can I request a hsr fic with an emotionless reader who tries to understand love by acting like a lover to welt or hemiko
“Sometimes, love is just being here”
Tags: Welt x Reader, Himeko x Reader, Emotionless Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Introspection, Found Family.
Warnings: Emotional Detachment, Existential Themes, Reader Struggles With Feelings, Brief Mentions Of Past Loss, Mild Angst.
You never really understood why people clung so desperately to something like love.
To you, it was just another word. A puzzle of behavior and ritual, something spoken about as though it were sacred. You had observed it many times — the way hands would linger together, how laughter seemed lighter when shared, how people entrusted their vulnerabilities to another person as if it were safe.
You couldn’t feel it. Not in the way others described. But you could imitate it.
And Welt… he seemed like the perfect subject.
It began with small things. You would sit near him during long stretches of travel aboard the Astral Express, sometimes without speaking for hours. Welt never protested. He was used to silence, used to space being filled only with the hum of the train and the flicker of passing stars.
When you first leaned your head against his shoulder in the middle of a quiet evening, you half-expected him to stiffen, to ask what you were doing. Instead, Welt simply adjusted his glasses and exhaled, a soft huff that could have been amusement.
“You’re… bold,” he said at last, his voice calm, even.
“Am I?” you asked.
“You don’t usually do things without reason.”
That was true. Everything you did, you did to study. To learn.
And so you stayed like that, pressed to his side, thinking: is this love?
Welt didn’t push you away. If anything, he seemed to tolerate — even indulge — your strange behavior. You began trying little gestures you had seen other “lovers” perform: brushing invisible dust from his coat sleeve, handing him his cane before he asked, waiting until he was done with paperwork just to walk alongside him back to his quarters.
One night, you handed him a cup of tea without explanation.
Welt raised a brow. “You’ve been attentive lately. Caring, even.”
“I’m trying to understand something,” you admitted flatly.
“Love?” His dry smile told you he had already guessed.
“Yes.”
He leaned back, studying you through the reflection of his glasses. For a moment, you thought he might laugh. Instead, he only sighed, soft and tired, the sound of someone who had lived too many lives to be surprised anymore.
“Love isn’t something you study,” Welt said gently. “Not like equations or history.”
“Then how?”
“By living. By choosing.”
The words hung between you like smoke. You weren’t sure what to do with them.
The more you acted the part of a lover, the more Welt seemed… conflicted. Sometimes, he’d watch you with an expression you couldn’t read, his lips twitching as though caught between amusement and something softer. Other times, his gaze grew faraway, like you had reminded him of something — or someone — long gone.
One evening, you asked him outright:
“Does this bother you?”
Welt stirred the tea in his hand, the clink of porcelain delicate in the quiet room.
“You remind me of how little I know, even now,” he said after a long pause. “Of how much love changes depending on who holds it.”
You frowned. “So there isn’t a single definition?”
“Of course not. My love for Earth, for my comrades, for the people I’ve lost… each is different. And yet, they’re all real.”
His eyes met yours, sharp but not unkind.
“And you? Do you feel anything when you do these things?”
You thought for a long moment. “No. Not… yet. But I thought if I imitated enough, something might change.”
To your surprise, Welt chuckled. It was soft, genuine, touched with that wry humor of his.
“You’re treating love like an experiment. I suppose that’s very you.”
“Is that wrong?”
“No. It just means you’re searching in your own way. And perhaps…” He set down his cup, leaning forward slightly. “…perhaps love isn’t something you need to force. It will come, quietly, like a star you didn’t notice until it was already shining.”
After that night, you stopped thinking of your actions as a test. You still leaned against his shoulder, still handed him tea, still lingered in his presence more than necessary. But now, it wasn’t just imitation.
You weren’t sure what it was yet. But you knew this much: you wanted to keep staying by Welt's side, even if it was only to listen to his dry humor and watch him ponder the cosmos with weary wisdom.
And maybe, one day, you would discover that star he spoke of.
You had noticed it from the very beginning — the way her smile lit the Express brighter than any star, the way her laugh seemed to melt tension from the air. She had an ease about her, a grace that pulled others close without effort.
Naturally, you wondered: was this what love looked like?
If you were going to understand it, Himeko seemed the perfect example.
The first time you tried, you brought her coffee.
Not unusual; Himeko often brewed it herself. But this time, you set the cup carefully by her hand while she was bent over some charts, saying nothing.
When she looked up, surprised, you added: “You’ve been working hard.”
Her brows lifted, then softened. “Why, thank you. That’s sweet of you.”
Sweet. That was a word people used when they talked about love, wasn’t it?
You began repeating these gestures, one after another. Bringing her drinks. Sitting beside her while she worked. Complimenting her hair, her dress, her smile.
Sometimes she teased you gently — “Careful, you’ll spoil me” — but she never pushed you away. Instead, Himeko welcomed your presence, her laughter like the crackle of a fire.
And you thought: maybe this is it.
One night, you lingered too long in her cabin. The scent of roasted beans still clung to the air, faint and comforting. Himeko tilted her head as you hesitated by the doorway.
“Something on your mind?” she asked.
You considered lying, but then thought better of it.
“I’m… trying to understand love,” you admitted. “By acting like a lover would. Toward you.”
For a heartbeat, Himeko just blinked at you. Then her lips curved into that familiar, knowing smile.
“I had a feeling,” she said warmly. “You’ve been awfully attentive lately.”
“Does it bother you?”
“Not at all. If anything, it’s… endearing.”
Her tone was teasing, but there was no mockery in her eyes. Only curiosity.
“Why me?” she asked.
“Because you make it look effortless,” you said simply. “Warm. Gentle. I thought, if I learned from you, I might… understand.”
Himeko leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. The golden glow of the room haloed her hair, painting her in soft light.
“Love isn’t just sweetness,” she said. “It’s sacrifice, it’s trust, it’s choosing someone even when it’s difficult. But it does start with warmth. With wanting to give, even when you don’t expect anything back.”
You considered her words. “That’s what I’m doing, isn’t it? Giving.”
“Yes… but you’re also expecting something. An answer. A result.”
Her smile gentled, almost sad. “That’s not wrong, but love isn’t a formula you solve. It’s… messy. Beautifully messy.”
Her hand reached out, brushing against yours. It was warm — startlingly so.
“Do you feel anything now?” she asked softly.
You searched yourself. There was no great rush, no lightning bolt like the stories said. But you did feel something — a flicker of comfort, the pull of warmth.
“I feel… curious,” you admitted. “Drawn.”
Himeko laughed, low and rich. “Curious is a good start.”
From then on, Himeko became both subject and teacher. She let you hold her hand when you asked, let you sit close enough that your shoulders touched. Sometimes she leaned against you instead, testing your reactions.
“See?” she would say lightly. “It doesn’t have to be grand gestures. Sometimes, it’s just being here.”
You began to notice little things: the way her eyes softened when she was tired but still smiled at you; the way she hummed when brewing coffee; the way she listened, truly listened, when you spoke, even if you rambled about nothing at all.
If this was love, it wasn’t as incomprehensible as you thought.
One evening, as the stars drifted lazily outside, Himeko set down two cups of coffee and sat across from you.
“You know,” she began, “love isn’t just about learning. It’s about living it. Taking the leap, even if you don’t understand everything yet.”
You frowned. “How do I take a leap if I don’t feel it?”
Her smile was tender, tinged with something bittersweet. “Maybe by trusting that one day, you will. And until then, letting yourself be here, with me.”
Her hand covered yours again, steady and warm.
And though you still didn’t feel the thunderstorm of passion you had been told about, you realized something important: you didn’t want to move your hand away.
Maybe, just maybe, that was enough for now.
