.

"I think you would've liked him."

The silence returned.

Kyouka took a sip of tea.

The warmth settled in her chest.

Briefly.

Then disappeared.

The wind shifted, and a few loose leaves drifted across the cemetery.

Kyouka watched them travel.

Then looked back at your name.

The words escaped before she could stop them.

"I miss you." She whispered like a prayer.

The truth rarely needed decoration.

Her grip tightened around the cup. Not enough to break it anymore like before, just enough to remind herself she was still holding something.

Still here.

Still alive.

Unlike you.

The thought hurt.

Even now.

Especially now.

Because time hadn't changed anything.

It had only given her more opportunities to realize how much was missing.

You should've been here.

Arguing with her.

Talking to her.

Existing.

Instead, there was only stone and memory.

Kyouka lowered her eyes.

"I keep expecting to see you." The admission came quietly. "I know it's stupid."

She laughed softly.

"Every time I pass Cleaner headquarters."

Another laugh.

Smaller this time.

"Every time I hear someone yelling."

The smile faded.

"Every time someone does something reckless."

The words slowed.

"I still look."

Her throat tightened.

"And for a second..."

The sentence trailed off.

Because she couldn't finish it.

For a second she forgot.

For a second she expected you to be there.

Then reality returned.

Every time.

Without fail.

The disappointment never became easier.

Kyouka stared at the tea resting atop your gravestone.

Steam still curled from its surface.

But not as much as before.

The warmth was fading.

Slowly and inevitably.

She found herself watching it mesmerized as though the tea represented something important.

Perhaps it did.

The last remnants of warmth.

The final traces of something alive.

Gone little by little.

Until nothing remained.

"You know..." She exhaled quietly. "There was a time when I thought I'd convince you."

The memory surfaced unexpectedly.

Countless arguments.

Countless conversations.

Countless attempts to recruit you.

At the time she'd convinced herself it was practical.

Logical.

Professional.

Now she knew better.

Now there was nobody left to lie to.

"I wasn't trying to recruit you."

Her eyes remained on the gravestone.

The confession emerged in pieces.

Slowly.

Painfully.

"I told myself I was."

A bitter smile appeared.

"But that wasn't it."

The realization had taken months.

Months of sleepless nights.

Months of staring at ceilings.

Months of reliving conversations.

Eventually she'd understood.

She'd wanted you close. That was all.

Not because of your abilities, not because of your potential. Just because you were you.

And she had wanted more time.

More conversations.

More arguments.

More days.

More years.

She swallowed.

Hard.

"I was selfish."

The words sounded strange.

Kyouka rarely admitted fault.

Especially not aloud.

Yet here she was, speaking to a gravestone. Confessing things she'd never managed to say while you were alive.

"I wanted to keep you where I could see you." The wind brushed against her hair, making her appear almost gentle. "I thought if you joined the Hell Guard..."

Her smile became sad.

"...then maybe I'd stop worrying."

The laugh that followed held no amusement.

As though that would've changed anything.

As though she'd ever stop worrying about you.

The thought was absurd.

She would've worried forever.

And now she would never get the chance.

The tea continued cooling.

The steam was almost gone.

Kyouka watched it disappear.

Then she spoke again, this time quieter.

More vulnerable.

"I think about impossible things." A long silence followed "I think about another life."

The words felt ridiculous.

She wasn't someone who believed in fantasies, she never had been.

But grief had a way of creating strange hopes.

Tiny impossible hopes.

The kind people clung to when reality wasn't enough.

Kyouka stared at the horizon.

At the sunlight spilling across the cemetery.

At the peaceful afternoon neither of you had earned.

And she imagined it.

Another world.

Another life.

One where neither of you carried weapons.

One where neither of you wore uniforms.

One where there were no Trash Beasts.

No Hell Guard.

No Cleaners.

No No Man's Land.

No final arguments.

No graves.

Just life.

An ordinary life.

The kind most people ignored, the kind she'd once considered boring.

Now it sounded perfect.

In her mind, she could almost see it.

A small house.

Nothing extravagant.

A kitchen, a table, a window that let sunlight inside, you standing there.

Complaining about something insignificant.

Probably her.

Definitely her.

The thought made her smile.

A real smile this time.

Small.

Fragile.

Beau

I had an atrocious day at work, so y'all gotta suffer with me. Gotta get group bonding in somehow

Taglist: @neluvias , @i-heartdinos , @n4tsukis , @tsillyy

Please DO NOT repurpose my work or feed into AI, I do not own any of my dividers besides my character ones.