#oddarling

Years later and he could finally say he was doing better.

He had surrounded himself with people he trusted, people who didn't look at him like a prey, ready to pounce at the first opportunity.

First and foremost, you.

Bringing you to the palace was a decision he was sure to never regret. Yet, a certain unease settled in the pit of his stomach, leaving a bittersweet feeling in his mouth.

He should be happy, he should really. However, the 'what if's and the 'but's that he had pushed to the confines of his mind had a way of coming back.

His best efforts were in vain compared to the way his mind had been tailored, one carefully crafted lie upon another. Although he was doing much better, the memories plagued his every waking moments. After all, just looking in the mirror or touching his face was enough to bring it all to the surface.

So, he dealt with it the only way he knew how.

"Be careful with that, it's hot."

His hands hovered over yours, clearly itching to do it for you, yet holding back to avoid your chastising. A simple look from you told him he would regret not letting you have your independence.

"Yes, Fire Lord Zuko, I am aware fire burns," you deadpanned.

His brows frowned at your words—at the title—, however he didn't move away. His eyes stayed focused on your hands, determined to stop you from coming into harm's way. His concentration would be cute, if only it weren't so patronizing.

You almost sighed, before reminding just who you were with. If Zuko could barely handle you adjusting your position without forcing you to lay down—on the finest bed in the four nations, of course—surely, he would not take kindly to you sighing.

Instead, you focused back your attention to the task at hand, careful not to get hurt, more for your lover's sake than your own. Surely, he would grow out of this awkward phase.

Turned out, he didn't grow out of that phase.

Days flowed into months and his patient hands were still glued to your waist, holding you steady like you'd hold an infant taking its first steps.

Every rock that crossed your path was a threat to your life, every misplaced object an attempt to harm you. And God forbid someone talked to you, they surely had murder on their mind.

You loved him, you truly did. But when each of your comments fell on deaf ears, your patience was thinning by the day. At night, you lay awake, Zuko's arms snugly wrapped around you as you prayed to whatever Spirit could hear; 'Please, get him far away from me.'

The Spirits seemed to have been listening indeed, for just days later, a letter arrived signed by the one and only Avatar. A little adventure on far away lands would surely help him realise the corner he had backed the both of you into. And finally, finally, you'd be able to breathe the fresh air, smell the fl—

"I'm not going."

"What do you mean, you're not going. Of course you are!"

He put down his spoon with a sharp noise before deliberately wiping the corner of his mouth and then placing his napkin back on his lap.

"I mean, I'm not going."

"He's the Avatar!"

He looked unimpressed, his gaze almost insulting in its bluntness, "and I'm the Fire lord. If I say I'm not going, then I'm not going."

"He's your friend. You know, the one who changed your life forever and helped you become who you are?" You were wildly moving your arms around by now, his rejection too frustrating to handle.

"Yes, I know, I was there," he continued, his expression controlled in a way it only was when he grew irritated.

"Why wouldn't you go then? Give me one good reason," you crossed your arms, not willing to let it go despite his clear want for the conversation to end.

"Because I don't want to," his tone was still monotone, emotionless like you'd only heard in council meetings. His obvious refusal to engage in the topic at hand made something boil in you. Or, perhaps, it was already boiling, simmering for months as you had let Zuko indulge in his overly careful fantasy.

"You will tell me why, and you will tell me now. Because I don't want to hear any more about this 'I don't want to' bullshit. I know that's not why, you've left plenty of times before to go be with your friends, so why is it that now you can't," you were fuming by that point, your voice getting louder and louder with every word you spat in his face. "And don't say your duties or…"

me.

The sentence was left hanging in the silence. Neither of you willing to interrupt it.

A beat passed. You searched for Zuko's eyes but they avoided yours, looking down.

Another beat passed. You returned to your food, picking at it without eating a single bite.

"I…," began Zuko, pondering his words carefully. When he finally spoke again, his voice was softer, smaller. "I don't want to leave you alone. In the palace."

This time, it was your turn to avoid his eyes, your thoughts swirling with his words. You weren't sure what to say. Easing his worries with white lies would hardly help the situation or his unease.

"I won't be alone. Not really," you started. Then, your voice dropped, just a whisper remaining, "not in the way you were."

He didn't say anything, his silence answer enough. Deciding to give him space, you carefully got up, placing your hand on his arm and a kiss on his cheek before leaving. As you reached the door, you turned around one last time. "Please, just think it over. I don't want you to have regrets."

The next morning came slowly. Sleep eluded you.

Zuko was mere centimetres away from you, his everlasting heat warming you despite the distance. You didn't dare move and he didn't either. You weren't sure he was awake. Maybe he was. Like you. Pondering over the question, his sleep far gone. Or maybe he wasn't. Finding rest in the night's arms, away from all the concerns that plagued his everyday life.

You didn't know which option you liked better. Guilt churned at your insides, yet the want for him to be just as bothered as you were still didn't leave you.

When dawn finally came, you didn't wait another second—couldn't—before getting up. As you got ready, you could feel eyes on you. His eyes. You did your best to ignore him, instead focusing on your hair. Your attire. Your face. Anything but him.

Regrets flooded you. Baring his past crossed lines that couldn't be uncrossed. He might have stayed silent at the time, however you knew it wasn't the end of that. You felt it. The feeling was uncomfortable, an all-consuming dread that weighed on your shoulders. So you ignored it. Stood up straighter, muscles held tight.

Leaving the room, you didn't turn around. You said nothing. Not this time.

The day passed dreadfully slow. Minutes stretched, never-ending, leaving you with the turmoil of your thoughts.

Perhaps it was better that way. Not seeing him, not feeling his hand on yours, not hearing his voice in your ears. But nothing seemed to keep him out of your mind.

You pondered a lot, maybe too much. You wondered too. About him, about what he was doing, what he was thinking.

The stillness of the garden enveloped you, taking hold of you. It felt suffocating. A silence you had craved, and yet that you now feared.

"How gloomy is the day," a familiar voice broke through. "Isn't it?"

You turned to find Iroh, standing with his usual calm, hands tucked carefully behind him.

"Would you care for a cup of tea?"

He didn't mention the tears in your eyes, nor the shaking of your hands. You were most grateful for his consideration. So, with a small nod, you invited him to join you. His timing seemed intentional, a steady support right when the storm was about to take you under.

Your gaze fell to your lap, your attention far away. The gentle clicking of the tea cup set in front of you suddenly brought you back to the present. You lifted up your eyes, only to find Iroh's own already on you.

He offered you a gentle smile, before drinking his tea. His movements slow and careful, he seemed to simply enjoy the moment, refusing to rush or fill the silence.

His hand came back down as slowly as it had gone up, letting his still steaming cup of tea sit on the small table. "I remember when Zuko was small, he always did his best to protect the ducks in the pond. He wouldn't let anyone get anywhere close."

His gaze was lost far away, and a dry chuckle escaped him at the memory, "it was quite an ironic sight. He, himself, didn't even get close to the ducks. He called them his own, yet…"

The wind picked up again, and a chill crawled up your spine. "But one day, he found them hurt. A nasty burn that traced patterns on the mother's feathers. He was inconsolable, of course."

The story left a bitter taste in your mouth that had nothing to do with the cup of tea sitting untouched in front of you. Iroh didn't elaborate, as was often the case, yet the meaning seemed clear.

"Lovely tea, isn't it?"

Startled, you looked down at the still steaming liquid swirling around like it somehow could answer for you. "Yes. It is."

For a while, he left you to your thoughts, not oblivious to the predicament you found yourself in. Somehow, he always knew when to give people just enough space to feel free to breathe, yet not too much to feel lost.

You lost track of time quickly, the turmoil of feelings brewing in your heart relentless. Thinking didn't seem to help and the stillness was becoming suffocating. You got up, not saying a word to the man on your right, still happily sipping his tea.

Just as you reached the door, you finally heard the cup being settled on the small table and a voice broke through. "Zuko means well. If nothing else, I hope you'll remember that."

You turned on your heels, intrigued.

"Oh," he sounded surprised, "don't take it the wrong way. I don't mean to pressure you, I'm sure whatever choice you'll come to will be the right one."

Unsure your voice wouldn't betray, you simply turned back around and left.

And if your eyes started to sting, well maybe the wind was too harsh.

Days passed, so slowly you felt like you were watching paint dry.

Zuko was nowhere to be found, you hadn't even had a peek of his red robes. You weren't sure whether to be relieved or antsy, so you lived somewhere in between, always on your toes.

Eventually, it happened. It had to at some point, yet you couldn't help but think that any other time would have been better.

Standing in the middle of the room was your husband, the Fire Lord, in all of his naked glory. Yes, naked. In your defence, he hadn't been to your chambers in days, who could blame you for simply marching in?

Nonetheless, the maids that followed you could probably blame you for bearing witness to the sight. Or perhaps, they should be thankful. It didn't matter. They were quick to drop their baskets and slam the door shut behind them.

"Fire Lady, hi," began Zuko, stuttering like never before.

"Yes, Zuko, hi," you dryly replied.

Silence. God, this was gonna be awkward.

"Hi." Maybe silence really was better.

"Yes, hi," you replied again. "You are aware you already said that part, right?"

That seemed to get him out of his daze, as he finally uttered his first full sentence, "Yes, yes, I meant, how are you? It's been a while."

"Yes, a while indeed. I wonder why." You almost felt bad. Almost.

"Yes, since the fight," he visibly winced at his non-existent smoothness. He stayed silent for a few seconds, seemingly deciding to actually think over his next words, for once. "We… we should talk about that."

With a sigh you agreed, his punishment had gone on long enough. "But, you must be wearing clothes."

He looked down at himself, as if expecting clothes to magically appear, and seemed genuinely surprised when that didn't happen. "Oh, right."

He visibly flushed and you chuckled at the sight. Although you quickly caught yourself when his gaze snapped up to you, just a little too happy to know he made you smile.

He quickly got dressed and you called back in the maids to clean up the baskets they had dropped in their hurry to leave. You asked for tea to be served and settled in the large couch Zuko had installed when you first settled in the Fire Palace.

The man in question awkwardly shuffled to take the spot next to yours. However, your glare quickly redirected him to the seat in front of you. He kept his hands in his lap and, this time, it was his turn to leave his cup of tea alone as you happily sipped your own.

At the very least, it seemed your little speech had done its effect. You were quite pleased at the notion, to say the least.

"I… well, I should say my uncle, actually, helped me realise a few things." Of course Iroh did. It seemed you weren't the only who was granted tea time. "And I should apologize. For overstepping. I've done it a lot, haven't I?"

"That you have," you agreed, yet you couldn't help the smile that grew on your face. "I should apologize too, then. I shouldn't have thrown your past in your face, that was uncalled for. I'm sorry."

Zuko stayed silent for a moment, pondering his next words. When he spoke his voice was small, quiet, "You weren't exactly wrong."

He seemed so small now, no longer the impressive Fire Lord, but simply the boy who wanted to be loved. The notion tugged at your heart strings, the sight steering something in you. "It doesn't matter now. You're here with me. And your friends, and all of the new people you've brought into the Palace. You've truly made this place your own."

"I did, didn't I?" he asked, almost in disbelief. The smile growing on his face was small, tentative yet real. "And I have you to thanks for a lot of that. I don't want to lose you. Help me be better, I'll do my best."

He seemed so earnest in winning your trust once more. And everything wasn't magically better, yet it was finally looking up again. That brought a smile to your face, mirroring his own. "Of course I'll help you. I don't want to lose you either."

"You won't. I'll be better." His hand reached across the table to your own, enveloping it in the warmth you missed so much in the last few days.

"Well then, starting now, you have to keep in mind what I tell you. Not just brush it off."

"Yes, ma'am," said Zuko without missing a beat.

Your eyes narrowed. "That means going with the Avatar."

His jaw fell and you could almost hear the complaint sitting at the tip of his tongue. Your gaze sharpened and he didn't dare say more. He clearly didn't agree but knew better than to disagree. Still, just to make sure, you clarified, "so, you're going to write back to him, right?"

This time, his voice was smaller, begrudging, "…yes, ma'am."

"Today."

"…yes."

"Now."

Finally, he took the hint, quickly getting up and scrambling around for some paper and ink.

The problem wasn't exactly solved, yet this step in the right direction brought you so much relief. To see him mirroring your own feelings of want and hope in this marriage made you believe you could do it. Together, as one.

Perhaps you should have expected something to go wrong.

In the face of his childhood memories, years upon years of hardship overcome alone, his good will stood no chance. His promise didn't seem to be at the front of his mind, especially now, his hands hovering once more at your sides.

"Zuko, I'm collecting fruits, I'm not going off to war," you reminded him once more.

He bit his lip, focus still on your movements, "still…"

You climbed back down the ladder only to end up wrapped in his arms. You gave him a little squeeze and moved out of the way to go back inside. His steps followed you, softly rustling the growing grass beneath his feet.

The scene should have felt refreshing, sweet, romantic even. Yet, it was none of those. It only left you suffocated and upset. Zuko wasn't stupid and he certainly wasn't blind, even he could see it written on your face. Yet, his heart told him otherwise.

"The Avatar arrived two days ago already, you shouldn't be making him wait so much."

He stopped in his track as you turned around to face him. You seemed tired. Drained. Yet, he knew it had nothing to do with your sleep. He made sure you slept plenty.

"Aang isn't just the Avatar, he's an old friend. He'll understand."

"Shouldn't you want to see him if he's an old friend? What are you doing in my garden?"

Your garden. Not his. The one he had given you as he place to rest and relax. On your own.

He swallowed whatever he had to say, instead opting for a simple, "yes, I'll go see him then."

As you watched him leave, you couldn't help the anger that started bubbling inside you. The anger you didn't let rise in his presence, the one you kept for yourself.

"I can't believe that idiot! Who does he take me for? A baby? I can collect my own fruits in my own garden, thank you very much," you muttered to yourself as you raised your knife and aggressively slammed it down, the fruit in front of you receiving the worse of your hate. "And look at me now, I'm monologuing like some kind of second rate villain, I didn't sign up for this!"

Little pieces of fruit were left everywhere on the table, becoming smaller and smaller with every sharp cut of your knife. And if you imagined his face on the remaining chunks, well let's just not think about that.

By that point, your knife was being thrown around wildly, your arm only controlled by the rage steadily building in your chest. Before long, it was no longer cutting the soft flesh of the fruit but your own instead. The sharp pain let you drop the blood-stained blade in favour of taking hold of your injured thumb.

The blood was overflowing and you couldn't see anything through the liquid oozing out of the cut. You could however feel the sting and even your own heartbeat as it started to pick up. You rushed to the small fountain resting in the middle of the garden to plunge your thumb in it. The blood left a thick red cloud just below the surface as the cool water lessened the pain.

After most of the blood had washed off, you carefully raised your hand to inspect the wound once more. You winced at the sight, it was not pretty. Part of the nail had been cut off and a chunk of flesh was missing.

That was going to be hard to hide from Zuko's prying eyes.

The thought crossed your mind before you could stop it, and your heart churned at it. Is this truly where your relationship was headed?

Yet, despite the guilt that had made itself at home in your heart, you still bandaged your thumb tightly before slipping on a silk glove. You wiped the blade with careful hands and took a place at the table. Collecting little pieces of the cut-up fruit, you placed them softly on your tongue and savoured the taste of them.

When Zuko came back in, he found you as he had left you. He extended his hand to you and you placed your gloved hand in his.

And when he seemed surprised at the glove, you simply smiled as you explained the wind had picked up in his absence.

Just two days later was the day of the departure.

Zuko's luggage was already waiting for him on Appa's back. It was a small backpack, barely big enough to hold a change of clothes and snack. A small picture of you was tucked in between the fabric. Just the strict minimum for the journey ahead.

Your luggage, on the other hand, came in the form of bags upon bags of 'what if you need this and you don't have it' and 'you love it so much, you should take it'. The packing process had been a long one, you'd had to fight Zuko every step of the way, always negotiating for just one more item.

"Are you sure you have everything you need? Maybe you should take the book you showed me the other day?" came his voice, worried beyond measure.

You raised a brow at that, "the one I already read? And hated?"

"Well, you never know, you might want to read it again to make sure," he said with absolute certainty, like there was no flaw in his logic.

"No, Zuko, I'm not taking it with me," you sighed. "I should be the one asking if you have everything, fussing and worrying over my husband leaving to save the world for the nth time."

"We'll be fine. And you know we can't take too much stuff, Appa does have to carry it all."

"Very well, then I wish you a safe journey. They are waiting for you," you nodded at his friends, already settled on Appa's back.

"I'll be back before you know it. I'll leave you in my uncle's care," he turned around to the man in question. "If I find a single scratch on her skin, you'll pay."

Iroh simply chuckled at the threat, "I'll be sure to bring her back exactly as she was, dear nephew. Now, go, before we all die out here in the sun."

With a final kiss to your cheek, Zuko was gone and relief flooded you.

Guilt too.

Your new-found freedom was very appreciated.

No more 'be careful' and 'I'll do it for you'. You could live like a functional adult. And as much as you loved your husband, you were just a little too happy to have him gone.

Iroh, your new company, was lovely, although the amount of tea the both of you were drinking was obscene to say the least. His cryptic words of wisdom also seemed weird, always just a little too on the spot to be as random as he claimed they were.

Days bled together as you happily lived on, carefree like never before. Seasons changed, the warm weather being replaced with heavy rains and eventually even some snow.

News of Zuko's journey were rare and you could only pray for his well-being wherever he was. Eventually news of return came and you couldn't help but feel like time had gone by so fast.

Perhaps, you should feel bad for that. Guilt had become an old friend. Every time you dared to be happy in your husband's absence, the familiar feeling churned at your insides. You did your best to ignore it, but it never truly went away.

As you were getting ready to leave Iroh's estate in favour for returning to the Fire Palace, your hands picked at the skin of your thumb where a light scar was now visible. It did nothing to calm your heart, neither the excitement nor the guilt went away.

Once the luggage were charged, it was time to go. You turned to Iroh, a warm smile on your lips. Before you could hesitate or regret your choice, you raised your arms to hug him, a stray tear escaping you as you murmured a 'thank you'.

He simply pat you on the back like this came as no surprise and laughed softly. "It was lovely to have you here. Thank you for playing Pai Sho with me."

You laughed as you pulled away, not quite managing to pull your gaze away from him.

"I hope you'll remember that you're my niece as much as Zuko is my nephew."

You nodded, not quite sure what he meant but appreciating it nonetheless. Reluctantly, you finally turned around to leave, a few unshed tears still in your eyes.

The next day, tea time felt empty at the Iroh estate.

The man sat alone, the steam from his tea curling in the air.

No companion to make jokes to, no laughter in answer. No game laid out on the table.

Just silence.

Although it didn't last.

Before Iroh had even finished his first cup of tea, the door was kicked down with a violent throw.

"Uncle," growled the Fire Lord as he entered. "I told you, if I found a single scratch on her, you'd pay."

"And I told you, I'd bring her back exactly how she was."

"You didn't," accused Zuko, his finger pointed right at Iroh.

"I did," answered the older man, still carefully holding his cup of tea and drinking the steaming drink.

"You didn't. She has a scar. On her thumb."

Patiently, as he did everything else, Iroh explained, "she was already injured. It wouldn't have scarred if only she had gotten it treated earlier."

"She wasn't. I would've noticed."

"Would you really?"

Zuko was the one steaming now, his anger boiling up to reach the surface. He was at his breaking point and his uncle was just a little too calm for his liking. "Yes. I would have noticed if my wife was injured, I don't need you to tell me that. So. Explain."

"She wore gloves before you left. How could you have noticed?"

"She likes her silk gloves. What's the issue with that?" answered the Fire Lord without missing a beat.

"In the middle of summer? And I must say, they went horribly with her dress. No colour scheme, no shape. It's a shame, she usually dresses so well."

Zuko was going to kill him, he was sure of it by now. "I don't care about her dress, I care about her scar."

To that, Iroh simply chuckled. "You're quite stubborn."

The Fire Lord was ready to refuse the accusation, but his uncle didn't give him enough time. "Do you see your mother in the Fire Lady?"

"No," he answered without missing a beat.

Iroh looked at him, watched his face fall little by little as the words really sunk in. "Take a seat, my nephew. Perhaps you'd like a cup of tea? We have much to discuss."

It was late into the night when your husband finally came back.

You laid awake in cold sheets, with no one to heat them. You toyed with the skin of your thumb as you so often did, unsure what to think of Zuko's disappearance. Should you be worried? But he was close with his uncle, it wasn't that unusual for him to spend long periods of time with him.

As time went on, sleep claimed you little by little. Eventually, Zuko walked quietly into the room and you barely stirred at the noise.

He settled into bed and two strong arms snaked their ways around your middle to softly tug you into him. His nose nuzzled into your cheek as he had done so many times before, yet the few months apart made the gesture seem unfamiliar.

His lips left a kiss on your jaw and you moved your hand to rest over his. He linked your fingers together but didn't say another word. Just a few minutes later, his breathing softened and you were sure he was asleep.

The next morning felt awkward.

In between your guilt, your excitement, and the time that had passed, your husband had become somewhat of a stranger to you. You weren't sure how to act around him, what to say. He didn't seem to know either, for he said nothing and did little.

Yet, the way he reached for you as you served tea, like he would have done months ago, tugged at your heartstrings. He stopped himself before actually touching you and you weren't sure why. Was it out of consideration for you or because… you'd rather let that thought go unfinished.

You were unsure where you stood with him and the feeling didn't go away in the next day.

The banquet thrown in honour of the Fire Lord's return was grand and kept him far too busy to speak with you. As he sat on the throne, receiving gifts and congratulations, you stood on the balcony, enjoying the fresh air of the evening.

A server came out with a tray of champagne, wordlessly offering you a glass. You took one and downed in one go as soon as he was gone. When another came by, you took a glass once more, the server polite enough to ignore the first empty glass sitting on the edge of the balcony. A third server arrived and a third glass was emptied and made to join the first two.

Eventually, you lost count and simply held on to the railing, watching into the distance.

A cloak suddenly landed on your shoulders. You startled and turned to find your husband, a small smile on his lips.

"You managed to escape the government officials?"

"I did," he nodded. "I wanted to come talk to you the whole time. I'm not even sure what they said."

You should have probably laughed. That was the normal reaction to have. The expected one. Instead a tear escaped you. And another. And suddenly, a lot more than you can count.

"Hey, hey, hey, are you okay?" The concern in his voice was evident, his hands coming around your shoulders to hold you up as your knees buckle. "Did something happen while I was away? Did… someone—"

"N— no," you hiccuped through your cries. "I'm f-fine."

"Fine is not bursting out crying when I try to make a joke. Not a funny one, but surely not that bad."

The scene became silent once more, your sobs the only thing disturbing the peace around.

Finally, you spoke again, your voice shaky. "I missed you. And I hated you. And I was so scared for you."

"I missed you too." His arms tightened around you. "So much. You have no idea."

Silence.

"I talked with my uncle yesterday. Well, to be more accurate, he told me off. For not keeping my promise to you. For not following through when I said I would. I'm sorry. I didn't know how to do better. But I do now. And I will. So if you'll just give me one more chance."

You pulled away from his chest to look up at him. Something broke in your chest at the sight of his face. The fear, the worry, the doubt, they were all painted clearly on his features. When he spoke again, his voice broke, "please, just don't leave."

That did nothing to stop the tears streaming down your face. "I won't, I swear I won't. I love you so much it hurts. You're such an idiot but you're mine."

"Yours. As long as you'll have me."

"Calm down, baby, come on breathe with me," you try to soothe him, not being able to make out anything of what he's telling you.

He had left for a mission, confident as always, and you did your best to rack your brain to figure out what kind of curse would be capable to leave him in such a state.

"Breathe in, breathe out," you continue as shaky breaths followed your own through the phone speaker. "Are you okay? Is there anyone else with you?"

"S- Satoru's there," he stutters through hiccups, the boy in question laughing in the background. The sound gets louder and you understand he took the phone. Your boyfriend's indignant shout quickly follows, "It's not funny, idiot."

"Hi! Suguru's completely fine, he's just being dramatic," explains Satoru, finally letting your racing heartbeat slow down. "He just got his hair cut off by a curse."

Ouch.

That makes sense; if there was one thing that could unsettle the ever-composed Suguru, it was his hair.

You stay silent, processing the information, before Satoru continues, "I'll send him to you so you can see for yourself. Don't forget to take lots of pictures, you know, for science."

Oh, you will.

Sharp sounds come through the speaker and if Satoru's screams are anything to go by, he's getting chased around for his mockery.

Eventually, the call ends and you're left laughing on your couch, trying to imagine what your dear boyfriend might look like now.

The door clicks open softly, but not a word is spoken. You listen carefully, yet nothing comes. You can only hear the muted sound of his feet on the floor boards and the soft rustle of his clothes.

"Suguru?"

A beat passes. And then another before you can hear him clear his throat. Eventually, he talks, voice shaky and unsure, "yes?"

You don't get up, choosing to stay on the couch, as if going to him might scare him off. "Why are you still in the entryway?"

"No reason," he answers quickly. Too quickly.

"So, come here then."

Silence fills the room again and this time you don't disrupt it. He had always needed his time to open up, tonight would be no different.

You're right, just a minute later, he comes through the door. His shame was evident in his stance, eyes downcast, hands fiddling, leg slightly shaking.

The display tugs at your heart strings, the boy in front of you vulnerable and clearly distraught at the loss of his most cherished attribute.

You opt against teasing him, instead opening your arms to welcome him home. He doesn't waste a second to dive in them, hiding his face on your chest.

Your arms curled around his figure and you stay silent, giving him the time to process it all.

As time passes, you can feel him relax in your arms. His breathing slows, his grip on you loosens, and his eyes flutter shut.

Before long, you're also unable to resist the grip sleep has on you and you let your eyelids shut. But his voice breaks the silence, a pitiful murmur muffled in your flesh, "be honest, I look ugly, don't I?"

Your hand raises to settle in his now much shorter hair and you slowly stroke it, thinking over your words. "It's different."

Suguru only gives you a non-committal hum, clearly not entirely convinced.

You know your answer won't cut it, his brain needing much more reassurance than that. "It needs a haircut for sure, you can't just have this random chop—made by a curse of all things— determine your new look. But it's not bad. It could never be."

The boy stays silent, letting the words hang in the air, thinking them over. You expected him to protest, yet he doesn't, instead settling on a half-hearted complaint, "I'm never stepping foot outside for the next three months."

You laugh softly and it makes him smile, his mouth leaving a feather light kiss where it rests.

Silence returns, this time much more comfortable. He seems more at ease, the idea of his new haircut slowly becoming less repulsive.

Eventually, you pat on his shoulder to get his attention, getting ready to go on with the rest. "Come on, I'll give you a new haircut."

He doesn't move, not even giving sign of life.

You pat again and only receive a small hum, more denial than agreement. Nevertheless, you steel yourself, getting ready to push him off you.

You wiggle in his grip, moving from under him centimeter by centimeter. He tightens his hold on you, doing his best to keep you from leaving, but you end up sliding off the couch nonetheless.

Getting up to your feet, you walk to the bathroom, filling the tub up with warm water in hopes of helping him relax, even just a little. He could try to hide it all he wanted, he was doing a miserable job pretending not to be affected by the haircut he was left with.

You bring a chair into the bathroom, placing it at the end of the tub, alongside your scissors—the ones specifically there for when he asks you to give him a haircut— and hairbrushes. Behind you, you can hear Suguru walk in and the rustle of his clothes falling to the ground.

You don't turn around, instead choosing to give him the privacy he seemed to need after everything that had happened that night. He doesn't say anything, but as he settles into the warm water, he gives you the tiniest of smiles, a small thank you for your consideration.

You watch him get comfortable, study the way the exhaustion rolls off his body in waves. It starts in his arms, first wrapped around his knees, before finally letting go and settling at his sides, then his back, leaning back to rest his weigh on the edge of the tub, his feet sliding to the other side, his entire body now spread out to take the space available. Finally, his head falls back and settles on the border, eyes closed shut in utter surrender.

Music is left in the background, the lights turned off. The moment is much too precious to rush, so you simply card your hand though his hair, softly letting your nails scratch his scalp.

When Suguru opens his eyes again, you meet your gaze. You study him, savouring every detail of his amethyst eyes and relaxed features. The seconds stretch, the world allowing you just a little bit more softness for today.

The boy eventually nods, a silent agreement to let you do whatever you wished to his hair. A necessary evil, as one might call it.

So, softly like you might scare him off, you reach for the water, wetting his hair, little by little, making sure the water is warm enough, yet not too much.

You reach for the shampoo, the one that smells like lavender and always makes you burrow your nose in his hair. You spread it on your hands before carefully applying it to his hair in circular motions.

You keep going long after the product has coated the entirety of his hair, the motion more of a massage than anything else. Suguru lets out little pleased hums, and it's enough to tell you to keep going.

Eventually, you reach for the shower head and rinse off the foam that adorned his hair, careful to keep the water from going into his eyes and mouth.

You repeat the motions with his conditioner, this time focusing on the ends of his hair, their shortness still surprising you every time you card your hands through his locks. They fall back on the edge of the tub, uneven and abrupt, yet somehow still beautiful, still entirely him.

After rinsing it all off, you take a brush, untangling the remaining knots as softly as you can. The motions are practised, ones you have already done over and over again as he rested his head on your thighs. The comfort it brought him then is still evident in his features now, a familiar sensation through the chaos of change.

You rinse the rest of his body off, making sure not to leave any soap on him and walk away, reaching for a towel to hand him. He takes it gratefully.

He steps out of the tub, his movement slow and measured. He continues with light steps, going to sit on the cushioned chair who left for him in front of the sink.

The sight of the newspapers you carefully disposed to avoid it from being stuck makes him smile. The memory of the first time you had the great idea of cutting his hair over the sink still clings to his mind. What a disaster it had been.

He settles comfortably in the chair, his head tipping once more to rest on the edge of it, like the weight of it alone is too much for him to bare.

And so, comes the dreaded time of the cutting.

As you raise your scissors, you can't help the thoughts swirling around in your mind. You've cut his hair many times, yet the weight of his trust is one you can't quite seem to get used to.

Nonetheless, you're most grateful and abide without complaint.

This time, though, feels different. A different kind of responsibility place upon your shoulders.

You weigh your options with careful consideration. Asking him what haircut he wants would be very much counterproductive. You managed to get him to relax, you won't trade it for the world. So now, the choice falls into your lap. As you make up your mind, you approach the scissors slowly, like it might help you.

Your scissors cut once. A small lock of hair falls. A piece on the left, the side that was previously uncut, spared by the unlucky strike of the curse.

Than twice. A slightly bigger piece this time. On the right this, ridding him of the half cut front piece hanging pitifully.

Your hesitation lessens with every cut. You move your scissors with grace, making decisive cuts and careful adjustments.

You adjust his uneven bangs to properly frame his face once more, you create layers with the hair that had suffered the most, you cut the ends that had burned ever so slightly where the curse had struck.

Before long, you're admiring your work, quite proud of your save.

You finally put down the scissors on the ground, the clicking sound making Suguru open his eyes for the first time since you began your endeavour.

They settle on you, his trust evident in his eyes, even through the flicker of doubt.

His hand raises from his side, pushing aside your own hair and softly brushing your cheek.

Finally, his voice comes out, strained as he speaks, "thank you."

You simply smile, before helping him up. He moves to your vanity this time, sitting in front of your mirror. And so, he leaves you with the last step. The styling.

His gaze is kept downcast on the floor, not daring to face his reflection just yet.

You bring the hairdryer and a brush, quickly getting to work as exhaustion's grip on you too tightens. Before long, you're done, admiring a haircut that makes the man in front of you look so…

…hot.

There's no other way to put it, that's simply the truth. As much as his dark silky hair made him look ethereal, his short hair suits him just as much.

Yet, his expression is still fixed in a pout that seems stuck to his features as he discovers just how short his hair is left. Unfortunately for him, it only makes his lips look more delicious, tempting you like never before.

After all, not much could get him to show his expression so openly, let alone pout.

Before you can think better of it, you kiss him, a small peck accompanied with four simple words, "you look so fine."

He doesn't seem convinced, yet the pink at the top of his ears tells you he appreciates the comment nonetheless.

Later that night, as you lay in bed, his face in the crook of your neck, he still tells you, "For the record, I'm never cutting my hair that short ever again."

His stubborn streak only makes you laugh, your hand finding its rightful place in his hair as always.

You'll just have to enjoy the next few months before it grows back out.

And, who knows, with just enough compliments, you might get him to cut them again.

oddarling — all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, or feed to ai

But who could blame him? Sorcerers had infamously short lives filled with indescribable horrors and very few comforts. He had seen others—civilians—leading a peaceful and joyful life and, of course, he had wanted that for himself. But he knew better, fate had other plans for him from the moment he had started to see curses.

Yet, seeing you on this one in a lifetime day, so gorgeous in your wedding dress, he couldn't help but hope.

You were the one who had insisted to follow the somewhat silly tradition of not seeing each other until the walk down the aisle. He had accepted, how could he not? As long as you'd marry him, he'd follow your every whim.

And while not seeing you for the first half of a day that was supposed to be about your union didn't please him entirely, the first look almost made it worth it. Almost.

God, you looked ethereal, straight out of a fairy tale.

It almost brought him to tears as he couldn't help but look back on your first meeting. After all, it was what brought you here.

It had been a chance encounter. You were supposed to have a date with a man that never bothered showing up. Instead, as you were trying to leave with as much of your dignity as possible, you slammed into your now husband—well, not quite, you still had to go through the ceremony.

He had caught you of course, and somewhere between both of your embarrassed giggles, he fell in love right then and there. You were so beautiful, all prettied up for a man that didn't even bother letting you know he wouldn't come. How dare he, really. But perhaps Nanami should thank him.

As you looked up at him, he could finally see your smile. It shone as bright as it did on your first meeting, when Nanami had quite boldly offered to take your date's place. And here, surrounded by your family and friends, you looked like you belonged in a way that warmed his heart.

Still, he would have rather spent the day stuck to your side like you did on your first date. It had lasted over 12 hours, from midday to midnight, and had ended with both of you naked, cuddled up in your bed, panting from your earlier activities with absolutely no regrets. It had, of course, then been prolonged with well-deserved rest and homemade breakfast. But for your wedding, Nanami had been forced to spend the day wondering what your wedding dress might look like and, more importantly, what you'd look like in it.

Well, at least, the dress had not disappointed. It was beautiful, complementing you so perfectly. None of his speculations were even close to how it really looked. It was simply breathtaking.

After what felt like an eternity, you took your first step down the aisle and Nanami's gaze fell back on your face. Your makeup was immaculate, enhancing just the right features to make you look angelic.

And although he didn't quite want to admit it, your lips looked oh so very kissable. He could hardly wait for the ceremony to be over, for the priest to finally pronounce the famous phrase, "you may now kiss the bride." But one step at a time.

He remembered the beginning of your relationship. After that abnormally long first date came many others, albeit not as long. And, as it always did, the blooming relationship came with the shyness. The honeymoon phase, as some may call it, where the novelty is still fresh. It was marked with joy and giddiness, but also a weird sense of embarrassment.

Like during your first kiss—well your first real kiss, your first night together still sometimes felt more like a fever dream than a real experience. It was shy and tentative, a barely there sensation that was still so very electrifying. Nanami had gotten goosebumps and gone home with an unmistakable pep in his usually regular steps.

For a few months after, the kisses had stayed somewhat shy but oh so precious. Nanami had no regret, which was rare for a man who ruminated so much.

And then, inevitably came the tears. His vision blurred, unable to see you clearly anymore, but in his memories, your image remained clear. Dates after dates flashed in his mind, bouquets of flowers, small gifts, amazing views, and of course, always, you.

Your anniversaries in particular came to mind. You enjoyed celebrating them much more than him; he liked to think every day where you allowed him by your side was worthy of celebration. Nonetheless, traditions had come to be unavoidable, it felt blasphemous to even think about skipping them once.

He remembered one year, being away for work and barely making it back in time. Oh, how he had cursed all of his coworkers, his job, his bosses. How dared they get in the way of his relationship with you. He was ready to hop on the plane back to you whether they liked it or not.

Through his tears, he saw you finally arriving at the altar. His shaky hands came to softly hold yours which, he noticed, shaked almost as much as his.

The ring on your hand, waiting to be replaced by your wedding ring, took him back to his proposal. It had been perfect, in his own humble opinion, although you had figured out quite quickly what he was planning. What could he say, he was not made for lying to you. His apparent stress and unease had given him away but you still had had the mercy of playing along, even just for sparing him the cardiac arrest.

The tears and shaky hands then mirrored the ones he was currently displaying now. His speech had went down the drain the second he had laid his eyes on you, but speaking from his heart seemed to have worked. He couldn't recall anything he had said if he tried, but he just knew nothing he had said then was a lie.

Just like right now. Promising you his future was so easy and simply felt right in a way that left no room for hesitation. He couldn't imagine himself anywhere but by your side, no matter what. His vows had been carefully written this time and he managed to get them out despite the smudges where his tears had stained the ink.

He looked at you with so much love and not a flicker of doubt. He would spend as long as the world allowed him to live by your side, or at least, as long as you'd have him there. He was eternally grateful to spend even the shortest of time being able to call you his partner, let alone his wife.

He may be pessimistic but he wouldn't miss happiness when it was looking him straight in the eye. So, with a slightly shaky voice but steel resolve, he told the world of his devotion in two simple words.

"I do."

oddarling — all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, or feed to ai

Toru knew it well. The joy painted on your face, your eyes bright and your smile wide, all brought by one simple name. Two syllables. Sa-to.

And then the indifference. Not anger, not disgust, no, utter indifference. One simple name, two syllables. To-ru.

Not that you had ever bothered to actually pronounce it; Gojo this, Gojo that, the distance between the two of you evident.

It had never mattered to him before. Who cared if you didn't look for him in the crowd and instead your gaze settled on a different face. Well, it was technically the same face since they were identical twins, but different person. He was sure that same indifference was painted on his own face. After all, why go for you when he could go for literally anyone else, all of them sitting at his feet, waiting for just one chance to get close to him.

Until one drunk night. A mistake, that's what it was.

"Yo, Toru! Have you ever switched place with your twin?" came Toji's drunk shout. He could be such an ass when he was drunk. The same question, the one everyone couldn't help but ask. The one burning hot on the tip of their tongues.

"Of course," he had answered, "who do you take me for?"

And it was true, it had happened a lot. The brothers had had a close bond, they'd make deals, offering to take each other's place for the dumbest of reasons. A class one didn't like, a chore the other couldn't be bothered to handle. At the time, it felt like second nature. A secret handshake, a discreet nod, and all was settled.

Nowadays… well it's no use dwelling on it.

"You should do it again, I bet no one would be able to tell you two apart. You'd blend right in with all his little nerd friends," Toji snorted, his hand swinging wildly, the liquid in his cup threatening to spill.

"Ha. Ha. Ha. Real funny, asshole," Toru had simply answered, rolling his eyes. "What would we even do that for? I already asked him to take my place in an exam. He said no."

That bitch, he muttered under his breath, not quite loud enough for his drunk friends to hear over the obnoxious sound of their own laughter.

A smirk grew on Toji's face, one that told the white haired man he wouldn't like the next words out of the fucker's mouth. "I can see plenty of reasons to take his place. Number one, his pretty little girlfriend. Number two, her ass. Number three, her boobs."

"And you'd think he'd agree to let me take his place to fuck his beloved girlfriend," he mocked, batting his eyelashes like a middle school girl. "No, dude, he barely even lets me meet her."

"He doesn't have to know."

One sentence.

One small, tiny, ridiculously insignificant sentence said half-heartily by some drunk idiot. Yet, it broke the dam.

Suddenly, it wasn't just a stupid idea, it was a very real possibility. 'What if's and 'maybe's clouded his mind, the thought alone bringing a warm sensation in his gut that he would rather not name. Perhaps, if he ignored it hard enough, waited to cool down—a cold shower might help—, he could stop the thought before it ingrained itself any deeper in his brain.

Yet, he couldn't. He wasn't able to—didn't want to.

And then the opportunity presented itself.

You, standing there, drunk enough to not distinguish up from down, and him, in front of you, watching you look at him with love in your eyes. He had hoped for that look. Wished it would turn to him and not his brother, just once. And there it was; no contempt, no judgement, just plain love.

Something in his chest twisted, hard. The pain was sharp and Toji's words came to his mind once more. You would say yes to anything he'd say right now. Your alcohol-induced state left you vulnerable in a way that was dangerous, dangerous for him.

So, when he opened his mouth, he said, "Come on, let's get you home. I'll call you an Uber."

And, true to his words, he had called for an Uber straight to your place. He had even shot your boyfriend a text, letting him know you were safe and on the way.

Coming back to the agitation of the party, a drink was shoved in his hands and he happily drank away at the gnawing feeling in his guts.

That night had ended with him black out drunk, swearing he wouldn't have such thoughts.

Yet just a few parties later, you were once more standing in front of him, too trusting for your own good. Your grin was idiotic, your teeth on full display. You could barely hold yourself up, choosing to lean on him instead.

His senses were filled with you. The hand on his chest, the scent in his nose, the voice in his ear, the face in his view. And, God, how he wanted to taste you. He would give you the world for just one taste, for you to replace the cheap alcohol that lingered on his tongue and just submerge him completely.

Bringing his hand up on your shoulder, he felt you lean into his touch, your head quickly following. Willing his feet to move, he brought you across the house to the kitchen, carefully preparing a glass of water.

The cool feeling against your lips felt refreshing, as you swallowed happily what was given to you. Looking up at him with wide eyes, it was more than he could handle.

Pure thoughts. His brother. His trust. He was counting on him, Toru couldn't forget it. Not now, not ever.

"I'll call you an Uber."

That night, he had sat on his bed, his cock hard and leaking in his hand, mourning what could have been. He was so close, yet so far.

But, as they say, third time is the charm.

He was sat on the couch, conversing with Toji about whatever drunk idea he'd had this time, when you had straddled his lap.

Your knees plunged in the couch, your thighs softly squeezing his with need, your weight on his now growing buldge. You had rocked once tentatively and your head had dropped on his shoulder at the sensation.

Toru, at a loss of what to do, could only stare helplessly as his hands carefully hovered your form. He looked around as the party went on, blissfully unaware of what was happening. All going on with their own business. Except one. One pair of eyes fixed on your drunk movements, a wink thrown for Toru as he mouthed, "Just do it."

Toji was an asshole through and through, and one look downwards told Toru all he needed to know about his… motivations.

But before he could worry any longer about the guy watching it all unfold, you put your hand on his neck, guiding him near you. Your voice filled his ears, a soft whine, "Babyyy…"

Fuck.

"Come on, sweetheart, I'll bring you upstairs."

He'd drop you on the bed, let you get the rest you so clearly needed. That was it. Nothing more was going to happen.

As he shifted to get out of the couch that had practically swallowed him whole, you tightened your limbs around him, your head still on his shoulder, your breath on his neck.

His arms settled under your thighs, supporting your weight as he carefully climbed up the stairs. Escaping the party, the noise became muted, almost like it was an entirely different world.

In the quiet, Toru could hear his pumping heart, much louder than he was willing to admit. Your voice was soft now, a barely there murmur in the stillness of the moment.

He could barely make out the words you said, although every 'baby' and small whine that left your lips made his heart twist uncomfortably. If he was a better man, it would probably make the tent in his pants lessen, but he could still feel how tight they were.

As he arrived in his room, he opted against turning on the main light, choosing instead to light a smaller, warmer one instead. The atmosphere was soft, enveloping the both of you in a soothing blanket.

He walked over to the bed, his steps faltering ever so slightly. But his hesitation didn't last long, for as soon as a small 'hurry up' left your lips, he had made his decision.

Your back hit the bed and you relaxed, your legs still snug around his hips. Your eyes were unfocused, slightly glossed over with the effect of alcohol. He ignored the pang in his chest and instead reached up to cup your jaw, kissing you with a desperation he didn't quite want to admit to.

Your hips moved, chasing friction, and he grinded suddenly in answer, the sensation making you moan. As your jaw dropped open, his tongue slid in, the kiss turning messy.

His hand trailed down, catching on the top of your dress and bringing it down just enough for your breasts to spill out. His kisses moved down, leaving behind a wet stripe from your jaw to your neck.

"No bra?" he panted, pulling away to look at your nipples, hidden behind two carefully placed nipple patches.

You could barely answer, your words coming out breathless and broken, "Don't t-tease, just take them off— please…"

"Patience, sweetheart," he chuckled slightly before getting back to work. He sucked at the soft skin just above your collarbone, leaving behind a small gift for you to hide tomorrow morning.

He continued his path to your nipple, anticipation bubbling in your stomach. Finally, finally, he'd remove the patches, showing your sensitive nipples the attention they so craved.

Yet, he did none of that.

His mouth settled on the plastic fixed to your nipples and he sucked. Hard.

You arched into his mouth, your hand settling in his hair, your nails scratching his scalp ever so slightly. The sensation made his eyes roll back and he only sucked harder making you squirm under him.

His hand covered your other nipple, pinching it through the gummy material.

It felt unfair, how easily you were falling apart under his hands. It was an entirely new sensation, different from the way your loving boyfriend usually made love to you.

It was filthy and downright sinful, from the look in his eyes, fixed on you, to the path of his hand moving lower and lower and lower.

But you couldn't deny the heat gathering between your thighs nor the way your underwear was sticking to your folds with wetness. His hand on your lower stomach, right above it, didn’t help.

He was so close to where you wanted him, your nipple in his mouth, yet the sensation was filtered through that damn piece of plastic. It was maddening.

"Satooo," you mewled, your head falling back on the pillow, eyes closing shut from pleasure.

Suddenly, you couldn't feel the boy above you anymore. The loss of his touch broke something in you, yet you could feel yourself getting wetter by the second.

"Sat—," you started before getting interrupted as he suddenly ripped off your patches. His lips latched onto one of the nipples immediately, his other hand coming up to flick the other one.

Your moan was immediate, your nerves sensitive from the previously light sensation. It was so different from the fullness of the feeling as he really took your nipple in his mouth, the difference startling yet so delicious.

"F-fuck, slow down— b-baby," you barely managed to get out, his tongue flicking your nipple hard as if to silence you.

"Shut up. Stop talking, just enjoy the ride," he spat, his tone harsh now. You were no stranger to dirty talk, yet the sudden switch in his behaviour made you clench your thighs.

Feeling your reaction only made him laugh, the sound hollow and almost cruel, "Oh, you enjoyed that, didn’t you?"

He had pulled away now, his gaze dark and full of lust. He watched your every move and reaction. The redness of your cheeks, the tilt of your head to the side avoiding his eyes, the gloss of your eyes from the alcohol… wait, was this a tear?

How easy this was! His smirk only grew as he returned to your other nipple, hard and sensitive.

Before long, you snaked your hand down south, your clit throbbing for attention. However, he had other plans. He intercepted your wrist, pining it next to your head without a word. His teeth grazed your nipple, a silent warning that made you whine with need.

Nonetheless, he eventually let go of your arm, although you didn’t dare move it this time. He brought both of his hands on your hips, pinning them in place as he continued downwards.

Your impatience was becoming more and more evident as he took his time, not letting a single inch of your skin go without proper attention.

Your hand snaked down once again, this time settling in his hair as he placed himself between your thighs. His hands lifted your dress to your waist and spread you out, letting him take a proper look at your panty.

"Lingerie?" he raised a brow. "Clearly, you knew where this was going, sweetheart."

"Ngh— you know we—," you were unable to finish your sentence as his mouth was on you, your jaw dropping open with pleasure. Your hand tightened in his hair, tugging in a way that had his eyes rolling back.

He mouthed at you through your underwear just as he had done with your nipples, the sensation muted, yet oh so perfect.

His tongue lapped at the material, collecting your juices that had completely drenched it. He groaned as the taste hit him, his pleasure evident on his features.

Impatience did get the better of him, as his hand trailed down to move the material to the side, just enough for him to tease your entrance with his tongue.

The feeling was divine, your whole body jolting in reaction. Yet, he simply pushed down harder on your stomach, pinning you in place, a growl escaping him, "don't run, give me everything."

The knot in your stomach tightened at his unusually deep voice. It was so attractive you just couldn't help it, your body reacting before your mind could catch up.

As his tongue travelled up to your clit, flicking it a few times, your moans became louder and louder, pushing him down into you, his groans soon following.

A finger circled your entrance, the contact unexpected, yet still enough to push you closer to the edge. He took your clit in his mouth, sucking it in tandem, and you couldn't hold back anymore.

"I- I- 'm coming!" you moaned, struggling to get the sentence out.

"Oh yeah?" he could only ask with a smirk before his gaze darkened and he plunged two of his fingers through your mess, straight to that spot in your gummy wall that made your eyes roll back. "Cum."

And you did.

It was powerful and all-consuming, a feeling like never before. Your back arched and your lips parted around a moan so loud you slapped your hand over your mouth, only for it to be removed.

"No, no, let me hear you, make those pretty sounds for me," he cooed.

His fingers kept pumping, helping you ride through your high, until you came back down, panting and spent.

You closed your eyes, only to open them as the fingers splitting you in two were removed, leaving you clenching around nothing.

You whined, not lucid enough to speak words. The boy above you simply shushed you as he pulled down his pants, revealing his boxers, a pretty little stain adorning them.

"You… you came?" you asked in disbelief. Sure, your boyfriend enjoyed your pleasure, yet he had never came untouched solely from giving you head.

The boy simply raised a brow at you, his voice teasing, "yeah, what about it?"

Without leaving you time to answer, he braced both hands on the bed next to your head and your heartbeat quickened with anticipation, heat pooling low in your abdomen once again.

Yet, you were quickly disappointed as he reached behind you to fish out a condom.

You pouted at the view of it, tugging him closer with your hands on his neck. He let you kiss him and you murmured against his lips, "No condom baby, you know I'm on the pill."

Fuck.

That was more than he could handle. He kissed you again, one hand braced on his bed, as the other held your jaw.

His hand travelled down, slipping in his boxers to pump his cock a few times, spreading the remnant of his cum on his entire length.

His lips stayed on yours as he finally discarded his boxers, rubbing his dick along your folds, letting it catch on your lingerie, the sensation making the both of you moan into the kiss before lining himself up with your entrance.

He pushed the tip in, the fullness of the sensation immediate. He let go of his cock after squeezing the base a few times for good measure, now pressing down on your clit and circling it a few times.

His hand then trailed up along your stomach stopping midway.

"So, I get to cum rightttttttt here?" his words slurred in his dazed state.

You were not much better, nodding fervently, babbling words through pants, "y-yes, yeah—always—right there, d-don't stop."

God, you were oh so perfect, it almost felt blasphemous. He was going to absolutely ruin you.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

The two lines stared at you, mocking you. You willed them to go away, like this might all be just an awful nightmare. A sick part of your imagination that had taken over your subconscious mind.

The universe sure had a twisted sense of humour.

With a sigh, you resigned yourself to your fate, leaving the pregnancy test next to the three others on your bathroom counter. All positive, the truth now undeniable.

And perhaps, if it came at a better time, you could have almost been happy. Sure, you were young, maybe too young, but you at least could've hoped for a blessing in disguise. But now? Now, it didn't feel like a blessing.

You had barely talked to your boyfriend. Or rather, he had barely talked to you, ignoring your sad attempts at reconnecting. You couldn't exactly blame him, even you could easily see that you were in the wrong.

But he deserved to know. Or, at least, you wanted to tell him, to beg him to care just a little bit. If not for your sake, then for your baby's. If it was even his.

So, you reached for you phone with shaky fingers. As you opened your chat with him, you winced seeing the last pathetic attempts of starting a conversation that fell flat on its face. Only the read notification was left, staring you in the eye, almost daring you to send another text.

Nonetheless, you wrote your message.

You : i'm pregnant

That would certainly get his attention but there must be a gentler way of letting him know.

You : hello, do you have time tomorrow

Who were you? His employer? No, that didn't work either.

You : what's up

Nope. He was your boyfriend, not your sneaky link. If he had already ignored every message under the sun asking for news, this one would certainly go unanswered too.

You : hey we should talk

Mmmh… it could work.

Perhaps a little harsh but it was undeniable that at the rate things were going, you were long overdue for a conversation. Although Sato had asked you for time to think, you couldn't simply go on ignoring the problem.

There wasn't much left to do now. Just praying and hoping that your dear boyfriend—was he still your boyfriend?—would answer your text.

Now that you were sitting in front of the dear boyfriend in question, you wished he hadn't answered your text.

His response had been dry, but it was a response nonetheless. Beggars can't be choosers, as they say.

You had quickly set up a little meeting in your favourite coffee shop, the one that had been a staple for your entire relationship. The thought of every coffee date and desperate caffeine-induced study night would have made you smile if not for the gnawing feeling in your stomach in fear of the conversation ahead.

Sato's gaze seemed indifferent, but the years you had spent by his side told you there was more hiding behind it. It was the same look he always got when he was stressed about exams or reports, the one where he tried to hide the turmoil of his mind behind practised expressions. Said turmoil was unfortunately harder to decipher and you were left guessing his thoughts.

It had been a while now that the both of you were just staring into each other's eyes. You had arrived first, your nerves leaving you restless. You had ordered, something soothing in the foolish hope that it would help. He had arrived shortly afterwards, also early. Perhaps, it was a good sign, maybe he too wanted to see you. He had taken his usual black coffee before taking his place across from you.

Both lost in thoughts, the silence had taken place instead between you. But not your usual understanding silence, the one that came from years of comfort by each other's side when you worked or even when you rested. No, this time the atmosphere was heavy in a way it hadn't been in a long time. God, you didn't think it had ever been so bad, even the awkward first date silence was better than this.

"So, you wanted to talk," stated Sato, voice cold. His tone made the unease worse, you could feel the chills crawling up your back.

"Y- yeah, I think we should talk." The silence fell once more, Sato waiting for you to elaborate.

Before you could stop yourself, you blurted out, "I'm pregnant!"

You snapped your eyes shut, head hung low in shame. So much for being gentle.

"W-what do you mean," stuttered Sato. "Pregnant? That can't be. I-I mean it can, but it's very unlikely. With you being on the pill and all, the chances are quite low."

He was rambling now and in your panic-induced state, you could hardly stop him. His nervous ticks were coming back, the way he adjusted his glasses with the tip of his fingers and the dead skin he picked off near his nails.

"Last time you were ovulating we didn't even sleep together, you know, because of my exams and everything. And it's important to remember that stress most likely affects fertility and you know how I get before exams. I mean, it's not a proven fact or anything but there is some kind of consensus among scientists."

He was practically gasping for air at this point. His brain always returned to science in times of uncertainty like a lifeline in the middle of the ocean. It seemed to help him breathe in the tumult of life. You didn't have it in you to stop him.

"Well, we did sleep together that one time, but it's unlikely that you got pregnant from then, since you know…" he trailed off, embarrassment blocking the red of the thought. The slight red tint that now adorned his cheeks would have made you smile, but now was hardly the right time.

"Unless… I should redo my calculations, when was your last period again? And your average cycle length?" he asked.

By now, you were looking down in shame, unable to meet his eyes. You don't know whether he hadn't thought about it or whether he was ignoring the possibility entirely, too deep in the claws of denial.

He opened his mouth once more, but his voice faltered. "Toru…"

Your silence was answer enough for him, as he realized you had come to the same conclusion. When you talked again, your voice was low, unsure, "I'm sorry."

The three words barely began to cover the turmoil of emotions swirling in your mind and they certainly didn't help Sato, yet you couldn't help but speak them. You had no explanation, no justification. There was no excuse in this world that could make up for the hurt you had caused.

The moment hanged in the air, the world seemingly stilling just for the two of you.

"We'll probably never know who the father is," he stated after a pause. His voice was low, the hesitant tone making your heart break. "Since we're, you know, twins."

"What?" You had never thought of that possibility. Yes, currently, it's unsure, but eventually, right?

Sato's eyes were still avoiding yours. They were now fixed somewhere far beyond you, a deep hurt etched in them. Yet, weirdly enough, there was also acceptance in them. "It doesn't really matter, does it? Whether you have a kid with him or me, they'll be practically the same anyways."

The idea repelled you, and the fact he seemed so open to the possibility only made it all worse. "What do you mean, it's the same? No, it's not! Absolutely not!"

Your chest rose and fell quickly, your mouth hanged open, at a loss for word.

"Well, genetically, a baby of you and me, or him and you, would be the same," he explained, like that would make everything better. "Although it doesn't account for potential mutations that occur naturally over time."

"Oh how comforting! My boyfriend's baby will be mutated differently!" you spat, poison lacing you tone. The stress and unease from the last few days were really getting to you, not to mention your boyfriend’s questionable attempt at comforting you. You felt tears prickling behind your eyes but you pushed them away, refusing to break down. Not now. Not in front of him.

Sato seemed to startled at your sudden burst of anger. His hand reached out to yours before hesitating and dropping on the table. The unease that had seeped itself deep in your relationship was foreign to you both. Your lover in particular was clearly having a hard time navigating this new situation. When he spoke again, his voice was low yet sure, "As long as I get to raise them as my child, I will consider them my descendant in every way that matters."

His statement made you pause for a second. Despite searching, you couldn't find even an hint of doubt in his voice. His eyes, finally settled on yours for the first time today, were fixed, unmoving. You couldn't stop the hope bubbling in your gut, "So, you're saying you'll stay with me?"

"Yes, for as long as you'll have me," he answered without missing a beat. He sounded surprised… no, almost offended you even had to ask. The way he was so sure, so ready to choose you and your baby despite everything made you smile softly. Perhaps, the two of you could have a peaceful life together.

"Shouldn't we tell your brother?"

Well, there goes your shot at a peaceful life.

Your mouth went faster than your brain, the moment breaking in pieces before could even begin to bloom. God, you idiot.

"What? No," his tone left no room for discussion, yet now that the elephant had been addressed, you could hardly stop your train of thought.

"Doesn't he have the right to know? The chances that he is the father are pretty high, we can't just keep it a secret from him. He'll realise at some point anyway when I start showing."

Sato crossed his arms, looking unimpressed with your empathy. "He's dumber than you give him credit for."

Something in the way he was looking at you, his lower lip spiting out in a small pout, a bad habit he had never shaken off, made you laugh. A small giggle escaped you, and before long it had transformed into a loud bout of laughter.

The boy in front of you could only frown on confusion, your laugh not being what he had expected.

"I'm sorry," you tried to explain through your now unstoppable laughter. "I didn’t mean to laugh."

Despite himself, Sato couldn't help himself, your laughter contagious. Perhaps it was the stress, now replaced by relief, that had brought this wave over the both of you.

Your complicity was once again shining through, years by each other's sides unable to be erased. Maybe it would truly be all right.

"So you come here often?"

"Yes, Gojo. It's my class," you asshole, you almost added. "You'd know if you'd actually come to class for once."

"Oh feisty toady, are we? Well since you're in this class, I'm sure my attendance will increase," he flirted, throwing a wink your way.

You looked back down to your paper, not willing to dignify his blatant disrespect of your relationship with an answer.

"Sooo, are you going to remove your bag so I can sit down?"

You finally looked up at him, one eyebrow raised in question. "Mmmh, no, I don't think I will."

"How cruel, you're breaking my heart over here," he chuckled, a hand placed dramatically on his chest. With no reaction from you, he took your bag, placing it on the floor before taking the seat next to you.

"Come on, we should help each other. I heard a certain little boyfriend of yours stopped talking to you. You should really take the opportunity to upgrade, if you know what I mean," he smiled, gesturing at himself.

Your deadpan stare should have told him all he needed to know, yet he didn’t flinch. Whether he was ignoring the fact or just downright stupid was a mystery to you. Although you would probably go for the latter.

Did he really think reminding you of your failing relationship would help his case? Because it did not. It only made you want to punch him in the face, more than you already did.

"Come on baby," he drawled, "just admit you enjoyed it. Fucked you better than that nerd ever could. Nothin' to be mad about."

God, he could be such an ass. It only made you want to wipe the smirk off of his face, yet before you could retort anything you stopped yourself. You were falling right into his trap. It was attention he wanted, wasn't it? And here you were giving it to him right now.

So, you simply turned your head down, doing your best to stay focused on your work. Perhaps, if you ignored him hard enough, he'd take the hint and leave.

Actually, it turns out your dear boyfriend's twin could be quite persistent when he wanted to.

"Here you go," he announced in place of a greeting. Your usual order from the bakery near campus sat in front of you, ever so slightly warm. It was there, just sitting so perfectly on a carefully folded napkin, your mouth already watering at its sight.

Toru had clearly noticed the sparkle in your eyes as you noticed the pastry, for he only chuckled, "Just eat it, I didn't poison it, I swear. Scout's honour!"

The idiot wasn't even a Scout, the little gesture accompanying his words only rendered ridiculous with that knowledge. Yet, you couldn't help the little twitch of your lips at his nonsense. Maybe, he wasn't nearly as bad as you made him out to be.

Wait, no? What were you thinking? He was the reason for all your troubles right now. You could hardly afford the empathy his good actions were bringing out in you.

Nonetheless, you took the pastry. After all, it was already paid for, it would be a waste not to eat it. Toru didn't even like pastries, as he had told you the first time you had tried to refuse his gesture.

You turned back to the lesson, but the boy seated next to you did not.

His gaze, constantly fixed on you, quickly became a distraction you could never quite shake off. Each time you turned your head, he offered you a smile. Not teasing, not brash, not loud in the way only he knows how to be loud, just honest.

It always made something tingle in your heart.

So you always turned back to the lesson, telling yourself it was just because his smile reminded you of your lover's. That soft smile he gave you when you actually got the problem right. The one right before he starts to eat something sweet.

But perhaps it was his dimples or the shape of his smile that reminds you that their smiles are not all that similar. And maybe, just maybe, it is his smile that you find cute.

However you swore you wouldn't let him get any closer. You had to keep your guard up. You owed it to Sato and you owed it to yourself. It would only bring you harm to let someone like him make himself at home in your carefully crafted bubble of a personal life. Right?

"Hi."

"Fuck off."

As the door slammed in his face, Toru was quick to slip his foot through the entrance, leaving himself a small opening. He hadn't exactly expected a warm welcome—hadn't deserved it—but this was a bit extreme. "Come on, can you at least let me in? Please?"

Sato's face stayed indifferent, but the cracks in his face were visible to his one and only twin brother. It had once been a sign of their complicity, but seeing it now, Toru could hardly ignore the pang in his chest.

When he spoke again, his voice was lower, serious in a way it never is. "We should talk."

Hesitation flickered across Sato's features. After a moment that felt like eternity, he finally opened the door and stepped aside, letting his twin in.

Sato's dorm was small yet personal, a glimpse into his life. The decoration was simple, pictures hanged on the wall and mismatched trinkets carefully placed on the shelves. Faces he did not recognise, gifts he hadn't seen offered, a scent he couldn't quite place.

Toru had always thought life had a way of making things happen, but perhaps that wasn't quite true. Maybe he just hadn't noticed what didn't happen—didn't pay attention.

"Here you go, coffee. I already added sugar," stated Sato plainly, his voice bringing his brother back to earth.

The latter took the cup, careful not to spill anything like it would break the sanctity of the room holding the fragile moment in its hands.

He took a sip, trying his best to ignore the way the man in front of him was staring a hole through his brain. As he finally put the cup back down, he decided against making an attempt at small talk. His brother's crossed arms and deadpan expression only confirmed that choice.

"So, you don't talk to her anymore?"

Sato didn't flinch, clearly expecting the topic to be brought up. "We talk."

That almost made him laugh, "No, you don't. With the way she desperately picks her phone up every time it rings and looks so disappointed afterwards, anyone can tell."

Sato's frown deepened, his lips parting once. Then twice, but nothing came out. Eventually, he scoffed, "Not your business."

Not denying it. Simply, deflecting.

If the years by his brother's side taught Toru anything, it was that this was weird.

Sato did not deflect. He had a carefully planned answer for everything that came his way, a precise explanation for his every action.

Toru weighed his options deliberately. He could help you make up with your boyfriend. He could also take you for himself. A damsel in distress, abandoned by her prince charming. Surely, another prince charming could take his place.

Now, if he played his cards right, all would go according to plan. He just had to nudge his brother in the right direction.

The silence stretched, the two boys thinking over their own actions. It was never sign of good news, the stillness unnatural.

Just as Toru was ready to make his move, like a feline pouncing on his prey, the doorbell rang. The moment broke, destroyed by the world that kept spinning around them.

"I'll go get it."

Toru was left alone once again and continued his discovery of the room. The desk sitting on the corner of the room stole his attention. The stack of papers was overflowing, threatening to fall.

At his feet, crumpled papers filled with messy handwriting hid the floor boards. He picked one up, opening it to find complex calculations in every direction. He was almost tempted to pocket it and sell it. Surely, there had to be some kind of great discovery among one of those discarded sheets.

He picked up another one, unfolding it to find text this time. Perhaps, the English class he took for extra credit on his degree. But, taking a look closer, it became clear this was no essay. The words in front of eyes seemed to blur, yet something clicked in his mind.

Suddenly, it all made sense.

Your awkwardness. The cold between you and Sato. His distance. The harshness of your words.

A baby.

Of course, the timeline matched perfectly. One drunk night, no condom, and an unlikely pregnancy.

The gears started turning in his head. This was a great opportunity. He would not let it go.

He carefully folded the paper and tucked it into his pocket, before taking his place on the chair as if nothing had happened. He put down his hands on his lap, willing them to stop shaking.

Before long, Sato came back, mumbling something about that 'idiot delivery guy'. He sat down too before continuing the previous conversation, "you were about to say?"

"Oh, I don't remember. It must not have been important," he stated, the lie obvious, yet Sato couldn't bring himself to call it out.

After all, his brother was the one who came to him, if he suddenly didn't want to talk anymore, well who was he to complain?

By then, it didn't take long for the boys to make up excuses of things to do and go back to avoiding each other. It had long become second nature.

Toru wasn't dumb.

Or, at least, that's what he's trying to make himself believe.

Yet, no matter how many times he repeated it to himself, he wished he could take some of his brother's neurons. Just a few, it would surely get him far.

After finding out about your pregnancy, he had spent his days and nights trying to figure out the best course of action. He had to be careful, he couldn't just say anything.

Clearly, the 'be yourself' route had not worked that great, if the glares you threw at him were anything to go by.

Well, it was time for a new approach.

"I think we should talk."

Your surprise was evident on your face. The amount of times you had heard that phrase the last few weeks was terrifying to say the least. Words seemed to escape you, so you stayed silent, waiting for Toru to elaborate.

"I would like to step up as the father of our kid," he stated, like it was normal. Like this was just another Tuesday.

You choked on air, the sentence more than you could manage. You had enough issues as it was, you didn't need your boyfriend's idiot twin brother to get involved too.

"No."

"You're not allowed to refuse me. I did my research," he retorted without missing a beat.

"Stop fucking shouting," you hissed, "we're in the middle of the classroom, you dumbass."

Tugging his sleeve, you marched out of the classroom, Toru following closely behind.

He was dumbfounded at your reaction. He hadn't expected an enthusiastic yes, but this was a little harsh. Was it so really so bad to have him be a father to his child?

Entering an empty classroom, you slammed the door behind him before turning to him, hands on your hips.

"Listen to me very carefully, because I'm not repeating myself," you started, making Toru gulp in fear.

"I can barely get Sato to talk to me and you think you can just waltz in here, like it was your birth right. Well guess what? It's not. You're not my boyfriend, you're not even a friend, you're just the weird guy that slept with his brother's girlfriend when she was drunk," the words landed hard. But you were not done yet. "You're lucky I didn't claim it was rape. I could have. It was rape. But I didn't. You know why? Because Sato asked me not to."

The silence was deafening.

For the first time in his life, Toru didn't know what to say.

Your hatred seemed to run much deeper than he had expected. One sentence had been enough to set off the ticking time bomb that was your heart.

And Sato… had protected him? Toru couldn't understand for the life of him why.

You were heaving, chest moving up and down as your breath was shallow with anger. You stared at him for a few more seconds before turning on your heels and stomping off.

He was left alone with his thoughts, a sudden fear taking hold of him.

You were right, it was rape. You were intoxicated. You called Sato's name multiple times. You could get the police involved.

Why had he never thought of that?

Why had that thought never even crossed his mind?

Tears started to fall before he could even notice them, something deep in his heart breaking. Had he crossed the line? Was there no coming back from that point?

Sure, he had done a lot of shit in his life, but never to that point. What could he even do now? How do you apologize for such an error?

It seemed he still had much to atone for.

The next week, morning sickness hit you like a truck. Actually, twenty of them.

And then there was midday sickness. And evening sickness.

To sum it up, you were always sick, always throwing up, and going out was absolutely out of the question.

Before long, you had become a recluse, just a few of your closest friends being allowed to visit you in any capacity. Mostly to bring you food or your special cravings. But nonetheless, you did your best to study for school while trying to shove down anything that wouldn't get back out where it came from.

Juggling it all felt impossible but there weren't many other options.

The outside world quickly heard of your sudden disappearance. In particular, one idiot named Toru Gojo.

To say he felt worried would be an understatement. Right after taking the great resolution of leaving you alone, you suddenly stopped showing up at school. One day, and then another, and another.

It didn't take that many days for him to seriously freak out. Who leaves a pregnant lady in distress all alone in her home? But what could he even do, surely you would slam the door in his face. Maybe slap him too if you had time.

So he did the next logical thing.

"Hi."

"Fuck off."

This felt like déjà vu.

"Listen, I know you don't want to hear me out, but please do. Your girlfriend, you know the pregnant one, she hasn't come to school in a week, and I'm kinda worried about her but I don't think I should go see her. She scares me a little bit," he explained as he watched his brother's face slowly fall.

"Wait, wait, wait, what do you mean? She's sick? And how do you even know she's pregnant? Wait no, that's no important right now, I'll go see her," he exclaimed, running around wildly to find his shoes and a jacket. He closed the door and added with a sharp glare, "You better not follow me."

In a record time, he showed up at your doorstep.

"Hey, are you okay?"

You were baffled as your boyfriend—who you hadn't seen in literal weeks—was standing in front of you, seeming very out of breath. "Are you okay? You sound like you're dying."

"I— I'm fine," he panted, "it's you."

"I'm okay," you simply replied, unsure how to feel about the whole situation. "Why are you here?"

Your voice was neutral, nothing like the cheery tone you usually used with him. It made him flinch and he looked down, searching for the words that would best convoy his thoughts. "I was worried."

His voice was so soft it made something break in you. You slipped aside, letting him come in without a word. You were soon sitting on your coach, the atmosphere tense.

"I fucked up. I'm sorry," he started, finally breaking the slowly thickening silence. "I have no excuse, I wanted to be a great father, perfect in all my duties and I didn't realise you just needed someone to be there for you."

His eyes didn't raise once, his fingers fiddling with the strings of his hoodie. Eventually, as the silence lengthened, he did raise his gaze, only to find you already looking at him, a small smile on your lips. Hope bubbled in his stomach at your expression. Perhaps he hadn't fucked up too badly.

"I'm very happy you came to that conclusion all on your own, but I must say; for such a genius, you can be the greatest idiot sometimes," despite the complaint, Sato felt relief flooding through him and he threw himself at you, tackling you in a hug.

"Thank you so much, baby. You have no idea how much this means to me," he laughed, peppering kisses on any bit of skin that was within reach. "Next time I'm being such an idiot please slap me across the face."

You continued to chat, finally catching up after weeks of distance, both of you clearing missing the mundane life that had been disturbed.

Eventually, the night fell outside, living you to go back to your old habits.

"You're sleeping over, right?"

"Oh, right, yes! I should just go get some stuff back at my place, I'll be right back."

And now, you knew your boyfriend was quite peculiar about his stuff. He wasn't exactly a light packer, he just couldn't help himself. Nonetheless, you hadn't expected 'some stuff' to also include an enormous whiteboard with a five year plan for your baby.

"I just wanted to be ready," he explained clumsily as he tried to hide the board with his body. Unfortunately for him, it was far from a success, the board being much too big for that. He could feel like your gaze looking over every detail, a smile slowly growing on your face.

"Well, since we're here, you can explain it all to me," you eventually said, Sato getting five shades redder at your words. He didn't seem quite ready to admit that the weeks you had spent apart had not spared him of thoughts of you.

He did reluctantly move aside, letting you get the full view of the board, before beginning his presentation. The amount of research he must have done to reach such a point scared you, but nonetheless you were grateful to have him by your side.

It was you, him and his science against the world.

And maybe, just maybe you would be just fine.

Unless… "Why is it written 'paternity test' in the corner? I thought we wouldn't be able to know anyways?"

"Well… there are some tests that can tell the difference but they're very rare. Fortunately, I have a friend who's doing his research in Philadelphia about this topic so he was happy to have a test subject. I sent him some of our DNA. I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but I figured you wouldn't want to hear about me," he said sheepishly, rubbing his nape.

Your brows furrowed, considering this news. You had almost resigned yourself to never knowing who the biological father would be. Some part of you even thought it would be better not to know. That way, you don't know that it's Toru, you can always say that there's at least a chance the baby is Sato's.

Yet, the other part really wanted to know.

"We'll raise the child together no matter who the father is, though!" he rushed to reassure you, your lack of a reaction seeming to trouble him. "I don't plan on taking back that promise."

"Then, maybe we can do it. I think we're strong."

"Yes. Together."

"Together."

Somewhere in a lab in Philadelphia :

RESEARCH TWINS FATHER XVI : TEST 034

FATHER : TORU GOJO

oddarling — all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, or feed to ai.

He sat next to you, torso turned to face you while softly holding your hands in his with practiced familiarity. His voice was soft, dripping with affection but you couldn't seem to make out the words like an old song you've forgotten the lyrics to. Nostalgia took hold of you anyways, the warm feeling gently wrapping around your heart.

The scenery was the same. A park, one you didn't recall ever visiting but in that dream, it always started there. A wooden bench, your arms stretched out towards him, his fingers just barely holding yours. More than anything else, his clothes surprised you. He wore a coat and frocks, his neck adorned with a cravat. And your own weren’t much better. Why were you stuck in the eighteenth century?

You looked around for a second before it started to fade away like a mirage in the middle of the desert. You closed your eyes at the uncomfortable sensation, already picturing the next scene.

A small table in the corner of an almost empty restaurant, in the eighties this time. The menu was sprawled out in front of you, dishes presented in a language you didn't understand nor recognise. You opened your eyes and looked up, the man still right in front of you, a patient smile still dancing on his lips. His long silky hair cascaded down his shoulder, the very picture of poise.

You opened your mouth and you wanted to scream, to cry, to demand an explanation—anything, but the image of the man didn't waver. You've tried it before but your shouts didn't seem to ever reach him. Instead he slowly tilted his head to the side, a soft laugh leaving his lips like this was normal. Like you'd just made a funny joke.

But before you had time to ponder on the how and the why, the restaurant dissolved, this time replaced by the familiar shape of a landscape you know quite well—your hometown.

You're walking hand in hand on the large road leading to your house, isolated from the rest of the village. You couldn't help but look back at the familiar scene, the patient man by your side slowing to match your pace.

After a few beats passed, he softly tugged your hand to bring you with him up to the door. You turned back to him and realised he was talking to you once again. The words were still a blur but somewhere in the depths of your heart, you're sure you've heard them before, whatever they may be. You felt yourself starting to smile like an automated response ingrained deep in your brain and immediately stopped yourself. After all that man was a stranger, wasn't he?

Yet, when he opened the door and two kids that weirdly resembled yourself as a child jump up to him, you're not so sure he's a stranger anymore. He welcomed them with open arms and the sight warmed your heart despite your unease.

The two kids reached out to you and you brace yourself for the feeling of their hands, yet it never came. Instead, you woke up, still lying in the same spot you did when you fell asleep last night. The dream had never went that far, it usually ended before the door opened and it left you confused. Was this just another piece of your imagination? A twisted part of your brain that wondered if that man was really someone to you?

Perhaps he was, once upon a time. But how can one ever know? Past lives, that’s bullshit, right? So when had you met this man? Was he simply a random civilian passing you in the streets, whose looks had struck you and your imagination had just ran with it, picturing him everywhere you could think of?

Were you insane? Because at the rate that these dreams were coming, it sure at hell seemed like it. Your head started throbbing at the idea, yet you couldn’t put it aside, it was far too likely for your taste. But insane or not, you had a rent to pay, as your alarm clock very rudely reminded you.

With a sigh that could surely rival that of a man who had lived for thousands of years, you forced yourself to go and get ready for the day ahead. It was all a sad and lifeless routine, repeated over and over again, until your brain barely even registered it. Before long, you were standing at the bus stop, waiting silently despite not being able to recall anything you did that morning. None of it had ever mattered after all.

The bus finally arrived and you stood up, waving to the bus driver to signal your presence. It slid over and as the doors opened, letting a flood of people out, someone bumped into you. Not a slight bump that might make you smile politely at the mumbled apology that would surely follow, no, a full body slam that sent you waltzing for a few meters.

Oh, great. Just what you needed.

You had resigned yourself to your fate. A powerful meeting with the concrete, nothing too broken if you were lucky but a few scratches for sure. Hopefully, you’d still get to work on time.

Yet, it never came. Instead two strong arms caught you, although you weren't sure whose. No one was there at the bus stop with you, so who just appeared out of thin air to prevent your fall like a guardian angel?

You turned around to find a beautiful man, absolutely gorgeous with long ebony hair and piercing eyes that flickered for a second with a weird expression like they were searching deep in your soul. You scrambled to find your words and thank him, still in a trance, but he didn't give you time, instead straightening you up and walking away without so much as a look back.

You were left frozen on the side of the street, unable to process anything that had happened even as the bus' doors beeped loudly before closing with a strong noise. By the time your brain caught up, your bus was long gone.

You now had a throbbing migraine and were bus-less, pride-less, and possibly job-less depending on your boss' mood. Just great.

That night, the dream didn't come back.

You could imagine all of the scenery, the picture forever burned in your mind. They were so clear, a stark contrast to the cloud of confusion that surrounded it all.

You woke up groggy and lightheaded, already dreading the day ahead. Nonetheless, your alarm rang loudly and you didn't give yourself time to even contemplate staying in bed for just five more minutes. You were soon following your now mindless routine of preparations, and before long, you were sitting at the bus stop.

You usually stayed standing, after all, you had the entire day to sit behind a desk. But you felt more and more lightheaded and didn't want to tempt the devil. Another pathetic fall to the ground was not in your plans that morning. Who knew whether prince charming would show up this time?

As you were ruminating on the handsome gentleman that had come to your rescue—sure you couldn't remember his face or any of his features, but you just had a feeling he would be absolutely gorgeous—, the bus honked loudly and you startled. You hurried up, praying you wouldn't be late this time.

Oh well, that's corporate life for you, dreaming about a good-looking guy saving your life while looking at a bunch of grids all day long in an ice cold office. He didn't even have to be that handsome, anyone would do at this point, albeit ideally rich.

That night, the dream didn't come. Neither did it the day after and not again for almost a week.

It should probably worry you, but it was Friday and you promised your friends that "no worldly problem would cloud your mind, tonight." So, you only focused on the important things. Hot guys and margaritas.

After all, why else would you go to the club? Although the "hot" part wasn't always there, there definitely were guys… but that's not here nor there.

You were hyped up, feeling yourself after almost 30 minutes of looking at your wardrobe in despair, 45 minutes of your friends invading your apartment to convince you to finally wear that backless dress and another 40 minutes of make-up among shared laughter and just a little bit of alcohol.

A few hours later, you were slumped across the bar, half-sitting on a stool, half-holding up by some unknown miracle. Judy, your new found bartender friend seemed quite worried to leave you and your friends. But seeing her coworker seemed to put her mind at ease.

She smiled and simply assured you that you were in good hands. The man walked over with a soft, practised smile that convinced you, you were in fact in good hands.

The new bartender quickly got to work, making polite small-talk as he went. His movements were smooth, graceful as he flowed through practised motions, or perhaps it was your alcohol-induced state that had rendered your brain too slow for the chaos around. But who cared? That was the point, wasn't it? To get wasted beyond reason.

So when your friend extended her hand to drag you on the dance floor, you didn't hesitate. You simply sent a small smile to the charming bartender to end your conversation before turning to your friend, ready to make some more questionable decisions.

The rest of the night passed as it always did, somewhere between flashing lights, yelled conversations, and getting even more alcohol into your system. You knew you wouldn't remember much the next day anyway, just bits and pieces through your throbbing headache.

But when the morning came, you remembered far more. Most specifically, a dream. The dream.

Always the same.

First the park. The man held your hands just as softly as he did every other time. He still talked to you like he was afraid you'll break in half if he dared to be any harsher. You tried to fight the nostalgia which you had no explanation for. Nonetheless, your heart warmed and calmed down from your panic into a slow, rhythmic thudding.

Then, the restaurant. The man was still smiling and you looked around. Surely there had to be other people, it was a restaurant for fuck's sake! But nothing. Not a customer, nor a server. Despite your better judgement and the many other times you had already tried to, you shouted. The man in front of you didn't flinch, you weren't even sure he was alive. Yet, when you calmed down, you could hear his soft breathing that confirmed that the scene was not simply a picture, an isolated moment your twisted mind came up with.

Lastly, your hometown. When you looked at the man, he was already looking at you. Your gaze dropped down to your intertwined hands and you let go of his as if it might burn you. That might make the man stop smiling, finally, but you're not sure you want to check that theory. Instead you simply turned around and ran. The thoughts in your head were spiralling, going 100 miles per hour like you might find an escape to what you were sure was a dream but everything simply faded to black and you woke up in a cold sweat.

You panted like you actually were the one running away from the dream, now sitting up in your bed drenched in sweat.

For the rest of the day—that you were supposed to spend relaxing—, the dream plagued your mind. What kind of sick and twisted person do you have to be to imagine having children with a stranger? A stranger that looked an awful lot like your insanely hot new bartender?

The more you thought about it, the more undeniable it became. While both of the men's features were somewhat blurry in your mind, whether it was from the alcohol or from the dream, there was an unmistakable air to them—or, should you say him? The resemblance was definitely there, yet you couldn't explain it logically. After all, you couldn't recall either of their faces, who were you to say they were the same person.

The next day, it was the same all over again. Although you had a dreamless night, the pounding headache didn't leave you for one second. Not exactly the restful weekend you had planned but it would have to do, migraines had become your long time friend—or, more accurately, that weird acquaintance that won't ever leave you alone.

On Monday, however, you saw the new bartender again, and God was he fine. This time, with no alcohol in your system and no dream clouding your mind, you could study his features. But, his beautifully purple eyes soon caught your gaze, making you look away in embarrassment. Pink dusted your cheek as you remembered your place. This was a bus stop. You were just getting on the bus. He was getting off.

The moment was over as soon as it came, but your thoughts were still on him, stuck in that five seconds interaction. His eyes were profound, leaving you to wonder what kind of life does one live to reach such a level of depth. They seemed to hold the answer to every question you had ever formed deep in your mind, if you just stared at them long enough. Perhaps, they were more akin to a siren song, impossibly charming and undeniably tempting.

Tuesday soon came, and with it, a new meeting with the mysterious man. Although you had hoped to cross his path again, he had a way of surprising you with his presence, rendering you unable to do anything but get lost in his eyes. He looked over at you and you considered changing identity or, at least, moving countries.

He was long gone when you came back out of your trance, your thoughts bringing you to another multitude of questions. What was he doing here? Did he have night shifts every day at the bar? Was he leaving work as you went to work? Does that imply he lived near your place? Why did that notion make your heart jump this way? Are you sick? Is there something wrong with you? Well, you had the answer to that one. Yes. The more important part was, what?

On Wednesday, you gave yourself a pep talk in the mirror, ready to take over the world. And by taking over the world, you mean, not look into the stranger's eyes like it would bring you salvation.

Once again, your meeting was quick, but you did manage to avoid his eyes. You now, however, had another problem. His lips. More specifically, the picture of his lips burned deep in your mind, one you would be sure to recall late at night, deep in the privacy of your own bed.

Thursday only came with disappointment. You didn't get your daily dose of handsome man in the morning, and your mood was soured. Perhaps, you should be worried about the fact that this man's presence—or, lack of in this case—could impact you so much. But the image of his lips took too much space in your brain. All you wanted was for him to, for the fourth time, coincidentally cross your path. Not in a creepy way.

That night, after only two hours of overthinking, you sent your friends a message.

You : going to the club tmr?

To which you received multiple enthusiastic responses, mostly mentioning alcohol and letting loose. You agreed, reacting with hearts and gifs, although you knew you didn't exactly have the same motivations. But they weren't mutually exclusive, you could still party and have fun. Striking up a conversation with the hot bartender was just a bonus.

Friday rolled around, and with it much anticipation. Would he be there at the bus stop? And more importantly, would he be there at the club?

To your delight, the answer to both questions were yes. He smiled at you that morning, a sly smile that immediately brought you back to your dream. Every passing second seemed to only bring confirmation that those two men were one and the same. Your heart threatened to spill out of your chest at the rate it was beating, the sound deafening.

Later that night, you arrived at the club, immediately going over to the bar and greeting the bartender. He seemed to have recognised you and, before long, conversation was flowing smoothly.

This time, you had avoided alcohol the entire evening like it would kill you. You needed to keep your head clear. You had a man to study, and a dream to figure out.

The bartender, whom you quickly learned was called Suguru, seemed oblivious to the intensity of your gaze, or at least was kind enough not to mention it. He was simply doing his job, entertaining customers, while simultaneously keeping up with your conversation. The way he was multitasking was distracting in a way it shouldn't be: your eyes kept drifting to his hands, hard at work on drinks and other party tricks. It didn't take long for your gaze to travel back up his forearms, thanking all of the gods out there for his rolled back sleeves. His muscles and veins were softly trembling with each of his movements, making you feel hot and bothered.

"So, no backless dress today?" His voice brought you back to the real world, and you looked away, ashamed of your blatant staring. Although, if his comment was anything to go by, he had also been paying attention to you.

"Oh, no, I just wanted to wear something more… comfortable." In truth, you had gotten self-conscious at the idea that he would be there, your own thoughts quickly becoming your worst enemy. You hadn't given yourself time to ponder, simply choosing your go-to outfit for nights out. It had always worked fine at getting you free drinks in bars, why change a winning strategy?

He didn't seem entirely convinced of your answer but you didn't give him enough time to retort something clever, opting to tease him instead, "You were looking at my clothes? That's not very professional of you."

Your teasing didn't phase him in the least, quite the opposite: he simply cocked a brow and teased you back, "Hard not to, when it looks like it was tailored for you."

You ended up being the one flustered, a little too much for your liking. You quickly redirected the conversation, making sure not to give him the opportunity to flirt even more. Your futile hope of keeping the upper hand was quickly destroyed, along with your dignity apparently as your face was now a permanent shade of red. Perhaps, you could blame the heat, but your stuttering gave you away.

Suguru was most amused with the way the conversation was turning out. He could effortlessly return tenfold any attention or teasing you gave him, and your reaction? Well, that was just the cherry on top. He almost felt bad for the centuries of practise he'd had, over the course of life-times spent learning how to best fluster you.

It had been easy for him to recognise you, the mole on your back unmistakable. Really he should be thanking you for wearing that beautiful gown, the mole on full display. He had done so hundreds of times, always finding his way back to you, yet when it came to actually confronting you about it, well that was another story. How do you even go up to someone and just casually drop that you're immortal and they're your re-incarnated lover without sounding like a creep?

The right time would surely come. As an immortal being, he was hardly pressed for time. There had already been lifetimes where you had missed each other, where he had been unable to find you. He was instead stuck wandering the world. There were also lifetimes where he had met you late in your life, sometimes already in a retirement home. And every time, he would be careful not to spook you, carefully approaching much like one would approach a wild animal. So for now, he'd be content with just that.

The next week was a long one. At least, for Suguru.

Your quick meetings in the morning were little more than a bitter-sweet reminder of the distance between you two. While years of practice had taught him how to master the mask he now wore daily, he was still struggling not to give himself away. His heart rarely settled when you were in his vicinity: the knowledge that you were so close yet so far often sending it into a frenzy.

Getting to know over and over again was both a blessing and a curse. The honeymoon phase was always cute and heart-warming, but there was always an unmistakable pang in his chest when you would pull away, hiding the parts of you you didn't want to share yet.

However, Suguru knew better than to go against the natural order of things. And, so he bode his time. Asking questions he knew the answer to and bitting his tongue any time those three wretched words would threaten to spill.

Now that you had seen him, surely the dreams would soon follow, or perhaps, they already had. You would soon too realise the way both of your lives are intertwined, linked by the red string of fate. Only then, would you look at him again with that sparkle in your eyes, the one only he could bring out.

Another week passed, and then another, and another.

The dream never came back, and you never mentioned it. Especially not to Suguru, your now boyfriend.

He had asked you out quickly, to a restaurant that suited your tastes oh so perfectly. After which, you had taken a walk in the park, going to your favourites spot around before walking you back home. You'd dropped every hint known to man for him to put his lips on your own, but he had ended the night with a soft kiss to your forehead, and a promise of 'next time'.

Dates had followed each other, and at every occasion, Suguru had surprised you with the sweetest of things. From knowing you inside and out to planning romantic dates that always had you flustered, he was getting straight tens across the board.

Only a few months later did the dream come back.

When you fell asleep and woke up sitting on the bench, you were more confused than ever.

The initial panic washed over you, but you were quick to push it far away. At this point, the boredom was undeniable. Your brain had spent months turning over the problem in hopes of shedding light to what it meant and you had memorised it down to every small detail.

So you simply braced yourself. The park. The restaurant. The road that lead to your hometown. The house. The kids.

Except this time, it didn't stop there: no, at the end, the man turned to you and for the first time ever, you heard him speak words. Actual words that you could make out and understand.

"I'll come to you."

You woke up in a cold sweat, the panic coming back to you.

Was it a threat? A promise?

It was getting hard to tell now. But before you could ponder anymore on it, a sharp knock on your door brought you back. Hesitation and fear filled you, who would knock at— 3AM? Nonetheless, you walked over and looked through the peep hole to see… Suguru? You opened the door, unsure what to say.

"Who— who are you?" you finally managed to get out, stuttering in a way that would have surely embarrassed you, if you hadn't had bigger things to worry about.

Your question made the man smile, but something felt odd. His smile seemed sad, so unlike his usual sly one. For a second, his eyes seemed to turn sorrowful, before he quickly hid it. Instead, he extended his hand towards you, one you were hesitant to take. Despite your stalling, he kept it extended, like a silent offering.

"You say that every time, you know," he finally said, looking straight at you like he could decipher your soul and, for some reason, you believed he could. But before you could question him about what he meant, he lowered his voice to add,

"I really wish you wouldn't."

oddarling — all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, or feed to ai

You had first slept together while drunk, waking up the next morning with a pounding headache but an undeniable after glow. After that, one night had followed another and, before long, he had taken the seat next to you in class, had claimed for himself the leftovers in your fridge, had made your world his own like it was natural. Expected.

And you hadn't stopped him.

You hadn't dared. After all, the sex was amazing and you had found a weirdly sweet side to him.

The late nights spent together, the parties where you walked in hand in hand like nothing could stop you, the kisses shared between alcohol and smoke. Kisses that were much too gentle for someone such as him. Surely, no one would believe you if you told them about the hand on your cheek as he brought your mouth to his or the one on the wall behind you to protect your head after he had led you to his bed.

The big, bad Toji would never.

So, you kept your mouth shut.

You let the pictures in your phone go unposted, let the good night messages go unsent.

You let people gossip, about the size of his dick, the way he walks like it's heavy, about whether or not he eats pussy, about who he has fucked recently, and how good it must have been.

You let it all go over your head, headphones glued to your ears and thoughts already far away.

Perhaps, if you ignored them hard enough, it'd make the pain in your chest go away. Perhaps, you'd be able to stop responding every time he sent a halfhearted 'what's up' at two in the morning. Perhaps.

But for now, you'll stay stuck to your phone, the ringtone making your heartbeat spike as it goes off.

Most would call you a fool. You certainly felt like a fool, sitting around in your room, underwear just a little too pretty to call it a coincidence. The thought of him off at some frat party made you hope just a little bit more than usual that he'd come over.

It was stupid. Idiotic, really. He rarely ever came to you after a party, the people in attendance making sure to keep his attention for themselves. He felt far from you, his location off—for his parents, of course— and alcohol cursing through his veins.

He always got cocky when he drank too much, the liquid courage seemingly making him even more at ease. But there was also an unpredictable softness laced into his actions, a dangerous one.

It had been the cause of your downfall more than once.

Sweet nothings and whispered assurances amidst the chaos of the ongoing party, not ready to stop for anyone, especially not two idiots who were too afraid of feelings to do anything.

You closed your eyes, tears blurring your vision. For all the nights he had spent by your side, he was not yours, and wouldn't ever be, most likely.

Your ringtone pulled you out of your thoughts. Your heart began to beat wildly, the special sound you had picked for him resounding in your ears.

You looked at the time; 01:49.

Quite early for Toji to call it a night. Excitement was slowly replaced with fear, as you finally looked at the notification. But the smile that graced your face, wide like it hadn't been in a long time, showed unfiltered happiness that could only mean one thing.

The text, although riddled with drunk typos, was crystal clear in its intentions. He was coming over.

You could not answer fast enough, fingers shaking with excitement.

And, before long, the strong knock —if you could even call it a knock at that point— announced the boy's presence. You jumped around the house, energy bouncing off the wall despite the late hour. As you arrived in front of the door, you took a deep breath, doing your best to steady your heartbeat despite it all.

You opened the door, revealing Toji in quite the dishevelled state.

He could barely stand straight on his own, the wall being the only thing keeping him from the ground. His hair was a mess, his shirt drenched in sweat, his breath smelling of cheap alcohol. Yet, when he looked up at you, eyes shining bright—whether it was from the alcohol or the sight of you was still unclear, though you hoped for the latter— and a smile so boyish it made your heart ache.

You quickly reached to help him walk and he didn't hold back, dumping most of his weight on your poor back. He tended to lose a lot of his self-awareness when drunk, but surely this was a bit much. Did he intend to suffocate you?

You dragged him painfully over to your bed, dropping him as soon as you could to relieve your already aching muscles.

"God, you're so heavy," you complained, more to yourself than him.

Nonetheless, he answered, words slurred in his drunken state, "you don't complain when you're under me."

"You pervert!" you accused him, but it was all futile for he had a weird sense of pride in being called so. His smirk remained plastered on his face, not ready to move an inch.

"Come on, just get in here already," he drawled, arms wide open like it was your rightful place.

You didn't hesitate long before climbing in, his warmth just a little too inviting for your taste. Future you could deal with the consequences.

You breathed in his scent, your lungs filling with the smell that brought you comfort you could hardly find elsewhere. As his arms tightened around your figure, you let out a shaky breath that Toji would surely make fun of you for.

But instead, he simply brought down his head, letting his lips rest on the crown of your head. He didn't leave a kiss there, yet your heart jumped nonetheless.

You hoped he hadn't noticed anything, however, his amused little chuckle told you otherwise.

"How did you even get so drunk?" you asked, doing your best to change the subject.

"I played beer-pong with Sukuna."

Well, that explained a lot. If Toji was a tank in withstanding alcohol, Sukuna was an entire submarine. Five of them, actually. And Toji did have quite the competitive streak.

"With vodka."

You sit up abruptly at the confession, a multitude of thoughts travelling through your mind, much faster than you could process them. After a beat, words finally came back to you.

"Are you out of your mind? So you've just been taking shots of vodka? For God knows how many games of beer-pong you played? No wonder you're absolutely hammered!"

The boy barely reacted, only letting you rant to your heart's content. As you quieted down, he coaxed you back into his arms, shushing you and placing a patronizing kiss to your forehead.

"It's all good, don't worry. Nothing bad happened."

You were unconvinced but unwilling to keep arguing. He'd definitely hear about this again tomorrow morning.

You laid there as Toji turned quiet, already expecting his snores to fill the room, yet it never came. Instead, an unsure voice reached your ear, one you would swear didn't belong to him.

"You know…"

You didn't open your mouth, letting him follow his thought.

A beat passed. And another.

"I'm not good with words."

Ah. This.

You knew where he was going with this.

You should talk.

Toji wasn't exactly known for initiating conversations, certainly not difficult ones. Like, for example, completely at random, the dreaded 'what are we?' talk.

So instead, he brought you impossibly closer to him, letting you bask in his warmth. Not just today, but also every other time you had end up in bed with him. He gave you your favourite coffee every morning without fail. He helped you study on desperate study nights, making a joke right as the tears were about to spill.

The silent stretched, but his deep voice eventually cut through, not letting your train of thought continue. "Just ask me."

But how could you?

You couldn't even begin to imagine everything that could go wrong with such a confession. But to actually do it? Cross a line that you could never come back from? That was too much.

You just couldn't do it.

"Ask me who else I've been fucking."

That was the one question you couldn't dare even fathom to ask.

But as Toji let his gaze fall to your eyes, you couldn't stop the warmth travelling through your body. The quiet certainty that everything would be all right.

Because maybe, just maybe, the answer wasn't as scary as your brain would like to make you believe.

oddarling — all rights reserved. do not copy, steal or feed to ai.

Perhaps, you could say it was unfair. It definitely felt that way, the ease with which he was able unsettle you. Making you blush over the smallest of attentions while staying as composed as ever.

The only sign of that teasing was the smirk that rarely left him. That sly bastard.

And yet, you couldn't do anything.

He placed before you a plate of carefully cut fruits as you were hours deep in spreadsheets and other corporate nonsense. The words of gratitude didn't quite make it past your lips—the surprise stopping them before they could—, leaving you to look at him through wide eyes.

"You always did overwork," he remarked, his fondness seeping through his every word. "A break would do you much good."

His voice remained soft, yet firm. The break was never really a simple suggestion. His hand came to rest on your shoulder, its warmth comforting and inviting.

He had this way of gently pushing you in the direction that he deemed best for you without ever over-stepping. Encouraging without letting you feel the weight of expectations.

He could predict your reaction, he knew your weaknesses. And he was going to take full advantage of it.

"Come on," he followed. His hand was raised once again, a piece of fruit held between his thumb and index finger. As it approached your lips, you could only open them, welcoming the fresh snack.

His eyes stayed on yours, the attention making you squirm. He held your gaze, the intensity of his stare forcing your eyes to stay on his. His hand hovered near your lips for a second too long, the slight warmth making your cheeks redden. Finally, his hand pulled away and he praised, "good girl."

God, that asshole.

Yet, for all he teased, he also knew the limits.

He might know you inside and out, but for you, he was not much more than a stranger. The few memories you had of your past lives and the three month of your relationship didn't hold a candle to the centuries he had lived through.

Ignoring the pain in his chest, he simply pulled away, leaving you to work once again. As he got to the threshold of your room, he turned back once, to softly remind you, "Do take a break soon, yeah?"

Having an immortal boyfriend also had its down-sides.

Mainly the amount of questions you had.

When you had finally connected the dots and figured out that Suguru was in fact your fated lover, an immortal being that searched for your soul again and again as it travelled through different bodies, it had been wild. Then had followed a Q&A where you had gotten to ask very smart questions like "Did you ever think it was me but actually it wasn't and you just acted like a crazy person in front of them?" and "Did I ever get burned as a witch in the eighteenth century?"

Yet, there were other questions you couldn't quite bring yourself to ask.

So, you had simply stayed silent.

Although you were grateful to have found your fated lover once again in this life, you couldn't help the wave of sadness and unease that came with it.

How were you supposed to navigate a relationship in which one knew the other like the back of his hand, while the other was left wandering about simple facts like a favourite colour or a dream vacation. How does one even approach such a problem?

If you had asked Suguru, he probably would have said something wise like "one question at a time," but you weren't Suguru. You had neither the time nor patience.

No, instead, you chose to ruin a perfectly fine evening. "Do you ever wish I'd be more like another me?"

How pragmatic of you. Really, a diplomat in the making.

Thankfully, seeing your face fall as realisation hit only made him chuckle softly. You moved away from your place on his chest, mortified by your own actions, looking so apologetic it almost made Suguru feel bad. Almost.

"You— you don't have to answer that. Just forget I said anything," you mumbled, heat rising in your cheeks.

"You know, we've spent hundreds of years by each other's sides and yet, you still manage to surprise me," he remarked. Now over the initial shock, he was quick to tug you back into his hold. His hand found its place on your head once again, massaging you in a soothing motion.

The seconds stretched out and you simply listened to the heartbeat under your ear. It was calm and hypnotic, your breathing slowing in tandem. The unanswered question hung in the air, not quite heavy, just there.

You closed your eyes, doing your best to ignore the nagging thoughts about your blunder. Silence was all around, enveloping the both of you in its warm embrace.

Perhaps, if you ignored it hard enough, the question would simply cease to exist.

But Suguru was never one to leave anything unfinished.

"You're never quite the same. The difference may be subtle but its always there," he started. He let the words settle, making sure not to rush his train of thought. "I'm not going to say I've felt close to every version of you in the same way. That would be a lie."

The declaration was heavy and the moment far too precious to break. You held your breath, like even the slightest movement might hinder the confession.

"It always makes my heart clench to know you've changed and I wasn't here to witness it all," he smiled, a sad and melancholic smile. "Yet, there is also a weird kind of beauty in it."

His eyes finally settled on your face once more, his fondness obvious in their depth.

"I get to search you, wondering how you'll be this time. I have the privilege of getting to know you all over again. And, most importantly, I can file away every new information you give me in a special part of brain, just for you."

His words took your breath away. Wide eyes looked up at him, in awe of his ever-lasting patience and optimism.

Your next question came soon after, your confidence growing with the ease with which Suguru had answered you the first time.

"Don't you ever wish it would stop? That I wouldn't get re-incarnated and you could finally, you know, rest?"

"Rest? That's certainly a nice way to put it," he chuckled. "But to answer you truthfully, yes."

"Really?"

"Well, yeah. It's easy for you, either I find you or you simply never remember me. But for me, it's a different story."

You can't help yourself from asking, "what's the longest you've gone without finding me?"

"Very long."

"That's not an answer," you chided.

"Well would you look at the time, I really should get started on dinner," he remarked, looking at his wrist while getting up.

"You don't have a watch," you deadpanned.

Yet, he continued on feigning ignorance. "What should I cook today? Perhaps some pasta would be nice."

He finally looked back at you at your lack of response only to find you arms crossed, an eyebrow raised in doubt. "We've already eaten dinner."

"Oh, right, thank you for reminding me, pretty girl," he cooed as he walked over, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. "Perhaps a sweet treat instead?"

Well, now that was just unfair. A kiss and a dessert?

And the devil in question seemed to have noticed you faltering at the offer, he knew it wouldn't take much now to make you fold.

He bent lower until his mouth was strategically placed next to your ear, his breath hot against it. "And then, if you're nice, we can just relax on the sofa. Perhaps even in bed."

The realisation of the situation suddenly hit you at full force and you pulled away, rubbing your ear like it might clean the pure filth dripping through your dear lover's tone.

Damn him, with his handsome face and velvet voice.

Perhaps he had mastered magic over his years travelling the world. This must be a spell. How else do you explain the alarming speed of your beating heart and the way you couldn't quite meet his eyes, not to mention your thighs squeezing at the thought.

He was immortal, what was a little magic in comparison?

"Fine, I guess," you answered, voice smaller than you'd have liked.

What could you do? That man had long put you under his spell.

oddarling — all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, or feed to ai

@n0v444 — here you go! i had a lot of fun, thank you for your comment <3

The very man that was showered with roses regularly couldn't keep them without nearly dying. Every fan hoping to show their admiration was a manslaughter attempt. Every time, he had to find the nearest trash can that was just far enough so the fan wouldn't find out what had become of the flowers.

And he couldn't tell them about his allergy. No, he was far too deep in his lie. The first time he had received a bouquet, he was too touched by the gesture to dare refuse it. And from that point on, it snowballed until even the thought of saying anything felt blasphemous.

Very few people knew of that fact. Beyond his family and his closest friends, offering him flowers seemed like a great idea. People even speculated about his favourite flowers. Most swore by roses—predictable but efficient. Some wanted to be different and used peonies—symbol of prosperity and prestige, perfect for such an ambitious athlete. Others, more boldly, chose dahlias—symbol of love, the intention behind it crystal clear. But the truth was simple : he hated them all. They made his eyes tear up and his nose runny. The red in his eyes was unmistakable and it only fueled his rage for those wretched plants.

And yet, at that moment, it didn't matter. He didn't care about this hate he carried. No, his hopeless and foolish love for you overrode by far all other feelings in his heart. And that’s how Valentine’s day had brought him to a florist.

"So what kind of flowers says 'I'm helplessly in love with you' but also 'I'm a cool guy and you should totally go out with me'? You know what I mean?" The vendor’s blank stare was answer enough for his question.

"Are you going to order or should I show you the door?"

"Is that a no for the roses? I agree, it's too classic. I need something that'll surprise her." The poor boy looked so stressed, the florist couldn’t help but pity him.

This was not going great. Oikawa was mentally cursing himself for every time he had thrown away a bouquet without so much as a second glance. He was biting his nail and the shopkeeper was pretty sure his bone would soon be visible. And why were his eyes so glossy? He wouldn’t burst out crying, right?

But inevitably, the tears came. Not just a few, he was full on sobbing with snot running down his face.

"Ummm, I can make an arrangement with… roses! and peonies! Just please stop crying," said the man, panic evident in his voice. His demeanor had switched so brutally that Oikawa would have been surprised if he didn't have more pressing matters.

"Really? That would be great. Can we add carnations?" Oikawa answered, through sniffles.

"Yes, a symbol of love and fascination, she would be so happy, I'm sure!" The man's panic was growing by the second. He felt utterly confused and powerless in front of the customer's tears.

"Perhaps, we can even add…," he looked around with wide eyes trying desperately to find something, anything. "Oh! Lisianthus! It shows gratitude and elegance!"

"Th-that would be perfect," was the only answer he got before Oikawa aggressively blew his nose in a tissue.

The florist was pretty sure he had never wrapped a bouquet so fast in his life. The customer paid without a single complaint and left quickly to his relief. What the hell was that?

And now bouquet in hand—or rather, at arm's length—Oikawa felt ready to conquer the world. His confidence was overflowing.

But, now standing in front of you, that very confidence was rapidly declining as he saw the obvious flaw in his plan. Blood shot eyes and snotty noses did not make for cute romantic confessions. The worry etched onto your every trait didn’t tell him much about whether or not you'd liked the bouquet.

"B-but did you like th-the bouquet?" he asked, hiccuping his way through the sentence.

"Y-yeah, the bouquet is lovely," you answered, confused by his sense of priority. "Are you okay? Should I take you to the infirmary? I probably should, right?"

"No, no, it's okay I swear," he said, but the sniffles in his voice were still evident.

Despite him waving off your concern, you still offered him your free hand—the other still holding on to the bouquet—making it clear that the trip to the infirmary was non-negotiable. He reluctantly took your hand, not that he'd ever refuse it, and let himself be lead to get the care you had decided he needed.

The short walk there was incredibly awkward. Between his sniffling attempts at conversation and your constant 'Are you okay's, the situation was truly worsening by the second. At that rate, at least one of you would collapse from sheer embarrassment before you reached your destination.

But finally, against all odds, you managed to get to the infirmary in one piece. He still refused to tell you what exactly was the reason for a reaction of this scale, but that didn't matter anymore. He would finally be able to get treatment and all would be well.

His confession was still lingering at the back of your mind but you had more pressing matters than your crush confessing. Especially when that said crush was currently looking like a widowed husband crying his wife's death while simultaneously being this close to dying himself.

And just as you finally knocked on the infirmary's door did you realise there was a little piece of paper hung on the door. On it was scribbled in messy handwriting 'Currently on lunch break, will be back at 14'

When was that damn infirmary even open? The piece of paper announcing it was closed seemed like a permanent fixture on the door at this point, every day a new excuse for it being "temporarily" closed badly written with a dying pen. Meanwhile, Oikawa was still doing his best to read the paper through his tears.

"The infirmary is closed," you explained, sparing him the trouble of admitting he couldn’t really see at the moment, much less read.

Oh.

Oh.

The irony was not lost on Oikawa. The cause of his reaction was in the arms of the person whose hand he refused to let go, meanwhile its remedy was looking at him, almost mocking him, on the other side of a locked glass door. He was truly fucked.

He took a deep breath—or well, tried to—before turning to you. The universe truly had a way of deciding people's fates. And apparently, his fate was to crawl in a hole and wait for his death. Or, maybe, just maybe, be reasonable and tell you about his allergy. You still hadn't left his side, that had to be a good sign, right? Surely, it wasn't just pity? Right?

"Listen," he started. Your brows furrowed even more at that statement, you were truly expecting the worse. Perhaps, he was dying, and wanted to confess as a last act in his life?

He took a deep breath before reciting all in one go, his voice seemingly getting higher and higher with every word, "I kinda sorta have a really bad flower allergy and I just wanted to offer you pretty flowers because you're also pretty and therefore deserve pretty flowers but now I'm just crying and maybe this was a bad idea and I should just get away from you but then you offered me your hand and I obviously wasn’t going to say no and—”

You stopped his rambling with a hand on his arm and immediately took a step back, holding the flowers behind your back with wide eyes.

"No, see, that was exactly why I didn’t want to tell you," he retorted, taking a step towards you again.

You were left speechless and with so many questions, you didn't even know where to begin. "But why?"

He didn't hesitate, "why not, though? I like you, it’s Valentine's day, therefore I give you flowers."

Slowly, you came back to your senses and told him to wait for you there before turning around and bolting, bouquet clutched in your hand.

"No wait! Come back!" he cried after you. "Where are you going?"

"To put down the flowers somewhere far away from you!" you replied, not even bothering to turn around.

"Is this some way of letting me down? Because if you don't like me you can just say so, you don't have to pretend…" He was now screaming through the hallway, as he had opted against running after you like a creep, especially since he was already out of breath.

Oh God, that boy was an idiot.

By the time you came back, he was slumped against a wall, blowing his nose loudly into his tissue. "Hey."

Your voice startled him and he quickly tried to get up before you stopped him with a sign, instead sitting down next to him. "You actually came back."

He sounded both surprised and relieved and you almost felt bad for bolting on him like that. "Yeah, I told you I would."

A pleased little hum was the only answer you got as you both fell into a comfortable silence—well, as silent as it can be when the boy next to you was still sniffling into his tissue.

After a few moments of staring at the infirmary door in front of you, Oikawa cleared his throat and asked, "So, ummm, just to make sure, is that a yes or a no on the confession? Because I just burst out in tears so I didn't really hear your reply."

You laughed in surprise and he became redder than he already was, a quick little "sorry" leaving his lips.

"That was definitively a yes. Although a very confused yes."

"Confused? Did you not like my confession?" he replied with mock offense, gasping at your words.

"Well, it was definitely… memorable," you grimaced. And it was true, that was a story you would be retelling your friends and family.

His eyes widened, questioning the decisions that brought him here. "Oh God, that's just code for really terrible, isn’t it?"

"No, just questionable," you chuckled.

"That’s also code for really terrible, you know."

Silence fell upon you once more, your chuckles softly echoing through the hallway.

"Why didn't you just offer me chocolates or something, instead of the flowers you know?" You couldn’t help yourself, you just had to ask.

But silence was your only answer. Because you were right, why hadn’t he just gotten chocolates? They were also a classic on Valentine’s day, after all.

"Maybe we can just never speak of this day ever again, what do you think?" was his answer, admitting he hadn’t even thought about anything else. Flowers had seemed like such an unavoidable part of confessing that it hadn’t even crossed his mind to dare skip out on this step.

"Mmmmh, I don’t think so."

And with such a sweet smile on your lips, Oikawa couldn’t even bring himself to stop you.

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