#lee.writes

XIAO

holds your hand when you least expect it

You and Xiao had spent the night in your apartment’s living room, the soft glow of the moon and the TV lighting up your faces. For the past thirty minutes, he’d been focused on his phone while you leaned against his shoulder, your hands resting beside his. Engrossed in a K-drama, you suddenly felt his fingers intertwining with yours, which were resting on the cushy sofa. You glanced over at Xiao who sat beside you, but he remained fixated on his screen, not meeting your gaze. Shrugging it off, you returned your attention to the show. Sensing he had neglected you, Xiao tightened his grip on your fingers, his thumb gently caressing your knuckles. It was his way of reassuring you, silently letting you know that — "hey, i'm here. don't think im uninterested."

SCARAMOUCHE

makes spotify playlists for you

Scaramouche had always been the type to listen to music anytime and anywhere, even before you two established your relationship. He claimed, “Music helps me express feelings I can’t put into words”—his words, not yours. Despite this, he would never be caught dead listening to sappy love songs, insisting they “weren’t his type” or were “just cringe.” But what you witnessed today suggested otherwise. After finishing a meal for the two of you, you found Scaramouche on his phone, AirPods in, quietly jamming to his own selection. It wasn’t until you called him for dinner that he finally paused the music. “I made you Unagi Chazuke—your favorite!” you said excitedly, beaming at him. He removed his AirPods, set his phone next to his bowl, and headed for the fridge. That’s when you noticed an open Spotify playlist titled “i like u,” with the description “sorry I never meant to.” Curious, you reached for his phone, thinking, ‘A little peek wouldn’t hurt.’ As you scrolled through the playlist, you recognized many of the song titles, mostly in the love song genre. This was surprising since Scaramouche had always claimed to avoid such songs. You continued scrolling until you heard a thud on the counter. Turning, you saw Scaramouche standing there, his face flushed, looking as if he had seen a ghost. “What’s wrong, babe?” you asked, holding his phone. Suddenly, it clicked in your mind—was the playlist about you?

Heat spread across Scaramouche’s face as he glared at you, contemplating whether now was the time to reveal the truth. “Okay… about that playlist,” he finally said, his voice low as he rubbed the back of his neck, “yes, it’s about you.” You couldn’t help but giggle, walking over to him and wrapping your arms around him, then playfully pinching his cheeks. “You’re so cute, you know that?” you teased as he tried to swat your hands away. “Hey, stop tha—” Before he could finish, you silenced him with a soft kiss, and he melted into it. Pulling away to catch your breath, you laughed at his shy expression. “Let’s eat now,” you said, moving to grab some utensils while he tried to collect himself.

Suddenly, you heard the door handle fumble, followed by the creak of the door on your right. Your senses now on high alert as your head snapped toward the sound curiously. The moonlight poured in, illuminating the familiar silhouette of a certain dark-haired boy you knew so well.

“Kin’? Is that you?” you called out, your gaze fixed on him.

“Hey, I’m home. Did I take too long?” he replied, gently closing the door behind him and setting down his belongings.

You let out a breath of relief—thank the Archons, it was Kinich and not someone with ill intentions. You made your way over, your footsteps echoing softly on the wooden floor.

“I missed you so much, Kin’,” you confessed, wrapping your arms around his neck and giving him a light peck on the cheek.

The gesture caught him off guard, but he quickly returned your embrace, pulling you close.

“I missed you too,” Kinich said, his warm palms gliding over your back in a comforting caress.

You buried your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his familiar scent and savoring the moment before pulling back. Your eyes met, his gorgeous irises—a blend of amber and chartreuse with hints of orange—piercing through yours. You were momentarily awestruck as he stood there, confused.

Then, a sudden urge to play with his face nagged at you, your hands itching to trace his cheeks. Unable to resist, you cupped his face, your thumb gliding softly over his skin. The warmth of your palm contrasted with the coolness of his cheeks as he leaned into your touch.

You continued to caress his face, relishing the soft curve beneath your fingers. Kinich seemed to enjoy it as much as you did, his eyes fluttering shut in delight, warmth washing over him and sending his heart into a tizzy.

“You’re so adorable, you know that?” you said, watching as he hummed in response, a smile spreading across your face. He looked as if he was melting into your palm, nearly purring with contentment.

“How about we tuck in for the night?” you suggested. He nodded subtly, returning to his senses and reluctantly releasing you from his embrace, though he quickly felt the void left by the absence of your hand on his cheek, he still felt the ghost of your touch.

You both then finally made your way to his bedroom, ready to curl up and escape the chill of the night.

Inside, you find a pair of Qingxin flowers, their pale petals soft and graceful, tied together neatly with a tiny rope. They're pressed between two pieces of parchment, the flowers preserved with an almost reverent care. A small, familiar sense of warmth fills you, but it's the note on the back that truly catches your attention.

The handwriting is unmistakable—messy, yet endearing. You can almost picture the way he writes these words:

"For the times I wasn't able to be there for you. – A."

A soft smile pulls at the corners of your lips as you trace the letters with your fingers. The simplicity of it, the quiet care behind such a small gesture, makes your heart flutter unexpectedly. You feel the weight of his unspoken care pressing gently against your chest, the warmth of his thoughtfulness wrapped up in a bundle of delicate flowers. For a moment, everything else fades, and all you can do is smile, feeling the echo of his presence even when he's not around.

SHIKANOIN HEIZOU —

leaves flirtatious notes or doodles

You’re going through your day, just finishing your work at Komoro Teahouse, when you notice a neatly folded piece of paper left on the counter. You glance at Taroumaru, confused, almost silently asking him if he'd seen who placed it there. Taroumaru simply barks in response.

Curious, you unfold the paper, only to find a doodle of you and a certain red-headed detective, drawn with careful strokes. Below the sketch is a note: "Is this what they call a 'detective's love story'? Or are you just that irresistible?"

Your heart flutters at the contents of the note, a smile spreading across your face. “They’d never need a detective to figure out how much he cares about you.”

Suddenly, a familiar, sultry voice speaks beside you, making you jump. Thoma leans over, peering at the note with a grin.

You quickly fumble to fold the paper, trying to shove it into your pocket, your face flushed with embarrassment as Thoma could only laugh at your reaction.

VENTI —

whistles or sing songs to you

You’re sitting beneath the large tree at Windrise, listening to the soft rustling of the leaves and the melodic hymns of the free birds when a familiar tune from a harp and a gentle whistle catch your attention.

Turning your head to locate the source of the sound, you pause as your eyes fall on Venti, perched effortlessly atop one of the tree's branches. His hair dances in the gentle breeze, and a playful grin spreads across his face. He continues to hum the melody that always seems to make your heart flutter.

"I thought you might like some company," he murmurs, his honeyed voice carrying through the light wind as he gracefully floats down to your side. His smile never wavers as he looks at you, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

"This damn bard." you think, unable to suppress the warm flush that creeps up your cheeks.

He hadn’t seen you in months, not since the last real conversation when everything started falling apart but neither of you admitted it, the words growing shorter and the silences stretching longer until eventually you just stopped trying or maybe — he did? But it didn’t matter anymore.

He wasn’t expecting to see you today, just passing through Inazuma City and taking the bridge out of habit. It was that time of the season—where the faint scent of cherry blossoms hangs in the air as the petals hovered on the gentle breeze and falls to the ground like pink rain.

As you walked toward him, talking softly with someone beside you, smiling easy and unguarded like nothing ever happened, your eyes met his for the briefest second.

And like a boat with no sail, His heart could only stop beating momentarily and drop straight to his stomach, before beating so fast it felt like it might burst out his ribcage, his breath catching in his throat as if the air had suddenly thinned around him.

You awkwardly averted your gaze and went on your own way as his stare remained fixated on your figure long after you’d broken contact— oh, you looked just as beautiful as the day he lost you.

You didn’t hesitate, didn’t slow down, just glanced and kept walking, ignoring his presence almost as if nothing had ever existed between the two of you.

He stood frozen, mouth parting slightly, palms cold and slick with sweat, almost as if the life got sucked out of him as a tight emptiness spread rapidly through his chest that had nothing to do with nerves.

Watching you laugh at something your friend said, he heard the way you let out a light, effortless sound that used to belong to him, but this time it wasn’t meant for him at all, and you passed by like someone he used to know, barely even. His mind flashed back to all the moments you both had shared throughout your entire relationship, from sharing the same bed, laughing at your inside jokes to wiping out your tears and comforting you. The thought could only make him feel a sick sensation brewing in his stomach, yearning to be with you once more—had you given him the second chance.

By the time you disappeared into the crowd, only then did he finally moved, his jaw clenched as eyes fixed straight ahead, walking away like nothing had happened but knowing deep down something had — you once meant everything and now you wouldn’t even stop, and that said everything; there was no going back.

It wasn't even intentional, but there he was, just a name on your screen, his profile picture barely a whisper in the background of everything else. Kazuha. A name that once felt like home. Your fingers hovered over his profile for a moment, a dull ache already settling in your chest. You told yourself you didn’t need to check. You told yourself it would hurt. And yet, before you knew it, the page was open, and there he was, smiling as if nothing had changed.

But it was different. He was different.

His profile picture had changed—again. His hair was shorter now, styled in a way you’d never seen him do before. His face, once familiar and comforting, looked different somehow. More put together. There was a subtle shift in his expression, too, one you hadn’t seen before. It was as though he had stopped holding on to something and was stepping forward into someone else’s life. You could tell it wasn’t a sudden change, but rather the kind that had been happening slowly over time, so gradual that you hadn’t noticed until it was already too late.

It wasn’t just the haircut. It was the way he held himself, the clothes he wore—neater now, cleaner, more deliberate. More like a stranger. You thought you knew him, or at least you had known him. But now, looking at this image, you couldn't help but realize that you didn’t recognize him the way you once did.

You clicked through his photos, slowly, feeling that tightening in your chest as more pieces of this new version of him fell into place. He was with people you didn’t recognize. Laughing with them. Smiling in ways he never had with you. It was subtle, but undeniable. He was different. Not in the obvious ways, not in a way that screamed betrayal, but in a way that made you realize that you had slipped so far from his life that you couldn’t even picture the version of him who had once been yours.

And there it was, that sharp realization that made your stomach twist. The thought you had buried for so long was suddenly unavoidable: You didn't know him anymore.

You used to know everything about him—the way his eyes would light up when he talked about something he loved, the sound of his voice when he laughed. The small, quiet things that made him Kazuha. But now, here you were, looking at a stranger. Not because he was a bad person, but because he had changed in ways you hadn't even noticed.

You remembered the first time he had gotten a new shirt, how he'd asked you what you thought of it, the way his eyes had searched yours for approval. It had been such a small thing, but it had mattered then. Now? Now, he was wearing clothes that didn’t look like the ones you used to pick out together. He was laughing with people who weren’t you, and that cut deeper than you were prepared for. The little details—his mannerisms, the softness of his voice, the way he made you feel—those things were slowly fading into the background of his new life, and you were left standing on the outside, looking in.

You stared at the screen, heart aching, trying to hold back the rising tide of tears. You wanted to be happy for him. You wanted to be strong enough to let go, to accept that things had changed. But it was hard. It was so much harder than you ever imagined it would be.

And then, as you saw the last of the pictures—him, in a quiet, intimate moment with someone new—you couldn’t ignore the truth any longer. You had been replaced, not in some dramatic, loud way, but in the soft, steady erosion of time. He had changed, and you were no longer part of that world. The version of him you had loved—the one who had held your hand with that familiar ease, the one who used to smile at you with that soft, knowing gaze—was gone.

He was still there, in body, in name, but the person you had known was slipping through your fingers. You were trying to hold on to a ghost.

And suddenly, it hit you—slow, steady, like the wave that finally breaks after so long holding its breath. You had loved someone, and that someone was no longer part of your life. He was someone else now, a version of himself that was no longer yours.

You closed the app, your chest tightening as if it could physically contain the weight of everything you were feeling. You didn’t want to cry. You didn’t want to feel this raw, this exposed. But you did. You couldn’t stop the ache, couldn’t stop the reality of it all from crashing down on you.

You took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself, but the words slipped out before you could stop them.

I hope you’ve changed so the version of you I loved stays just mine.

It was a soft wish, one that seemed foolish the moment you said it. But it was the only thing that made sense in that moment. The version of him you had loved, the one who had laughed with you, who had held you in a way that made everything else fade away, was fading too. And now, it felt like you had lost him—all of him—only leaving you with the memories.

The café glowed with warmth that seeped into the air and clung to every corner. Golden lights pooled over polished wood and cast halos around couples leaning close, their whispers half-hidden by the hum of Christmas songs playing low over the speakers. The air smelled of cinnamon, butter and roasted coffee beans, the kind of scent that wrapped itself around you like a blanket soft and comforting.

Outside the window snow fell in slow spirals. It painted the street in white, muffled the noise of cars and turned even the loudest laughter into a softened blur. Children clutched their parents' hands and stopped every few steps to press mittened fingers against the glass of toy shop windows. The choir across the road had gathered again, their voices rising and falling in steady harmony with the bells from the church down the block.

It was Christmas in its purest form. A season built for warmth, for forgiving, for starting over.

But your hands wrapped tightly around a mug of cocoa refused to thaw.

The heat pressed against your skin yet none of it reached you. You sipped once, let the chocolate linger, but the sweetness collapsed into bitterness on your tongue. You set the mug back down and watched the steam unravel until nothing remained.

Everywhere you looked something carried him back to you.

The man near the door looped his scarf too loose, the same way Kazuha always did. You remembered tugging it tight around his throat while scolding him gently, your fingers brushing his jaw. He had smiled and let you.

At the counter a woman slid a battered poetry book from her bag. The sight hit hard. It was his favorite collection, the same one he read from when evenings stretched too quiet. His voice had been steady, soft, sometimes halting as if the words belonged to him. You could still hear the cadence in your head.

Even the sound of bells tied to the café door struck the memory of his apartment. He had hung wind chimes just inside the balcony, their faint music filling the rooms. You remembered lying on his floor with your cheek pressed against a pillow while he scribbled words into a notebook, his brow furrowed. Those chimes had sung through the air like a second heartbeat.

You had once thought his home was safety. Now it lived inside you as something haunted.

You could still see its shadows in your mind. The empty kitchen counter, the notebooks scattered across the desk, the narrow hall that led nowhere. It was where you had waited for him to turn toward you, to let you in. Where silence had answered every question you never asked out loud. You had walked those halls in your memory long after leaving, each step colder than the last, each room closing in.

But you should know that you died slow running through the halls of his haunted home. And the toughest part was that you both knew what happened to him, why he was out on his own.

You lifted your mug again though the cocoa had already cooled. The warmth pressed weakly against your palms. No amount of sweetness could chase out the cold carved into your chest.

Then the café door opened.

Snow swirled in with him. His scarf hung loose, his hair was dusted white and his eyes, those eyes you knew too well, found yours the instant he stepped inside. The sound of bells seemed louder in that moment as if announcing him.

Your breath caught.

Kazuha crossed the room slowly, shoulders weighed down not by snow but by everything left unsaid. He stopped at your table, hesitated, then asked quietly, "May I sit?"

You nodded before you could stop yourself.

The silence that followed was sharp, a brittle thing balanced between you. He wrapped his hands together as if steadying them then spoke. "I wanted to say I'm sorry. For how I left things. For leaving you the way I did."

Your throat tightened. The apology was one you had long imagined, words you had played out alone in dark rooms. And yet hearing them now did not lift the weight. They pressed it deeper.

You stared into your mug, watching the cocoa ripple as your hand trembled. "You should know," you said, voice low, "I didn't walk away fine. I kept waiting for you to let me in. I spent so long in that place trying to reach you and you never did. It felt like I was disappearing a little more every day until I finally left."

His breath faltered and pain flickered across his face like lightning behind clouds. For the briefest moment you saw it, the same wound carved into him, the same truth that neither of you could heal.

Outside the choir swelled, their voices carrying high into the falling snow.

You thought of Christmas as a season for forgiveness. You thought of the warmth around you, the glow of lights, the sweet smell of cinnamon. For one trembling second you almost let yourself believe you could accept his apology. You almost reached across the table, almost let the years of softness take root again.

But the wall inside you held firm, frozen and unyielding.

"I can't," you whispered. The words cut even as you spoke them. "It's Christmas. There's supposed to be joy, peace, second chances. But I can't give you that."

Kazuha leaned forward, voice breaking as he tried again. "Please, just let me—"

You cut him off, standing so suddenly your chair scraped hard against the wood. Conversations faltered around you but you didn't care. You grabbed your coat, slipped it on with shaking hands, and forced the words out before your resolve shattered.

"Merry Christmas," you said, not daring to meet his eyes. "Please don't call."

Then you turned and walked away.

The bells at the café door rang sharply as you pushed through, the warmth behind you replaced by a rush of frozen air. Snow stung your cheeks as you stepped onto the street, the choir's song echoing faintly from down the block. You didn't look back.

Kazuha sat alone at the table, your untouched mug still sitting there, steam long gone. Around him the café buzzed with life, laughter, music, warmth. Yet he felt none of it. Only the weight of your absence heavy as the snow falling endlessly outside.

And no amount of sugar and song could sweeten the bitter ache of your heart.

Kinich didn't answer immediately. Instead, he let his eyes follow the way you moved, the grace with which you flowed through each stretch. A faint smile tugged at his lips. You always did impress him, though he never made a big show of it. His admiration for you ran deep, but it was in quiet gestures—the steady way he watched you, the way his hand subtly flexed around the hilt of his claymore as if eager to fight by your side.

You didn’t mind the silence. It was something you’d grown used to, the unspoken understanding that passed between you. His presence was steady—calm, even in the midst of your chaos. And that was something you cherished.

With a final stretch, you took your stance, muscles taut and ready. The training grounds were your sanctuary, a place where you could push yourself beyond your limits, and Kinich's presence was always there, grounding you without a word. He didn't need to speak to support you. His quiet strength was more than enough.

You began your drills, each movement sharp and calculated, your body working in perfect harmony. Kinich, as always, watched, his chartreuse eyes focused on every precise motion you made. There was a sort of reverence in the way he looked at you, and although he never voiced it, you could feel it in the air between you.

You pushed yourself harder that evening. Your body ached with each repetition, but the adrenaline kept you going. The familiar burn in your muscles became a reminder of how far you’d come. Kinich never wavered, never turned away. He simply watched, his presence unwavering, like the calm center of a storm.

After what felt like hours, you finally paused, chest heaving as you wiped sweat from your brow. Your breath came in quick, heavy gasps. You looked over to Kinich, whose silent gaze never faltered. There was a small, almost imperceptible smile on his face now, the kind that was reserved for moments like these.

"Pushing yourself again?" he asked, his voice low but warm. His Dendro vision seemed to resonate with the very air around you, calming the tense muscles in your body.

"Always," you replied, trying to catch your breath. "Can't help it."

Kinich took a step closer, his large form looming over you, and there was something in the way he looked at you—something that made your heart skip. His eyes softened, and though his words were few, they carried weight. "I'm proud of you."

The words hung in the air for a moment, a simple acknowledgment, but it was enough. Kinich wasn't one for excessive praise. His pride in you wasn't something you needed to hear often, but when it came, it felt like the most meaningful thing in the world. You smiled, a genuine, grateful smile that lit up your face.

"You're not so bad yourself." you teased, nudging his shoulder playfully. The weight of his claymore didn't shift as he steadied himself, but the gentle way he looked at you told you everything you needed to know.

He laughed softly, the sound as rare as it was calming. It wasn't loud or boisterous, but it carried a quiet warmth, just like the man himself.

"I'll never stop watching you," Kinich said, his voice soft, almost too soft for you to hear over the wind. "You have more strength than you realize."

And you knew he meant more than just physical strength. He'd always seen you for more than just your body—he saw the drive, the fire in you, and that was what drew him to you. Kinich wasn’t the type to speak in grand declarations, but when he did speak, it was from the heart.

You looked at him, your heart racing with something more than just admiration. Something deeper. You reached for his hand, pressing your fingers against his warm skin, a silent thanks for everything—his presence, his quiet strength, and the way he loved you without ever needing to shout it.

"Maybe one day I'll be as strong as you." you said softly, your eyes meeting his.

Kinich's gaze softened further, his fingers brushing against yours. "You already are."

And in that moment, as the sun finally set and the stars began to twinkle above, you realized that the quiet bond you shared with him was stronger than any words could ever convey.