#glta99

"When did you get this one?" was the question softly raised as perfectly-clipped nails lightly dragged along a straight, darkened line that ran across your skin, firmly separating where your cheek ended and your jawline began.

"Hm…?" the question barely registered at first, for you had found yourself more distracted by the hand carding through your hair and the heated weight halfway atop of you…that was until said hand left your hair — and right before it could brush against your animal ears.

Your eyes opened immediately, but the sight before you causes the sudden spike of irritation melt away in an instant; pretty ruby eyes, sparkling with curiosity and way too much worry for something as meager as a scar. It prompts you into breaking the oh so rare silence that had fallen between you two.

"It's nothin' serious," you started, panning only your eyes to the side as you were too comfortable to be bothered to move your whole head to look at him.

"Just a flesh wound. I'm surprised its even still visible."

"How did you get it though?" was the golden question you couldn't seem to evade — not that there was any real story behind it.

"Spelldrive practice," you finally answered, "Things got intense when everybody got into their grooves and someone got a little rough with their toss. I wasn't fast enough in dodgin' it and got this pretty little number on my cheek as a reward."

Now it's Kalim's turn to hum, seemingly satisfied with your answer as he didn't push further. That didn't stop him from running his hand along the mark, however.

In a way, he seemed almost entranced by it; drawing shapes around it with his touch ever so featherlight. You usually didn't mind him doing it, no matter the time of day or the place, but something about this setting — the dimmed lights, the breath-mixing proximity, the uncharacteristically intimate and prolonged silence that came with hands all over your skin — made your stomach flutter and, in a way, made you feel kind of shy.

And so, in an attempt to escape such a flustering feeling before it could spread across your face and turn the situation unbearably awkward, you begin running your mouth like water in a faucet that's been switched on.

"I know it's ugly," you commented, your lips quirking into a smirk, "but don't worry, come mornin', I'll do whatever I can to make it fade quickly so I can be more presentable for ya', pretty boy."

It was meant to come off joking, teasing, and overall unserious — simply something to steal laughter from his lips or even get a little blood rushing to his light-brown skin — but your reply was given silence, which unfortunately turned the previous atmosphere awkward regardless when Kalim prolonged his silence.

You crack an eye open and peer over once again, only to then open both eyes fully when you catch the sight of something truly unexpected; jutted out lips, furrowed brows, and a disapproving look.

"Are you pou—" "Your scar isn't ugly!"

You wince and tilt your head away from, the deafening exclamation making your face scrunch with discomfort. Kalim seems to catch on quickly — to your very obvious pain at the very least — and his regret is instantaneous.

"I'm sorry!" he tells you in an octave less ear-splitting, but still much too loud for your liking. His hand that once played in your scalp now coming up there again to scratch apologetically at your fur ears — which twitched irately under his touch. It made him feel even worse for his sudden outburst, but didn't seem to dissuade him from speaking the rest of his mind.

"The scar doesn't make you ugly," he reiterated, "Nothing in this world could ever make you ugly.. Not if you gained or lost weight, not if you changed how you styled your hair or wore your clothes — I'll always find you perfect and love you with every ounce of my heart!"

"You could gain a million scars and it wouldn't change a thing! You'd still be absolutely radiant to me — no, I'd probably find you even more gorgeous!" he continues, and at this point, your face is beginning to burn from his onslaught assault of affirmations. It's then, flustered from both embarrassment and endearment ( but mainly embarrassment ), that you slap a hand over his mouth to silence him.

"Dude, I was joking! Chill out!" you told him, but quickly find yourself regretting speaking when you heard your own voice and it reminded you of a squeaky chew toy.

You wished nothing more than to crawl in a hole and bury yourself alive now.

With his words and your whiny voice replaying in your head like a bad memory, you turn on your side with a huff as first-hand embarrassment rips through you…which ultimately meant that you had to remove your hand from your boyfriend's mouth to do so.

And — just like your boyfriend Kalim Al-Asim would — instead of taking the hint, he sits up even more and slides closer, twisting a bit as he leans over you and plants his hand down firmly onto your pillow by your head to keep himself propped up.

He's hovering above now. Staring down at you with stupidly soft eyes that were capable of making an entire herd swoon, you were sure.

You avoid his gaze and bit your lip, fearing what emotion your face may give away and what your mouth may further humiliate you with if you let it open once more. Alas, that seemed to only urge Kalim closer and prompt him into apologizing again.

"I'm sorry, please don't be mad," is what he tells you, voice thick with velvet remorse, "but I hate hearing you talk down to yourself like that.."

That should've been the end of it. Should've been the moment Kalim leaned away and laid back down on his side of the bed and curled up into your back. Should've been the moment you were allowed a much-needed break to finally deal with the deep swirl of mortification that came from Kalim's sudden adulation…but, as Kalim finally closed the distance between you and him and planted a kiss right atop that scar he'd been tracing earlier, you groan as you realize that this was only the beginning of this torture.

"I really like you, and even before we got together, I admired you a lot," he confessed in a low murmur as he moved upwards to plant his lips on another, more permanent scar near your eyebrow; a result of roughhousing with your friends sometime during your childhood.

"I always thought you were really cool — and all your scars were part of that reason. I used to think, 'wow, they look really tough!'"

"Kali', please…" you begged. Your hands coming up to hide your face — that was definitely blazing at this point — from him. It's then that Kalim makes his way down south; kissing a tiny, light mark blemishing your nape before moving even lower down to kiss an oddly-shaped scar on your shoulder joint.

Then, at long last, he relents — giggling without a care as if he hadn't nearly sent you into cardiac arrest.

"Okay, okay, I'll stop.." he leans all his weight atop of you, his head falling on your chest where he sighs almost dreamily. Drinking in your body heat and the beats of your heart, as if he were close to dying without it.

"Sorry for getting a little carried away."

You can do nothing but huff.

"A 'little' carried away doesn't even begin to describe what that was.." you grumbled, but as you removed your hands from your aflame face, you found your irritation extinguishing as quickly as a poorly-lit flame — for Kalim looked as though he could die happy from merely being snuggled up so closely to you.

It was truly pathetic, but damn, did he manage make pathetic look freaking cute.

You huff again. One of these days, this loser is going to seriously kill you.

"Wh-What?" Ennoshita blinks at you as he attempts to process what you've just told him, but you don't see a hint of judgment on his face.

"Don't you ever just…wanna dig into the essence of a person? Know all their secrets, in and out?"

He continues staring at you, almost like he's entranced by something. He hums before speaking. "Oh, that's…"

And almost like he's proving your point, seeing Ennoshita lost in thought activates this unexplainable yearning in your chest.

Sometimes, I want to know everything that goes on in his head.

What does he think about me?

When he says he loves me, what does it feel like?

Are there things he wants to tell me but would never say out loud?

"Hey," he says, tapping a finger on your nose. "Don't overthink my reaction. You didn't say anything weird."

"I- huh. Surprisingly, I wasn't thinking about that."

Ennoshita chuckles. "So, were you thinking about digging into my soul?"

"Maybe I was," you admit, unable to fight the smile on your face.

"Then, I'm not any better than you."

"What do you mean?"

He moves forward until your faces are inches apart. "Sometimes, I wonder what it's like to merge my soul with yours."

That leaves you breathless.

"Not just figuring you out, but really being one with you, you know?"

"Oh…"

Heat rushes to your face. What the hell.

"C'mere," he whispers, gesturing for you to come closer.

You expect an embrace, but when he pulls you in, you find yourself lying under him.

Ennoshita's weight on top of you is…overwhelming yet comforting. An odd sensation that satisfies your cravings—and his cravings, you assume, if the relaxed sigh into your neck is anything to go by.

"I'm not crushing you, am I?"

"No."

"Good." He snuggles further into you before continuing to mutter into your ear. "It's times like these that I wish we could go beyond physical boundaries."

"I don't know. Maybe a certain Viktor Frankenstein might be able to help us merge for real."

You feel the deep rumble of Ennoshita's laugh in your own chest.

"That's gonna be one hell of a movie; lovers seek a mad scientist to help them with their intimacy needs."

"And would that end in horror?"

"Oh…probably."

A giggle escapes your mouth, and you wrap your arms around Ennoshita even tighter.

"Okay, for real. Can you breathe?"

"Yes."

"See, I would like to do this forever, but I don't wanna hurt you through my soul-merging endeavors."

You burst into laughter. "Soul-merging endeavors?"

"Yes- Okay, wait, I'm worried," Ennoshita starts to peel his body away. "All this soul talk, and I might actually see yours."

"Nooooo, come back!" You grip his shoulders, which start shaking as he joins in on the laughter.

"You need air to laugh!"

"Okay, okay, just return to being my personal hydraulic presser!"

"Hydraulic presser?"

Man, your stomach hurts.

"Oh, love, what would I do without you?" he chokes out in between giggles.

It takes a few more minutes for the two of you to settle down and catch your breath.

"Aren't we humans just fascinating?" you muse, staring at the ceiling.

"However fascinating they are," Ennoshita pokes your cheek, "you're my favorite human."

the problem was, her words struck you right in the heart — a spot hurting most currently.

those eight letters you had come across in every piece of fiction you (chose to) read: "true love". and they left her mouth as if she knew your greatest weakness of yearning.

really, she could reel your gullible soul in any direction as long as the topic is about love. then you could insist how you "no longer believe in finding a soulmate" like the trillion times you had done so already.

which is why you are here. before mr. ashveil himself, a very much hardcore detective! hardcore enough that he has seen you in all possible stages of the past year you have known him.

"you're telling me… you disturbed my peaceful sleep because of an alleged spell an alleged witch cursed you with?"

the eyebrow raise sitting on his face screams he is one step away from telling the furbos next door to write an article about you. "hopeless adult still deep in fairytales, witches and true love! should this be written into a comic?" would be the title.

"i told you, i don't buy whatever she's saying!"

every single syllable sounds sour on the tip of your tongue… maybe you should stop lying?

"you do buy it."

"i do buy it." you grumble. for someone who has horrible deduction skills, ashveil manages to get that right only by looking at the sparkles behind your eyes.

the detective ponders, almost sarcastically, "why? what made you trust her, not yourself?"

same question perched so beautifully on your mind the past ten hours it becomes infuriating. is he not supposed to help you answer?!?

then again… why? is it due to your twentieth birthday being just around the corner and you are too young to die? an expected reaction, though both of you (even ashveil's monkey assistant who is not present today) understand there has to be another reason behind your "trust one's gut" instinct not working.

"a woman's intuition is always correct"… perhaps that is why you believe her? desperation… no, you may dread for love but not so far! um…

"you know, you're doing too much thinking when there's a detective right before you." ashveil's voice breaks through your chain of thoughts.

finally! his bright mind seems to have come up with something useful—

"have you not reached to conclude how delusion clouded your judgement at the moment? she could have taken your wallet while you were standing frozen there!"

oh. ouch.

nothing new you have never heard of though. words stirred together along those lines always wiggle their way out his lips — teasing and… unfortunately, obvious. like, wow! you could not have figured it out unle—

wait. wallet?!?!?

you scramble your hands around every pocket available on you, face immediately turning pale upon feeling the sudden emptiness. there is no visible rectangle bump on the side of your pants.

"are you FU—" profanities could not even take their chance as ashveil's hat is slammed against your mouth, the smell of cheap cologne and… refrigerator filling your nostrils.

after successfully shutting you up, he smoothly puts the cowboy hat back on his fluffy head of long hair, expression serious for once.

"well," the man starts, rubbing his temple in distress, "it seems i have jinxed it. or however you call it. regardless, we can't let the thief get away with taking your wallet!"

yet as ashveil says so, he crawls his way back in the barely working fridge — his home, he claims — planning to fall back into slumber.

utterly absurd!

you kick the side of his "bed". he possibly cannot be this chill when his most favorite regular client is requesting help!

as expected, he… does nothing. of course, what else? merely letting out a half-hearted groan, plopping the hat onto his face while shooing you.

same thing for months now, "i'll get to it! give me time." then a week later he randomly texts you saying to meet up with him because he has found leads. all he manages to confirm are his baseless theories and your insanity, rooted from some deduction he has made up on a whim.

you grumble on your way out of his tiny office, muttering about how unprofessional ashveil is — no wonder he cannot be an actual detective! only a few wives who got cheated on would love a guy like that!!

maybe you in the roster as well…

anyhow! he is not just going to rise from his cryosleep to get his work done. no, you will have to wait. could be a few days, could be until the day of your death.

you sigh, sliding your phone into the pocket where your wallet should be. normally, annoyance would fill you in a rush, "why now?!?" being the first thought that pops up.

but strangely, you are not able to find it in yourself this time around. perhaps since it has happened one too many times to the point where you are tired of making the expression.

…or, you have been waiting for his text. for him to initiate a meet up between you both.

whatever reason it is, at least you heard back from him. though the word "deduct" cannot get worse when it comes to ashveil, it still is better than nothing.

you hope, footsteps slowly marking the road to the ashen detective agency.

his office is a mess. as soon you step foot in it.

documents scattered everywhere. papers and what you assume to be mr. narrator's banana peels stacked atop each other. red threads connecting pieces of evidence together, like you losing your wallet is an entire crime scene.

then an ashveil. practically collapsed on his fridge — a sight much inappropriate to anyone who walks in the room. his loud snores do not help better it either.

you should not wake him up. you should let him sleep after spending days and nights investigating your situation—

"MR. ASHVEIL!"

it seems the monkey assistant has other plans.

poor man jolts awake in such a panic that he chokes on his snort, lips opening and eyebrows furrowing clearly indicate the scolding about to let itself be known…

"don't disturb my slee—" until he sees you.

suddenly, every word is swallowed back into their origin. the detective instead stands up, fixing his appearance while stuttering out apologies to his dearest client.

even mister n rolls his eyes beside you, unable to take in ashveil's babbled sweet nothings.

"he's all yours now." the slumbernana monkey takes his exit, shutting the door for some privacy. yet, you cannot necessarily shake off the feeling that the creature knows more than he lets on, and is quite obviously trying to play his part.

…

…

…

the fridge's humming does all the talking for you.

"ashvei—"

"aHEM," your quiet calling fades with the background noises as ashveil fumbles with different case folders, searching for a very specific one where he placed a furbo sticker in the middle and titled it "[name]'s hopelessness".

not too nice of him to do so.

"AHA!" whether he is exclaiming because it has been found or he is summoning the aeon, who knows? but him pulling out the familiar file means your answer is probably the former.

from then, you completely miss the point of whatever he is yapping about, mind stuck on a single problem.

how do you mention losing your wallet is not the only thing he needs to look into?

"you see, i have deducted — and i have done so very well, i brought out the entire deduction guide 101 — to two locations, both in duomension city."

"hey um, ashveil—"

"if i'm wrong you can… throw bananas and tomatoes and whatnot at me every day for a month, but you have to consider the possibilities weighing here."

"detective, listen—"

"your wallet, that cute object with charms, surely it'll be easy to find—"

"ASHVEIL!"

finally.

his ears perk up, violet eyes turning to you. as if it just occured to him how to do his job — he has to take in his client's opinion, not ramble on about what he thinks.

maybe the combination of sleep deprivation and improper diet is getting to him…

"…yes?" will a person believe it if they hear the ashen detective himself sounding almost scared right now?

you ruffle your head in distress, "you forgot one important detail."

a most skeptical eyebrow raise toward you. as the winning contestant of various competitions concerning his work field, he would never—

"oh."

yeah. oh.

to be fair, you cannot fault him for this. the reason he was prompted to investigate in the first place is your wallet. well, was. now there is an additional issue: the curse.

he steals a short moment to mull things over, "can't we find the lady herself and ask her?"

a logical solution, though not particularly what you are hoping looking for. the smallest wince shows itself when you notice ashveil catching onto your thoughts.

"…"

"…"

"…are you saying i should kiss you?"

and he sure caught on fast.

"NO! …i mean yes, but—"

"ME? KISS YOU?" why does he have to make it seem like it is the most disgusting act in the whole of planarcadia?!? "WHO'S TO SAY I'M YOUR TRUE LOVE?!?"

another pause. he has a point. you cannot go around kissing people. he cannot be refusing his client's orders either.

"right," the detective averts his gaze to anywhere else that is not you. honestly, the faint peachy pink is a good look on him as he tries to steer the topic of conversation to someplace else, "how about we give the witch a visit?"

judging by his expression, he merely is trying to delay the part where he kisses you. come on! who would not want to kiss you?! (ashveil, apparently) (he wants to, actually).

"rather chill of you when my death is nigh, but fine."

sigh.

ashveil would not shut up during your walk to duomension city.

"your birthday's tomorrow right? we just need to find your true love by midnight!"

wow! who knew? you surely did not, "let me check my pocket! i keep my spare true love in there."

unless he can pull "your true love" out of thin air, he is practically leaving you to die alone.

"mm…" the detective puts his mind to work for once. you clearly do not have many options here, so if he really does want to save you…

a kiss it is.

those usually sharp eyes change into softness as they dart to your lips, before quickly going back to where they were — a random tree behind you, because he cannot bear to make eye contact. then, one deep inhale taken in to mentally prepare himself.

"let's get this over with," is the final thing you manage to hear. next thing you know, his face is already barely an inch away from yours.

said inch soon reduces to a half, a quarter—

"AMAZING! THEY KISSED!!!" you really have not gotten the chance to, as you and ashveil turn to spot the source of the familiar voice.

that wrinkled cape, that bent hat…

no one else other than the witch who cursed you, in broad daylight.

she also seems to be more insane compared to the last time you saw her, all snickering as she hops her way out of the dark alley she was in.

"oh, you two make a cute couple… i'm assuming he is your true love, dear child?" she peers at you expectantly, like pushing for a romance story to be told between you and the ashen detective.

"ah, no—"

"yes." ashveil nudges your elbow. let's just pretend for both sakes — your death is imminent, more time cannot be wasted on searching for your "soulmate". he is the perfect one for you.

the lady giggles in absolute elation, "lovely! i really am the spectacular matchmaker… anyhow! no need to worry about death. the curse never existed to begin with."

"…what?"

oops. slip up.

"look at the clock! i should get going now. have fun!" the older woman immediately excuses herself to return to her tiny corridor.

…

well.

you and ashveil do not move for the slowest second ever.

"so whatever we did for the past three days meant nothing." the man beside you slumps his shoulders, fingers gripping the cowboy hat even tighter. he drags his feet backward, quite embarrassed of what he did. was he too obvious?

yes. but at least he is aware the feeling is mutual. kinda.

you spend the night of your birthday over at the ashen detective agency, sharing the small office desk with the detective and his monkey companion, who cannot hide his excitement despite being reminded countless times that you are not yet dating!

"take notes, [name]! do not let him eat only bananas for his meals! for someone like mr. ashveil, he needs to keep a balanced diet!" mister n prods his tail on your arm after every sentence, as if to emphasize how important this is.

"mister narrator! stop!"

as much as you try to deny it, you both know. everyone knows.

this is a repost from my old blog !! T^T still, reblogs/comments are very much appreciated. thank you for reading! <3

The two of you weave in and out of corridors and secret passages. Staff members and servants run past you in a frenzy, shouting various orders. They have no time to stop and greet you as they usually do.

A pang of sadness hits you as you watch them. Instead of hurrying to protect themselves, you know that their main priority is preserving whatever they can in the castle and barricading themselves along with it. If they're caught running away, they will face punishment. So, they're either executed for "treason," or they risk it all trying to save something that matters less than their lives.

It is a cruel fate—you curse whoever in your lineage was responsible for enacting it.

Speaking of the devil, you suddenly hear a shout.

"Darling!"

Instinctively, you stop and turn in the direction of the voice, only to see your parents rushing over. Your blood runs cold. This was the last thing you wanted.

"Darling, there you are!" Your mother exclaims, hands flailing around. "Come now! We must get to the stronghold!"

You stand frozen in place, staring at her open arms.

"My dear daughter, what is the matter?" Your father's eyebrows furrow in confusion. "We must get to safety immediately."

"I…"

Your heart thumps loudly in your ears. You need to leave.

"I'm not…I'm not coming with you."

"What?"

"I'm not coming with you," you repeat with certainty.

"What do you mean you're not coming with us? That is- Where do you even plan to go?"

"I'm leaving."

Your parents gasp in unison, then they point at Clorinde. "You! Are you holding my daughter hostage?"

Clorinde looks at you before responding. "No. It is my duty to keep the princess safe. I will see to it that she remains alive."

"You are not answering my question!" Your father's voice thunders down the hall. Some of the staff passing by glance at the commotion before scurrying away.

Your protector sighs and opens her mouth to respond, but you step in for her. "No, Father. We are leaving."

"Are you both out of your mind?" Your mother wails. "The stronghold is safer! Those barbarians are going to kill you out there!"

"No!" Your father points a finger at the two of you, stepping forward. "The real question is why you are both leaving. We demand an explanation."

"I'm afraid you aren't getting one, Father." You nearly bite your tongue to stop yourself from saying sorry. "We are leaving, with or without your approval."

"Excuse me?" He marches forward. But as soon as he reaches out to grab you, Clorinde pushes you behind her, and she draws her sword.

"You! I will have your head for this. I do not care if my daughter has ordered you around; you are still under my command. You swore your loyalty to the kingdom, did you not?"

"Indeed, your majesty. I swore my loyalty to the kingdom, and that includes all of its people, not merely its nobility."

"What are you talking about?"

You move forward to whisper in Clorinde's ear. "Let's run. They cannot keep us here."

She nods in response, lowering her blade and taking your hand once more. "Three, two, one, go."

You both make a break for it. The king's shouts echo down your path of escape, but soon, they can no longer reach you.

Eventually, you reach the exit near the back of the palace, where the other knights have stood guard. They move to let you through, saluting you and Clorinde. You nod at them in acknowledgement. One you recognize as Clorinde's superior wishes you well.

"Have a safe journey, your highness."

Instantly, you're met with a soft breeze and the orange glow of the sky. You can also hear the villagers' faint shouts from the opposite side with more clarity. You also recognize a deep, thumping sound, which you realize is their attempt to break in.

Clorinde looks back for a moment. "I wonder how far they will get."

"Me too."

You both wander through the castle's maze-like garden to meet with the palace gardener as planned. He breathes a sigh of relief when he spots the two of you. "Your highness. Dame Clorinde."

Swiftly, he shovels away the topsoil, revealing the hatch of the palace's secret tunnel. He opens the lock with the stolen key, then hands it to you.

"Thank you for your courage, your highness. We are counting on you."

"Of course, Lyney. Thank you as well for your assistance."

You both descend the ladder into the old passageway, and right before you reach the bottom, Lyney gives you a lit oil lamp.

"Take care."

After half an hour, you reach the end of the dark tunnel. Clorinde uses her sword to cut through the overgrown vines blocking your path until natural light eventually starts to come through.

"There's the carriage!" You sigh in relief as it comes into clear sight. "I can't believe it. I'm actually leaving the city, and for once, there is no grand entourage accompanying me."

"And for once, I do not require permission to depart," Clorinde adds. "Shall we? Navia and Furina are waiting for us."

Your two accomplices instantly turn to you at the sound of leaves crunching beneath your feet.

"Your highness! Clorinde!" Navia's eyes brighten. "You made it out safely."

"Thank you for waiting, Navia and Furina."

"Oh, of course!" Furina grins, clapping her hands. "I am more than eager to see this escape plan through. Now, let's get going!"

She opens the door to the enclosed carriage and points inside. "Your disguises are inside as well, so you may change along the way. There are curtains for privacy, of course. Navia and I will just be outside. Just knock on the window if you need anything. We'll be on the lookout."

"Thank you both."

Clorinde stands next to the steps, offering her hand out for you to ascend safely.

"Aw, how romantic!" Navia singsongs.

"What?" Clorinde narrows her eyes.

"You're so sweet, Clorinde."

"It's my job-"

"To ensure the princess's safety. Oh yes, I know, but you two are always an adorable sight."

You snicker at the girls' exchange. "Navia, I can arrange for Clorinde to hold your hand, too."

She gasps in fake surprise. "Pulling rank, I see. Hahaha! I was just teasing. Now get in, lovebirds."

Clorinde shakes her head, taking her seat next to you. The carriage door is shut, leaving the two of you in the confined space. It is much smaller than the royal carriages you are used to, but sitting in proximity to your personal guard is second nature to you.

You recognize the carriage starting to move forward, and the reality sinks in.

"We're really about to do this, Clorinde."

"Hm?" She pauses in the middle of removing her metal plates. "Oh. Yes. There is no turning back now."

"By the way, I was thinking about earlier…" You turn to her, assisting in dismantling her armor. "I don't know why I stopped when my parents called for us. We should have kept running."

"It is alright. I was prepared for any confrontation. And regardless of what we did, I would be charged with treason."

"That is true. I just froze in the moment because I couldn't believe I was truly about to betray them—they have done everything they could to give me a good life since birth. But still, I could not live the rest of my life internally disagreeing with their beliefs and overlooking the rest of the kingdom. So, again, thank you for helping me find the avenue to act on my values, Clorinde.

"On another note, it was rather, attractive, of you to draw your blade and state your loyalties."

"Ah-" Clorinde's eyes widen at the sudden change in topic. "Is that so?"

"There's nothing more attractive than a woman standing to fight for a good cause."

The corners of her lips twitch upwards.

"Then, it seems the same applies to you, princess." Her gloved hands reach up to cup your face. "May I?"

You nod.

She gives you a tender kiss on the lips.

Bonus:

The two of you pull away smiling.

"So, what do you think of this segment, Clorinde? I know the overall worldbuilding and plot still need more work, but…"

"I must say I am eager to play-test the next part as soon as possible."

You beam. "Really?"

"Mm. I haven't role-played scripts where romance is the main focus of the story, but it seems that protecting a runaway princess is a rather enthralling role."

"I'm glad you think so."

Clorinde chuckles. "I am honored that you often ask me for feedback as a senior Game Master, but it was fun to play as your girlfriend, too. Now I am far more certain that romantic partners would be interested in a script like this—I know I would like to see more from you."

Unable to contain your giddiness, you wrap your arms around her neck to bring her in for another kiss.

"Hey, lovebirds!" Navia calls from the other room. "Are we done with the script? I don't think kissing should take that long!"

𝐈.

Heart pounding, vision blurring—you stare at the royal decree handed to you by your father's aide. It had ultimately announced your fate—you were to be married to a prince of Snezhnaya. A seemingly civil and honored role, if not for the fact that you were being used as a stepping stone to maintain the relations between Mondstadt and Snezhnaya.

Snezhnaya was cold. It was always cold whenever you had gone to visit. It's court was as frigid as it's lands and it's royal family just as power hungry as winter.

As princess, it was your duty to submit to the royal decree. You were not heir. You would not sit upon the throne of your homeland. You would be made queen, the Tsaritsa of Snezhnaya to it's Tsar… and yet, that was not the fate you asked for. It was not the fate you wanted. You wanted neither throne nor crown to be adorned atop your head.

This marriage was no honor. It was a noose slowly being tightened around your neck. The moment you accepted this, that same noose would dig into your flesh until you could no longer breathe.

“Princess?” your loyal knight spoke, voice muffled by the door.

Quickly composing yourself, you wiped away any stray tears and swallowed thickly. The royal decree was quickly shoved into a drawer, just as you smoothed your dress down and fixed your expression with a soft smile. “You may enter, sir Varka.”

The tall and burly man slipped into your room with… well… much sound as his armor clanked and his boots were heavy against your floors. The easy-going smile on his face you usually saw seemed to waver, just a moment.

Had he noticed your redenned eyes? How your hands trembled the slightest bit? Did he noticed how your complexion had looked sickly? You weren't quite sure. But your heart pounded against your chest—so much that it hurt. Truly, it hurt.

“Your highness, are you well?” His towering figure is an awkward sight as it stayed rooted where he stood, back practically pressing against the wall. “Should I call for your lady in waiting? Or the royal physician—”

The mere thought of inviting someone else into your chambers makes you ill. You need no one but him. You needed no one but the one person in this cursed castle who truly cared for you, saw you as not simply as a princess and a pawn of the kingdom, but as a person. A person who lived and loved and wanted to be as free as the birds—as free as the god of wind from ancient times spoken in those fairytales.

“I don't need anyone but you right now, Varka.” Your body gave out quicker than you thought. As your knees buckled, Varka shot out from his position to immediately steady you. His hands landing on your waist, supporting your weight that pressed against him.

His armor is cold. It's an unpleasant barrier between you.

“Princess, what's wrong?” He whispered softly, adjusting your body until it was completely pressed against his. Your head rested upon his chest, though his armor was indeed an inconvenient thing.

“Nothing…” You insist, basking in his presence. A part of you wished to command him to strip of his armor, but the thought made your cheeks burn. Such indecency… “Nothing, I'm simply overwhelmed by some things. Everything is going so fast, as you may know… and I have not been able to relax for quite some time now.”

Varka hummed, it is a low rumble against his chest that even you can feel through his armor. He swept you up without struggle, carrying you to the bed where he gently had you perch at the edge. As he took a knee, he quietly removed your shoes, humming a tune that you recognized as your kingdoms anthem. He was indeed a chivalrous and loyal knight. To the kingdom… to you.

“Your highness, what troubles you?” He whispered just as your hand landed on his head. Gently did you stroke his blonde hair—watching as he easily began to nuzzled against your palm. “Trust me. Speak to me. Unburden yourself with your worries on to me. I am your loyal knight. Your confidant… trust me, my princess.”

Your breath hitches as he tilted his head just enough, lips pressed against your palm.

Varka’s larger hand eclipsed yours, pressing your palm against his lips as he pressed gentle kisses upon it. Again, he hummed and it sent a vibration up your arm. Today, he looked more wolf than man, but perhaps that was to be expected. The successor to the former knight commander Andrius was supposed to be an impressive and wolfish man.

“Princess.” He urged.

“I'm fine, Varka.”

“You're not,” he frowned. Varka pressed once again, “Please… I beg of you, speak to me, my princess. Have I not earned your trust? Have I not proven myself as a faithful guard whom you may trust with your life, your soul, your very being?”

“It is not a matter that you can sacrifice your life for, my knight.” You smiled softly. Carding your fingers through his hair before your hands settles upon cupping his cheeks. You traced the scar upon his cheek—you’ve always wondered how he'd got it.

“That doesn't matter, my princess. What I mean to say is that you can always—always speak to me,” Varka assured. “Don't bottle it up, princess. That does not good to anyone.”

For a fraction of a second, you feel unburdened by your role as princess. A simple moment where you are able to forget yourself and think you are a normal lady with the man she… perish the thought. It was forbidden. A princess such as yourself mustn't think of such things. It went against your duties, your role.

You simply pressed your forehead against his, humming the tune of your kingdoms song.

“It shall come to pass, Varka… Barbatos will surely guide me to the right path…”

And in that moment, you could only hope and pray that your god does indeed guide you down the right road to walk upon.

𝐈𝐈.

“This betrothal is final. You are the kingdom's property, thus you have no say in the matter.”

This was your fate—to be married of to the crown prince of Snezhnaya who's face you didn't even know of. You had tried your hardest to remain passive, stoic even, but that did not stop your father from noticing your displeasure. Thinking you were rebellious for even expressing your displeasure with a mere twitch of your eye, you were thus confined to your chambers until your father determined you were properly disciplined. It was absurd, ridiculous, no amount of words could describe it.

Even as you stare out your window, watching as the lights of Mondstadt slowly faded as more and more people fell into slumber. You could not fathom marriage. A loveless one, to be quite specific. As a child, you always loved to read fairy tales. Back then, your mother was still kinder and softer; she always read stories about princesses being saved by valiant knights from evil forces.

And yet now, when you were no longer a child but a grown lady, she'd told you—commanded you—to forget all those stories she’d softly told you before you went to bed.

It was difficult to forget the fantasy of being saved.

The silence was immediately interrupted by… well… you.

As you rummaged through your closet, you quickly found a familiar piece of cloth. The cloak was tattered and quite old. It was something you used many years ago—a gift from a certain knight.

The hallways of the palace, were silent. For a moment, you thought of walking past your own doors. This was your palace. You were a princess. Was it not your right to walk in the halls of your home? No. Not when there were guards that patrolled every corridor under your father's orders. Not when there were maids who lurked under your mother's orders. To step our of your room was to invite all servants of the palace to report your actions to the King and Queen, giving them an excuse to restrain you instead of simply confining you to your room.

There is no mercy for a princess. Only luxury that will eventually clasp at your wrists and wrap around your neck until you were reduced to a mere puppet of the crown.

There was no escape.

But you were not one to give up. You must choose yourself. You must grasp at your fate. And thus you clutched the cloak tightly, pulling it out of your closet along with much lighter clothing and a pair of boots.

You have prayed and believed in Barbaros all your life. The god of Freedom will not forsake you.

(In the distance, the wind carried a faint melody into your room, slipping past even the ironclad windows.)

𝐈𝐈𝐈.

“The princess is getting married.”

The first thing that comes out of Frederica’s mouth was the one thing he has been dreading.

The tavern was loud. It's patrons were mostly knights and civilians who basked in the wonders of the night. Behind the bar was none other than Crepus, whom many grew to expect in the auspicious Angel’s Share. Despite the fact the man was quite the wealthy tycoon in the kingdom, he was still off the people. That was something Varka could admire.

“To who?” He could only ask, gripping his tankard tight.

Fredrica didn't meet his eyes. “To the crown prince of Snezhnaya.”

Bang! Varka didn't even think—he slammed his tankard down onto the counter. Everyone around him jolted, staring before quickly averting their gazes. Frederica and Crepus glanced at each other before frowning at Varka.

“They intend to send her to that… that place?” He sucked in a deep breath. “And marry her to their prince? Don't they know just how violent the Crown Prince is?!”

“Keep your voice down, Varka.” Crepus urged.

“I just…” He sucked in a deep breath, “I just can't think of her being married of like that.”

Varka has always heard of how you wished to marry for love. It seems, he has not been listening well enough. You have never stated that you will marry for love. Perhaps you never allowed yourself to think that would be a reality. Merely a dream, a fleating one that you often fantasized about.

“They are royalty.” Frederica explained, “None of them truly marry for love. Even the heir is set to marry someone from House Lawrence. Thankfully, I'm already spoken for.”

Right, Frederica could have been crown princess had she not married Seamus.

But that didn't calm him down.

All he could think about was watching you marry some… some cruel bastard. You'd be made queen of Snezhnaya; however, that didn't guarantee your safety. Despite being the nation that followed the goddess of love, Varka couldn't quite trust them. Not after he's fought in a war against them. Not when he's thwarted several assassins coming for your head. Could he even trust the Snezhnayan knights to protect you?

“Why Snezhnaya?” He gritted his teeth, closing his eyes and trying to imagine you draped in Snezhnayan clothing. They always wore thicker cloths from the times he's been there. Winter felt like an eternity, like the cursed Dragonspine. The mere thought of you being trapped in that cold was…

“It's logical, I suppose.” Crepus shrugged, “Snezhnaya and Mondstadt are the furthest away from each other in the continent and we've been at odds for a while now. Marriage between the crown prince and our princess would ensure an alliance for years to come. Especially if the future heir would have our nation's blood.”

“But why my—our princess?” Varka almost bit his tongue trying to stop himself. Alas, neither Frederica nor Crepus were dead. The two quickly looked around, wary and anxious. He knew his words were damning. He knew he'd be thrown into the dungeons for even staking some kind of claim on the princess whilst you were on the way to becoming crown princess of Snezhnaya.

“Watch your mouth!” Frederica hissed, grabbing his tankard and pulling it away. “You are drunk. Say you are drunk and simply misspoke!”

Varka gritted his teeth. He's not drunk. It would take more than one round of drinks to even make him feel tipsy. “I misspoke.” he quickly yielded.

It's only then do they relax.

But Varka doesn't. He doesn't.

He simply slips a few mora over the counter, not even knowing if it was enough for what he'd ordered.

The night was young and that was what bothered him. Rather than returning to his own home, he wandered down the street towards the palace. He wasn't on duty for patrol tonight. He had no excuse to go knocking on your door in the middle of the night. But he wishes he could. He wanted to.

A part of him wanted to take a turn and walk into the church. Or perhaps stand before the grand statue of Barbatos by the Cathedral. Should he pray? Pray that the winds of Fate carry you elsewhere, not to the frigid winds of Snezhnaya. Pray that the King and Queen see sense and cancel the engagement. Pray, plead, and beg to Barbatos to grant you the freedom to live for yourself and only yourself.

Despite his own hesitations, he took that turn. His feet were loud against cobblestones, just restraining himself from outright sprinting to the cathedral. He

Pray. Pray. Pray. Pray. Pray. Pray. Pray.

Was that the only thing he could do now?

Even as he stands before the statue of Barbatos, clasping his hands together, it didn't feel enough. Praying to their god did not feel enough.

He needed to move. Take action. Whisk you away from Mondstadt and free you from the grasp of royalty.

“Barbatos,” he whispered, “Please give me a sign…”

“Varka?”

His entire body went rigid. He snapped his neck to the side, finding you standing just a few feet away, also frozen in place.

Why were you here? Wait… How did you even get out of the palace? As the panic set in, Varka quickly ran towards you, pulling your hood down and quickly ushering you aware from the open area. How foolish of you to even come here!

“Princess, what are you doing here?!” He gripped your shoulders tightly, taking in deep breaths to steady himself.

“I—” You stammer, before shaking your head. “There's no time! Varka, I need to get past the gates before they notice I'm gone.”

“Your highness, what—”

“I don't want to get married!” You finally admit, “I don't… I will never marry for anything but love! And that will never happen whilst I am still locked in that palace as princess! I—”

Varka barely even moves. He just… holds you.

Wraps his arms around you, pulling you close, giving you the warmth you need. The night is cold and the wind is colder. It is as if the winter if distant lands were trying to sink their claws into you.

“Say something!”

He only smiles. Pressing a kiss to your forehead, disregarding any propriety he's had before. He cups your cheeks with his rough and calloused hands, pressing yet another kiss to your forehead. The urge to simply go lower, to press his lips against yours is an undeniable pull that almost tempts him. But as the wind picks up, he is suddenly brought back to reality. Seeing your flushed face, whether from being flustered or from the way your eyes moistened with tears was a sight to behold.

“You've finally decided to trust your knight.”

“Don't be ridiculous.” You huffed. “Varka, this shall be my last request to you as your princess.”

Oh, he did not like the sound of that.

“Please… please, I beg of you—”

“You don't have to beg. Not with me. Not ever with me, my princess.”

Your breath hitches as he inches closer, lips hovering over yours. Just another push, just another—

As the bells echoed loudly, the both of you pulled apart like startled animals.

“They know I escaped.” You gasped, already turning around to run. But Varka’s calloused hand clamps around your wrist, pulling you towards the church—or rather, behind the church. A loth thrum resonates through the air as the bells kept ringing, practically waking the entire kingdom.

“Quickly! We can scale down the wall—”

“Scale down the wall?!”

“I'll catch you!”

Varka didn't hesitate to jump off the edge of the cathedral. You had to slap a hand over your mouth to stop yourself from screaming in fright, but his voice quickly resounded from the very bottom. As you leaned over the edge, you saw that Varka was perfectly fine, merely dusting off his shirt and trousers.

“Princess, hurry! Make haste!” Varka whispered rather loudly. “The knights will have managed to surround the entire kingdom if you keep dallying!”

“What—”

“Just jump!”

As you gripped the ledge, you warily looked behind you—

“Don't look back!” Varka yelled, eyes blazing.

Your breath hitches as you quickly threw a leg over the ledge, swallowing thickly before pushing yourself off. Varka was here. Varka would catch you. You did not doubt your knight.

He is as warm as you remember. He holds you tight and without a second's hesitation, immediately sprints down and alley with you still cradled in his arms. You wrap your arms around his neck, looking behind you to see if anyone had managed to follow. Thankfully, none of the guards had yet to discover your whereabouts.

The bell still rung loudly.

You were running. You were finally. You—

It suddenly hit that Varka was running with you. That Varka was carrying you down the streets like a madman, like some criminal kidnapping the princess. Your heart stuttered, before it was beating rapidly. It felt as though it were trying to jump out of your body and into the pavement. Swallowing thickly, you tightened your arms around him.

As if sending something was wrong, Varka took a sharp turn and into a dark and shadowed alley.

“Princess? What's wrong?”

“I—” You sucked in a deep breath, “Leave me. Return to your home, sir Varka.” You gently pressed a hand against his chest, pushing him away.

Varka's brow furrowed, frowning. “What? Princess, do not say such things. There is no time.”

But you shook your head, “You will be branded as a traitor. They will send you to the gallows if we are ever caught—if you are caught trying to help me escape. I implore you—beseech you—my knight… to return home. Pretend as if nothing has happened. I shall find my way out of the kingdom walls and—”

“And then what?!” Varka snapped, gripping your shoulders tightly. He quickly loosened them, realising just how rough he was. “You’ll run to where? Live to where? Princess, I do not doubt your ability to survive, but they will catch up eventually. Who will protect you?!”

“I can protect myself!”

“Then what was my oath for? Why did I pledge my life to you just so you won't let me protect you?” Varka gritted his teeth, pressing his forehead against your shoulder. “My princess. My queen—please… please, I have begged you time and time again to trust me. To put faith in me. I beg of you, do not discard this lowly knight. My life is yours. I live for you. My life will have no meaning without you!”

“Then find another reason!”

“I don't want another one, I want you!”

Varka’s gaze is as fierce as the wolves he introduced to you many years ago. He held you tight in his embrace, face mere inches away from yours. Your breaths mingled together.

No words could describe the profound awe you felt. For this man who devoted himself to you and only to you. Not the crown. Not just the kingdom—but to you. It was never ending and almost baffling.

You wrapped your arms around his neck once more, forcefully pulling him down with all your might. As you smashed your lips together, you couldn't help but feel… at ease. Not with the situation, but with your life. With your freedom. It felt as if you could do anything now after Varka has confessed his heart to you.

The wind was cold just as you pulled away, the both of you panting.

“Varka—”

“No time. Let’s talk about this after we're out of the walls.” Varka grinned, pulling down your hood once more before taking your hand. His hand is warm, bigger and scarred. You gripped it tight just as you ran through the streets again.

Your heart pounded against your chest. Freedom was so close!

𝐈𝐕.

Guards surrounded the gates, a few dozens already marching. It was obvious that all four gates were closed and guarded. To choose those four would be to call for the knights to seize you.

“Princess… Do you remember when I taught you how to climb a wall?” Varka watched as more and more knights patrolled the streets, vigilant and on the look out for the princess.

“Yes. I simply cannot forget how I fell on my bum, dear Varka.” You snapped, grinding your teeth as you pressed yourself against him.

“We are in dire need of those skills, your highness.” Varka smirked, before craning his neck to find a better opening for the two of you. “I know an area of the wall that isn't protected much, but we need to climb over it… unless you have improved in hour climbing skills—”

“Don't joke about that now!”

“It is an actual concern, my princess! If you can't climb im simply going to have to throw you over the wall!”

“Throw me over the wall?!”

“It'll be the only way if you don't climb!” Varka huffed, peaking his head out of the alley. “Look! There are a few crates there. You might be able to use them as stairs!”

He quickly pulled you towards several crates, lifting you up on a few of the stacked ones. Suddenly, he sniffed the air and— “Oh these are Crepus’s! I can smell the wine!”

“Stop thinking about wine!”

Varka chewed at his lip, trying not to burst out laughing. What was wrong with them? Why weren't they so worried? Has Varka gone mad? Maybe. Maybe not. He's not sure and in his heart, he doesn't care. He would be free with his princess.

“Princess, just keep climbing up those crates.” Varka hurried of to the side, scaling the wall with all his might. He's done this since he was a child. He's at the top in no time, while you remained standing on a few crates. They wobbled every time you moved, earning Varka a venomous glare from his dear princess.

“If I fall—”

“I would never let you fall.” Varka assured. “Take my hand.”

“You—”

“I won't struggle to lift you, my princess. Just… take my hand.” He murmured, loud enough for you to hear. Thankfully, you didn't hesitate to grab his hand with both of yours. To him, you've always been so light. As he pulled you up, his other hand moved to take hold of you. Even with his impressive strength, he was surprised by how easy it was to pull you up.

“It's cold.” He grunted, steadying you as the wind kept blowing.

“Now what?”

“Now… now, we do what we did back at the church.” Varka squeezed your hand. “We jump.”

“ARE YOU MAD?!” You sputtered, “The difference between the kingdom walls and the one at the church is vast! I'd break my bones from the fall!”

“How many times—”

“I know you'll catch me, damnit!” You huffed, “But what about you?!”

“I’m used to breaking my bones here! I did it when I was a child!”

“I beg your pardon?”

As if to prove a point, Varka pushed himself off the wall. You let out a strangled noise before it quickly died down—he assumed you'd stopped yourself before attracting any attention from the other guards.

His feet hit the ground. He tried not to wince from the impact, showing you that he was perfectly fine. As he swallowed the pain, he turned to look up at you. Once again, you were trembling in anxiety. He only answered by opening his arms, waiting for you to jump into them.

There is more courage in you compared to the first time. Once his arms were open and waiting, you pushed yourself off and closed your eyes.

Varka braced himself for the impact of your fall. He nk and grunted once your weight settled in his arms, around huffing softly.

“You… are lighter than usual, my princess.” Varka grinned, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Now all we need to find is a horse.”

“I barely see horses these days.” You patted at your clothes, taking care balance yourself. The horizon was filled with nothing but the vastness of land you could barely see and forests you've barely entered. “Have the Cavalry been occupied?”

“Not that I know of, my princess.” Varka surveyed the area. There was nothing but trees, dandelions, and the lake that quite literature surrounded the kingdom.

“Where to now?”

You paused, pulling your cloak tight against your body. Varka wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close to feel his warmth. You're much smaller than him, though it is mainly because of just how big he was compared to everyone else.

“Fontaine?” You question to no one in particularly. Perhaps the wind, perhaps Barbatos. The air seemed to grow wetter in response. “Or Liyue!”

“Liyue is too close, your highness.” Varka chuckled, ushering you to the docks where a boat was waiting. Strange, how utterly strange. Why was there a boat waiting?

“Enough with the princess, Varka. I'm running away. I don't think I'll stay princess after this.” You huffed, clamoring on to the little boat.

Varka can only smile softly.

“No matter what, you shall always be her highness to me. You will always be my princess, my queen.”

It’s been raining incessantly since morning, but being stranded on the bus stop after the regular evening bus got cancelled was the last thing you wanted.

You keep your head down, staring at the transparent file in your hand that was helping you pass the time by revising your notes. Subconsciously, you take a few steps to your right, moving even further away than the only other person at the bus stop.

Oikawa Tooru.

“Another step in that direction, and you might as well step out directly into the rain. Do you really hate me that much?” You can hear the pout in his tone, and despite not looking at him, you can clearly envision it too.

You don’t hate him — you would just not prefer to get involved with someone as hyper and popular as him. But you don’t want to explain yourself, so you stay quiet. 

He sighs, expecting your silence as a response. After all, despite being classmates since your first year and living in the same neighbourhood, you’ve never really interacted with him, even when he tried approaching you.

He isn’t one to stop though. So he continues talking. He tells you about something funny his friend said, and then about something a teacher mentioned which has him worried.

You pretend not to listen, but you are paying attention to every word — of course you are, because right now, no one could interrupt this moment and take him away.

Deities are only to be admired from afar. And for someone as capable as Oikawa, his aura is akin to a deity to you. Radiant, blinding, and in a whole another world that you don’t ever want to step into. 

It’s difficult not to love Oikawa, not just for his good looks and friendly nature, but also for the love and dedication he has shown towards everyone and everything that he cares about. 

And despite craving him, you can’t help but wish that he would just leave you here and run away and spare your poor heart. He is the sun that could devour you whole if you got too close. 

He doesn’t stop talking, and continues to ask you questions despite seeing how you were giving him the silent treatment. He keeps poking at the walls of your resolve, testing your limits, watching cracks form and waiting for it to crumble entirely. 

“Do you always go home as soon as school ends? I’ve never seen you stay back for any extra-curricular activities.” 

You chew on your lower lip and then let out a breathy “yeah”. Oikawa seems pleasantly surprised upon receiving his first reply from you, but before he can comment on it, you speak up again, quiet and controlled. “What happened to your volleyball practice?” 

“I broke a nail while practicing, so Coach told me to take a few days off.” He waves his bandaged thumb, not expecting you to look at it, only to find you facing him and watching his actions. His eyes soften at the realisation and warmth creeps up his neck.

You hum in response, low and almost inaudible. 

A comfortable silence settles over the two of you. You sigh and take in the rain, suddenly not seeing the downpour as that much of a nuisance.

Your nose starts feeling itchy and you fail at holding back your sneeze.

“Are you cold?” He asks.

“Kind of.”

“We can go over to the nearby convenience store and hang around in the warmer aisles. I have an umbrella we could share.” 

You nod, eager to get indoors and away from the chilly air of the rain.

Your shoulders bump multiple times as you walk, and the umbrella constantly shifts between protecting more of you and more of him, almost never staying in between.

The overhead bell chimes when you enter the store and a comforting warmth immediately surrounds you.

Considering the weather outside and your current circumstance, you decide to buy some ramen for dinner tonight. You head towards the aisles and Oikawa places his umbrella near the entrance before following you.

“Sorry for the trouble today.”

“But you didn’t cause me any trouble?”

“I don’t think someone of your status would want to be caught dead around me.” You make a vague attempt at a laugh, but it sounds more bitter than light-hearted.

“What status? And why not? Why wouldn’t I want to be around you?”

“Mister Genius Captain heartthrob of Aoba Johsai’s volleyball team.”

“It doesn’t matter because I like you.”

“What?” You want to probe him about his statement, but words fail you. He smiles, cheeky and confident, like he had planned this scenario for years. 

“I guess what they say is true — you are attracted to what you don’t know. I’ve seen you so many times and tried approaching you but it never worked. But something told me not to give up and it led us here. Fate’s hand at play.”

“Don’t let today mean more to you than it should.”

“Why not?”

“Today was just a coincidence. It mostly won’t happen again.”

“We don’t have to rely on fate or coincidences to have chances to be together like this.”

“You don’t know what you are doing.”

“I do, and I know that I’m doing this because I won’t stop until I get what I want.” 

“And what is it that you want?”

“Date me.”

“Yeah sure, like hell I’d just agree.”

“Do you think I’m just messing with you?”

“Are you not?” You scoff and cross your arms, leaning your back against the aisle for support.

He bites his lower lip, and then, like he’s been possessed, he entraps you between him and the aisle. His hands land on either side of your head and he’s looking at you like he can’t decide between voicing his disbelief and confessing pathetically. The sound of a few packets shuffling behind you is the only thing keeping you grounded in this moment.

“I am serious.”

“Is this… some sort of elaborate prank?”

“I can’t control the rain, you know.” He leans closer to you, squinting his eyes. You turn your face away from him, bringing your hand between your faces to maintain the distance. 

“I wasn’t referring to the rain.”

“Well, this downpour is the reason we got stuck in this situation. If you want to blame anything, blame the natural cycles of nature.” He shrugs and you can’t stop the giggle that escapes you. 

“Was that funny?” He asks, his shoulders relaxing and his frown turning into an easy smile.

“Kind of.” You admit. His adorable reactions are the main reason for your amusement, but you would rather laugh in public at a dad-joke than admit that. 

The sound of footsteps makes the towering figure move away from you, scratching the back of his neck and refusing to meet your eyes. From the window, it’s visible that the rain has nearly stopped now and that activity is returning to the streets once more.

“We should head home now.” You say, clearing your throat and patting your clothes out. He only hums in response and quietly follows you. All of his earlier enthusiasm and confidence has dissipated into nothing, like the flame of a candle fizzling out — gentle, quiet, but visibly dimmer. 

It makes you feel bad for the harsh tone you were using earlier.

The walk to your neighbourhood is quiet, only the sound of footsteps filling the air around you.

Normally, you would take the bus to reach home faster. But walking alongside him made the distance feel much lesser than it normally does. It’s not half bad, except for the fact that the brunette hasn’t said a word since you left the convenience store. You don’t know what’s going through his mind, and you aren’t sure how you want to ask. 

“We part ways here.” Oikawa says, staring at the diverging paths.

“Yeah and um,” you mutter hesitantly, “I’ll… think about it.” About ‘dating’, but you don’t want to say that aloud and instead opt for looking at the ground.

“Think about what?” He asks, tilting his head in confusion, before realisation strikes him and he starts beaming like a little kid offered candy. He makes a small ‘o’ with his mouth and with controlled excitement he says “Please do!”

With the way he is practically jumping in his shoes, you can tell that he’s happy about it, and your earlier guilt wears away.

Mhm, maybe being around Oikawa is neither as daunting, nor as energy-draining as you had imagined.

If it was, why was she always the second choice or the afterthought?

Why did she have to do all these things just so people would approach her, talk to her, remember her? 

Imagine not having a face to put a name to.

Hagakure wasn’t sure if she could spend the rest of her life like this. She could only take so much of putting herself out there and being disappointed in the outcome—trying so hard to be friends with everyone, only to continue feeling like a background character. 

(Heck, probably the background itself.)

So, sure, call her a little selfish, but Hagakure applied to UA in the hopes that she could make a name for herself. Imagine being the very first invisible hero, bringing those old comic books to life!

She may not end up being incredibly popular like All Might or Present Mic, but hero work is still hero work. It’s meaningful all the same, with the added benefit that she hopes to achieve.

Hagakure tries her very best to be a likable classmate. 

She zips around the 1A classroom each day, saying at least one thing to everyone. She pushes away the ugly feeling she gets whenever someone mentions they didn’t see her there. It’s not their fault.

In class discussions, she participates actively, disregarding the way her throat sometimes hurts from overuse. She has to speak louder so she can be heard in this chaotic class.

She dials her personality up to make an impression, ignoring her body’s reminders of fatigue. The bubbly energy is worth it, even if she is seconds away from wanting to lock herself in a quiet room.

That’s the necessary sacrifice, Hagakure thinks.

It’ll pass, she tells herself when she hides away to cry. 

Except she can’t stop feeling incredibly annoyed with herself. She feels stupid. No one is treating her badly at all! 

So why?

Why does she feel like this?

Hagakure gives in one day.

That morning, she walks into 1A’s classroom without uttering a single word. She sits at her desk, staring ahead. The chatter and buzz from her classmates fill her ears, but she leaves them be. 

She feels like she’s right back where she started: people-watcher extraordinaire. But, the other part of her thinks it’s actually quite nice to just live and exist without expectation. Maybe.

Or…

Hagakure feels like crying out of nowhere. When she shakes her head to will the tears away, she almost laughs at her momentary self-consciousness.

It’s not like anyone’s gonna see me do it.

It’s not like anyone’s going to see me.

It’s…

Hagakure stands up abruptly and leaves the classroom, heart twisting in her chest.

I stop one time, and it’s all falling apart.

And it’s not like anyone would notice, right?

The morning bell rings almost too suddenly, and she wants to scream in frustration. When a student accidentally shoves her as he rushes to his classroom, she has to take a few deep breaths.

Don’t lose it, Tooru.

“Hagakure.”

She doesn’t trust herself to speak out loud.

“Hagakure?” Aizawa-sensei puts his clipboard down, noticing the lack of response. She can feel him staring at her. He knows she’s here, at least.

After taking a few seconds to breathe, Hagakure eventually clears her throat. “Present.”

“You took some time to respond.” He raises an eyebrow. “Were you not paying attention?”

“I…”

It’s not like she’d outright admit that she was about to break down right then and there, right?

“Sorry, Aizawa-sensei. I zoned out for a second. I apologize. It won’t happen again.”

Her homeroom teacher gives her an unreadable stare. She wonders what he thinks—what he sees. Thankfully, he resumes the roll call after a few seconds; she can no longer stand the silence in the classroom. 

“Hm. Bakugo?”

“Here,” the hothead grunts in the seat behind her. 

Hagakure continues to stare ahead, not daring a glance at any of her classmates. 

The rest of the day is torture, but maybe invisibility does have its perks. 

No one can see the permanent frown on her face. No one can see if she’s closing her eyes, biting her lip, or wiping her tears away.

For once, she’s happy not to be perceived.

“Hagakure?”

The classroom should be empty at lunch break, and she intended to stay behind. She had neither the energy nor the appetite.

“Hagakure, are you okay?”

She doesn’t know why you’re standing in front of her desk right now.

“Fine,” she responds, tone flatter than her usual. “Um, m’not hungry.”

“Are you sick?” You reach out to feel her temperature, but she notices how cautiously you move as you estimate where her forehead might be. 

“No, no,” she responds, leaning back, causing you to drop your hand. “Um. I’m just sleepy.”

You hum at Hagakure’s excuse, and she can tell you’re not entirely convinced. “Still, you should eat a little bit to get through the day. We can grab a snack.”

“I…I’m fine.”

“I can get something for you if you’d like to eat here instead?”

“No. It’s fine,” she repeats. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

Internally, Hagakure laughs bitterly at the irony. This is the kind of treatment she’s wanted all her life. Why is she pushing it away now?

Still, she waits for you to concede, to just nod and leave her alone without a second thought, like everyone always does-

“Hagakure. That’s ridiculous.”

“What?”

You grab a nearby chair and sit next to her. “How can I not worry about you? You’re my friend.”

Something twists in Hagakure’s chest.

“I’m going to worry if you’re tired, sick, or whatever. Even if it’s something that can be resolved in a day.” You sigh, then soften your voice. “Something seemed wrong today, so I wanted to check on you.”

For a few seconds, the silence of the classroom becomes more pronounced. Hagakure doesn’t know what to say or feel. 

“Me?”

You nod.

“I don’t-” 

To Hagakure’s horror, she cuts herself off with a choked sob. 

“Um. Sorry, sorry. I-”

“It’s okay. Come here." You shake your head, opening your arms. The gesture causes the floodgates to burst, and she doesn’t fight it when she falls into your embrace.

About fifteen minutes later, the rest of the 1A girls drop by the classroom with bags of food. It turns out, they had been waiting outside the whole time. It was only when they realized that Hagakure hadn’t joined them that they truly knew something was wrong.

“We got you that caramel you like from the vending machine,” Uraraka says, scattering the candies over Hagakure’s lunch tray. 

“Thank you,” Hagakure replies, voice shaking a little. It’s a simple gesture, but somehow, it means the world to her.

“Of course!” The rosy-cheeked girl beams, settling back into her seat.

Hagakure never thought she’d see the day a group of people would sit in a circle around her table. She feels so…seen.

“Anyway, if it’s not a bad time to ask,” Yaoyorozu starts in a gentle voice, “did something happen?”

“Or, if you don’t want to talk about it, is there any way we can help you right now?” you add, gently holding her hand.

The rest of the girls nod. Hagakure looks around, taking in their kind expressions.

They’re all here for her.

They want to listen and help.

“I just…” she starts, breathing deeply to gather courage. “I just want to be seen.”

“What do you mean?” Jirou asks.

“I wasn’t always the cheery, happy-go-lucky person I am now,” Hagakure admits. “My invisibility quirk makes it easy for others to…forget me.”

The girls go silent at her admission, and Hagakure wonders what goes on in their heads. 

“Forget you?” Mina gasps. “How could anyone forget you?”

“I-I don’t know. It just happens.” Hagakure feels her eyes moisten again. “That’s why I tried to be more social this year. The more I put myself out there, the more people would pay attention…and remember me, I guess.”

Sympathetic noises fill the classroom.

“You don’t need to pretend to be someone you’re not, ribbit.”

“I, hm…” Hagakure bites her lip at Tsuyu’s words. “It’s not that I’m pretending. I like putting in the effort to get along with the others. It’s just hard to keep the energy up all the time. Maybe I’m not used to it yet, or something…”

Yaoyorozu frowns. “That makes sense. Is that why you’ve been quiet today?”

“Yeah, and…there’s this weird feeling I get sometimes. It’s like there’s a voice in my head that tells me I still don’t fit in, but no one in class is leaving me out on purpose…I just feel disconnected for no big reason.”

A silence falls over the group, causing a chill to travel through Hagakure’s body. She doesn’t want them to think they’ve done anything wrong.

“I’m really sorry you feel that way,” Uraraka says quietly. “If there’s something we might have done, or might do in the future, you can tell us. We won’t be mad.”

“Yeah,” Jirou adds. “We like having you around. The last thing we want is to do something that upsets you.”

“Oh, guys…” Hagakure shakes her head. “No, no, like I said, you guys haven’t done anything wrong. I could be overreacting to things…”

“If it helps…you’re not the only one, Toru.” Your voice cuts through her worries, and her heart skips a beat when she processes what you said. “Adjusting to so many new things has left me feeling that way at times. I also worry about what others think of me—as a classmate, as a friend, as a hero-in-training, and all sorts of other things. Navigating all these parts of ourselves is tough.”

Everyone in the circle gets a little lost in thought at your words, eventually nodding along and muttering words of agreement.

Hagakure gasps. “Really? Oh…” She feels like crying again, but this time, it’s from relief—even if the problem hasn’t exactly been resolved, at least she can breathe.

“We all have our struggles, but we have each other. We’re here for you.”

“You’re one of us, and we will remind you whenever your mind tries telling you otherwise.”

“You don’t need to push yourself to get our attention or approval. We like you as you are, ribbit.”

“I-I love you guys-” The words tumble out of her mouth, and before she can process it, Hagakure finds herself in the center of a group hug.

The sensation is unlike any other—it’s grounding. The surrounding warmth makes her feel…present. 

Real. 

Visible.

Hagakure will certainly remember this lunch period for the rest of her life (and eventually, she will recognize the different ways her friends and classmates value her place in this world).