#riyo x reader

[2,683 words]

Rudo in ‘Fusion’, [Passionately protective, Codependency, Mild signs]

Rudo would be a protective Yandere. Not the traditional one of endless killings and bouts of jealousy. Where his relationships are all found family, displaying yandere tendencies means having an unhealthy attachment to someone—someone closer to him than anyone from the cleaners, that is. Someone who has seen him from a young age, and been there for and with him up until this point, to justify that codependency. It is obvious to all that he holds the people dear to him above all else, yet he keeps them at a relative distance despite their kindness. A tendency stemmed from his experiences of being discarded so easily. And with the nightmarish past still haunting the forefront of his mind, he found himself clinging to the final vestige of the old life he once knew.

You.

It’s childish, shapeless, messy, hardly volatile. He has yet to become who he wants to be, or should be. So even in a state of obsession, it is a cesspool of contradictory and inflicting emotions rather than something dangerous. It is especially mild when you consider that Rudo wants to belong somewhere, and he wants to protect people more than harm anyone. So, a Yandere would be a form of codependency, but also a desire to maintain something childish and ‘real’. I could imagine it as an attempt to uphold what he knows while making room for new habits.

His ‘yandere’ is more tragic than it is malicious, I believe. Despite this, his ‘yandere’ trope would be more on subtext than explicit expressions of obsession. It would be how he perceives you, speaks to you and interacts with you and those around you, rather than what he would do TO you or TO other people. Get me?

Additionally, I could have gone the extreme route, exploring his character in the scenario where you get hurt, but I wanted to explore the quiet. Because yandere themes get blurred for his character, given how strongly he already reacts when someone he loves gets hurt. Therefore, his yandere is unique to the quiet interactions, not the fights. Rudo does have the capacity to take someone’s life or be aggressive, but his aggression will not be unique to the person he is falling for. Therefore, his yandere is unique to moments of alone time and quiet.

[Headcanons|Short]

Rudo is the type to be more platonic than romantic, even if his ‘yandere’ is for romantic interest. He would not demand kisses or romance—he would just demand closeness and the basic affection that is oftentimes platonic.

He prioritises your safety more than his attraction/affection for you. It’s all about ensuring you stay alive, for as long as possible.

Despite his tendencies to hoard things, he had the awareness to understand that you need the space at times and the chance to interact with people. He won’t try to isolate you from the opportunity, but if the infection goes unnoticed, then he may demand more one-on-one time.

Rudo is sensitive and highly empathetic despite his reasons to the contrary. He will feel deeply for your pain, your trauma, or your suffering—so kidnapping you or bringing harm to you is out of the question. He is the type to make sure it never gets to that point.

If you are very close to him, he may hurl at you an insult that is all meant in good faith. His difficulty expressing himself may lead him to rely on such insults rather than something more conventional.

Though Rudo has the autonomy to make his own decisions, he is not immune to grooming. If someone were to imply that you might need a stricter eye or increased surveillance, Rudo might be influenced to take that suggestion.

Rudo, for all his desires to be good, has the equal capacity to be flawed in that goodness, and may unknowingly take out those flaws on you.

But the motive stays the same: he doesn’t play about you.

Rudo, being a meagre child, tends to feel things more strongly than he would openly admit. He couldn’t help it, really. Many who know him or have interacted with him can point to the aggression and short fuse that often drive him forward. Even those who oppose him can say with confidence that even if the circumstances were different, he was too much of a hothead to be reasoned with.

Though he was once set on stewing in his stubbornness, he can admit now that, perhaps, he was a bit too much at times. Quick to jump on the boat, quicker to throw a fist when the time did not call for it. Then, he could justify his actions. But if he wanted things to go as smoothly as possible… restraint would be his number one challenge.

He needed to be as eloquent and calm as Tamsy, as determined as Zanka, as cool as Riyo… the list goes on. One after another, he noted aspects of his teammates that he felt he needed to emulate.

Enjin’s reliability, Gris’ kindness, hell, even Jabber had something he needed. He needed every damn trait; he needed to be older, stronger. He needed to be the leader, the underdog, the shield, the sword, the undertaker. There was time to live, indeed, but the longer he remained in this stagnant, self-inflicted shithole, the more likely someone was to get hurt because of him. Because of—

“You’re making that face again,” You started as you drove your index finger against his cheeks. “Stop that.”

Rudo perked and turned to you with a bark, “I’m not doing anything!”

“You are! You’re scowling and making that pissy face again!” Your finger dabbed their accusations on his cheeks, then his brows, pressing firmly over the wrinkles.

He bit the inside of his cheek, his gloved hands clenching the bumps of his knees. Even these gloves often felt too big for him. So big that he had to roll them down just so they could fit on his forearm. But he couldn’t bear to take them off, not with the splotches of burns irritating him whenever they’re off. Maybe he was always meant to wear these and stomach the dependency. Even if not for the burns, he couldn’t imagine taking everg them off. Tresses of white hair, tips faded black, fell over his face as he bowed his head.

“I’m just… thinking…”

This time, you were the one fixing your face into a frown. Your eyes darted sideways as you settled back into your spot on the mattress, your hands stained with paint. “Is it about… Amo?”

“Yeah,”

Your frown deepened, a devastating hopelessness grasping the strength in your body. “We’ll… we’ll find here. She couldn’t have gotten far…!” You insisted despite yourself. Your body inched closer to his, raising a hand to pat down his shoulder. “We can—”

“It’s not… that…“ He interjected swiftly, his hands gripping tighter, “I just… everything is so… frustrating!” His red eyes tunelling down at his shoes, he screwed up his face to stop the tears before they could form. His body trembled with the effort, his mind darting to focus on the celebration occurring outside the room. The distant booms of fireworks and the cheers of people celebrating the new mural. Even with the jovial atmosphere, it could not erase the heavy ache in his chest.

His eyes dried, and his teeth ground, ‘I’m such a piece of shit…!’ His lips curled. ‘Ruining the celebration with my… shitty mood!’

Your hand felt like a gentle caress on his back, caressing the tension in his muscles. Your body tilted forward, your head dipping into the space of his body to look into his bowed head.

“Do you need some time alone? I can do that, I don’t mind… You look like you need it.”

Again, the list of people came unfurling in his mind. Those he needed to emulate before some imaginative climax. Their kindness, determination, rationality—and your consideration. It should be a blessing to have someone who understands him well enough to know when he needs the space to himself. But isn’t that what happened to Amo? Space? Giving her space?

“…Huh?” He finally registered it, raising his head a fraction as you moved backwards. His red eyes honed in on you, narrowing to your supportive expression. “You’re… leaving?”

Your chest ached, but you continued, “Missing out on the party… and you seemed pretty bummed out,”

“But…” Don’t leave. He didn’t push quickly enough. Instead, his hands fiddled with one another, gloved fingers pinching at the symbols on the back of his gloves. His lips pressed into a tight line, and he looked away. “…Stay,” he mumbled.

You blinked, “What?”

“It’s fine. You can… stay,” He offered, louder, shimmying closer. “I’m alright. We can just sit together—that’s fine,”

Before, his assurance—though often delivered in blunt awkwardness—would soften you into agreement. It was the tentative way his voice would often retreat into silence after the fact. However, his quiet frustrations, paired with his random silences, drew you to move away from him despite his desire for closeness.

His eyes widened a fraction, and his lips pulled into a strong frown, quivering. Again, the heavy ache was in his chest, crushing his heart and soul until all he could feel was the absence of your support.

It was him, wasn’t it? You’re noticing it—what he notices about himself. Being too little. Too much. But if he just has a bit more time, if he can just be a bit stronger, then… then he can do exactly what he has to do. No questions asked.

“I think it’s better we get some space… I… I kinda need some space too…”

‘Space?’

“Was it something I did?” Rudo threw at you, his hand finding the edge of the mattress as he pivoted his body to you. His eyes flitted about your face, “I’ve been shitty, I know—but was I that bad? Was I an asshole to you and haven’t noticed?”

“No!” You assured stubbornly, leaning close, “Of course not!”

“Then why are you trying to go?!” He raised his voice, incredulous, “I need you to stay here! We need to stick together from now on!”

“Stick together?” You started, exasperated.” That’s what we’ve been doing this entire time!”

“We need to be closer, then!” Rudo insisted. He pointed at the door, wagging his finger at the old oak, envisioning a horror that was not perceived by the rose veneers shielding your eyes.

“We don’t know what’s out there anymore!” He shouted, motioning wildly with his hand as he shaped a crude silhouette of a toothy grin. “They took Amo so easily, and we don’t know where the hell she is, and I don’t know what the hell to do!” His voice cracked, and his cheeks warmed into crimson as he dropped his head. He moved his hands, finding their bearings on your shoulders. “I… I don’t know what to do… Someone could try to take you while I’m not looking! And they can do it from right under my nose, too!”

“We’re in the safest town there is!” You shouted.

He recoiled at the volume and conviction in your words, his face scrunching up as heat warmed his face. “Yeah? Well… doesn’t matter, okay?!”

He peered closely, “You’re safer with me. Anything can happen to you if we’re separated… we need to activate our fusion,”

He raised his hands, jabbing his pointer fingers on either side of his head. “We need to be like this!” He added as he crossed his pointer over the middle.

Your body slumped, and a low groan tore from your throat, “Not that again,” You complained, “I hate that thing,”

“Too bad, shit face,” He leaned close and let his head drop. His forehead had knocked against yours like two hollow coconuts. You glared into his red eyes, and he ignored your irritation in favour of the hollow sound made by the lack of brain cells, “This way, we’re always together.”

You made a face, “Hurray.”

Whether he cared for your irritation didn’t matter, as his hand found yours despite it. His eyes averted from yours. His face grew hotter, and he bit the inside of his cheeks as they reddened. “I don’t want you to get hurt… and as leader… I will make sure nothing gets to you.” His eyes grew wide, determined, “…Because that’s my job as the eldest!”

“I can fight too, by the way,” You argued, “Plus, we’re only 3 months apart!”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s my job, okay?” His voice dropped into a soft, trembling whisper. “I won’t let anyone hurt you, you got that? I swear on everything that I know, I’m keeping you safe, even if it kills me.”

Your eyes narrowed, “If you die, who’s going to protect me then, huh?”

Silence encompassed you both. He could almost feel the firing of synapses in his head.

He blinked, his hand closing around yours. He never thought about that. He had only thought about what would make him sound cool, and genuine at the same time… Never really thought of the logistics. His eyes flitted away from your gaze, and bakc on it in irregular intervals. “…I’ll keep you safe, and you can keep me safe? Deal?”

You pursed your lips, and his cheeks grew red.

The twitch in your eyes was soon followed by a sigh. “Deal.”

He raised his hand, wagging his bulky pinky, “Pinky promise?”

You raised your hand in turn, a naked, vulnerable hand to his bulkier, clothed one. Your pinky wrapped around his, and your hands both gave a slight shake.

Rudo pushed further against you, his nose brushing against yours. His eyes fluttered shut, his brows perpetually fixed into a distressed expression. “Thanks… you have no idea how much I needed that…” His breath fanned your face.

“I can’t lose you, too…” He whispered, his hand squeezing yours. “So… just stay with me, okay?”

“I hear you,” You retort, pushing yourself closer. “I can hear your thoughts at this point,”

His eyes flitted up to yours, “I mean it… You pinky promised… you’re staying with me from now on, okay?”

“I wanna do stuff on my own, sometimes,” you began, your face scrunching up just a fraction. “I don’t wanna be with you all the time,”

His face twisted painfully. His hand gripped yours a fraction tighter, loosened, then entwined your fingers together. He held your hand, a captive little soldier, in the very gloves dictating his destiny. This time, he maintained eye contact, crimson eyes holding your gaze in equal confinement. “Well… as a leader, whatever I say goes. You’re no permanent partner, no take-backs.” His nose pressed to yours in a swipe, a minute tremble accompanying his hand. His throat bobbed, and he was growing uncomfortably aware of the closeness, even when it was necessary. Necessary… “Safer for you—us,”

‘Safer…’ Annoyance sprouted in your chest, softened only by a fickle memory of that honey-blond man, who had reiterated to you the same rhetoric days before. ‘Safety in numbers, dear. You had felt foolish then, humiliated by the brief expression of anger when Rudo had insisted on sticking close to you past the mission. Not that you hated the closeness. But it got to a point where even you were growing tired of his constant looming presence. To be corrected by an older man of all things would forever haunt you.

“Geez… fine…” You huffed, feeling that flush of embarrassment again. Rudo means well, you’re sure. It would be foolish to pretend that this world, despite being a world away from what you have known, was any safer. Rudo, you knew, you can trust with all your heart, even if delivery is sometimes… strange.

Finally, Rudo slumped into you entirely, his arms loosely wrapping around you. His face found your shoulder, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

Safety in numbers… you’ll be sure to thank Tamsy the next time you see him.

[5,426 words]

Riyo in “Old Habits” ; [A muzzled dog, all the tools to become]

Riyo is also a highly cautious person. She knows how to play the social-butterfly, extrovert game well enough to always bring her opponents’ defences down. She has the awareness to recognise the potential threat someone poses, but the rationality to realise that charging at someone is the worst way to go about it. This caution extends to how she interacts with people she already knows, always dealing with an underlying suspicion of betrayal or a ‘wolf’ amongst everyone else.

This is accentuated by her background as a killer and her interactions with Amo. She shared equal suspicions of Rudo and approached the matter with playful narratives.

Riyo is a wolf in sheep’s clothing in that regard. She won’t flash a knife or gun at you under suspicion—she’ll simply let you know that she can. It is what I believe she was trying to do when she first came into Rudo’s room. She established that she knows where his room is and how easy it is for her to get there. She didn’t outright make any threats either—because she needs people to trust her before she can trust them. She wants people to know what she is without saying that outright.

And given how little we know of her backstory, I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that she has issues with loving people too strongly. What I’ve noticed in the doll festival arc is that when she is trying to cut into the protective shield made by one of Mymo’s goons, her justification for her ability to slice through that shield is that “when love is too strong, it’s easy for cracks to settle in”. So this either means that her love for someone (maybe her mother) was so strong that it has blinded her to subtext or to a betrayal that was slowly working up against her, that only when that betrayal was carried out did she realise what had happened, too late. In fact, let’s pretend that her situation with Amo was not her first one—she knew that there was going to be a time where she couldn’t trust anyone—assuming something was going to happen that would allude to a red herring. A group of people, or her family, and she knows one of them is out to get her, but she doesn’t know who. We can even say that her experience with the Information Broker was different for her personally, not just ‘being baited’, and was, in fact, a callback to what happened to her in the past. A love so strong she was used as a decoy (as when she collapsed due to the trash beast, she said she needed to train harder, as she never noticed that the trash beast was only faking an injury to target her at her weakest). Get me?

We can even use what Zanka said then, at Amo’s tower—sometimes the people love most are the ones we want to kill. He is most likely saying that in a self-deprecating humour type of way—but that’s for his section. What if the person Riyo loved most is the one she had known she should have killed? Maybe the person she loves most is her father, a love so strong that her mother, in theory, used that against her? Again, i’m only on chapter 147, so my interpretation could be wrong. Now, how does this fit into yandere?

[Headcanons | Long]

As a yandere, Riyo would have to hold less emotional value for you as a person, not because you are worth less than her feelings, but because she exists in a state of preemptive suspicion and fear. Despite being ‘clean’, she has an underlying suspicion that at least one person is a spy and is out to hurt the people she has grown to care for. So she, despite loving you, has to hold you at arm’s length in fear that you are that spy. Additionally, loving you too strongly would mean opening herself up to cracks, to let herself be open to getting hurt again, whether by losing you or realising you were only using her/tricking her. And she has clearly failed in the past to protect the person she loves; there is a chance she could lose you, too. And it won’t be her fault, but she would feel like it is. A wolf should protect its pack, right?

Her attraction to you is inherently selfish, selfish to herself because she knows the kind of pain she will end up in if she lets it spiral out of control, but the joy of—the illusion of—falling in love; that sweet heavy feeling in her chest, being close with you, was a better feeling than her paranoia.

She could try as much as she wants, but she can’t always ensure your safety, especially when you consider that ensuring your survival 100%would mean returning to old roots. But she’s clean. And she promised herself never to kill again. So, she won’t, and she will fight to avoid it.

But if something were to happen to you… she can’t promise pacifism forever.

She maintains a normal relationship with you; her behaviour is not negatively altered in any way. Her job is to maintain a normalcy that a ‘good cleaner’ should carry. So even when the situation thickens, she remains levelheaded and playful, keeping you on your toes with her wit and satire. Keep you trusting her, liking her, and loving her. But she is also not afraid to let someone know that, if needed, she can and will revert to old habits. She carries that firearm not for comfort but for the acknowledgement that no matter where she is, who she is with, there will always be a time when she will need it more than ever. Well, I suppose that is, by definition, ‘for comfort’, right?

She hasn’t used it for you (yet), but it’s on the back of her mind. As the threats slowly turned from trash beasts to people, the more aware she was getting of realising how easy it would be for you to lose your life, and how quickly her vital instrument wouldn’t be enough.

Riyo, as a yandere, is casually protective, masking her desire to keep you safe under a veneer of cool playfulness. Using her easygoing nature and enthusiasm to disarm you and those around you, so you won’t know what she is doing in the shadows, or thinking of. She is sceptical of you, refuses to love you fully or to allow herself to show what she feels, but she also refuses to let you go off with someone else. She is possessive in this regard, holding you in a waiting room—the quicker she can confirm your loyalty to her and Enjin, the quicker she can have you.

Riyo is all about studying you, seeing how you interact with others, and finally, how she interacts with others ABOUT you.

Despite being a yandere, she is also selfless. She is not the type (to me) to threaten someone over jealousy. She is all about making sure the person she loves is protected and happy—and if that means giving you up, then she will. She won’t impede on your progress or journey to happiness; she will make sure to remove all the threats along the way, though.

No one is allowed to threaten your happiness. She won’t forgive those easily, either. Even the special cases.

Riyo didn’t know much about you to discern the type of person you were in the quiet moments of your life. But when she first saw you, she began her data entry: You were a recluse, often brought to the world for interactions outside of your own free will. You were often at Follo’s arm, a close friend despite the differences in skill sets and positions. You stood tall on your own indifference, a perpetual gaze of melancholia that Riyo had assumed to be a byproduct of something traumatic.

But then you would open your mouth, and only the kindest of words would spew forth. When the veneer of indifference fell, you were an almost joy to be around.

“I like that updo you have.” You raised your hands to make motions around your head, shaping Riyo’s hairstyle with careful hand squeezes.

Riyo’s momentary confusion gave way to a quirk of her lips, a cheeky smile directed to you as she tilted her chin in mocked snooty appraisal. “Yeah, I really outdid myself there…!”

“Scissors, right?” Taken aback, her smile faltered for only a second. You were still looking at her with that kind smile, a smile that now felt eerie given the question.

“Yup!” She found herself chirping back at you, strangely. “Yours?”

“Standard cards, nothing fancy.” Stripped of social convention, you found no offence to your question, and worse, deemed it an acceptable one. Her gaze cut to Enjin, who had been watching from the couch. He made the face Riyo couldn’t, then gestured with a shrug of his shoulders, and mouthed, ‘normal’.

Oh. One of those, huh? The real social kind, no boundaries… the ones that say whatever is on their mind with no forethought, yeah?

She learned your name thereonly because you took her silence as a reason to continuewith the introduction. In a span of five minutes, she learned where you originated from, your parents, how you got your instrument, and why you’re here. You piled it on to her like you had been holding that in for so long, with no other means of sharing.

After the novelty of meeting someone new had worn off, your attention was quickly snagged by the next shiny person to fall into place. Apart from Enjin and Semiu, you were the first person she had met since joining, and she had spent the good majority of her own welcome party watching you from afar. From the hop in your steps whenever a particular beat gets ‘nasty’, or the swift cadence of your voice as you speak to the others. You bounced off other people’s energy easily, micro-adjusting your own tics and tricks to align with whoever you were speaking to. A phenomenon that had to be… curated. Had to be a byproduct of… something. No one can be naturally social to that extent. No one could possibly ‘vibe’ with strangers and gauge exactly their likes and interests with the quickness you did. You had to be—

You were a—

“A… regular person?”

She stood, perplexed at the front of your drawer, staring at the… very ordinary assortment of undies, socks, and undershirts. No weapons, no tactical gear, not even a mask or gloves or…? Was she missing something? Again, her hand perused through the drawers, from your undies, to your shirts, to your pants, to the random compartment of just earrings. Her impromptu search again concluded with no statistically significant difference from her last search. And this time, she actually made the effort to hold up every garment.

“Don’t tell me I actually broke into a regular person’s room…”

In the darkness of your room, she pivoted on her heel to drag her gaze across the expanse. The bed was included more times than she could count in her scope, where you slept soundly under the thin sheets. Curled in a fetal position, your lips parted, and your chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm. Sleeping so deeply… she heard from Enjin that you had to take sleeping medication. Apparently, wherever you came from, didn’t offer the nicest of nights. Left you awake most nights, bloodshot eyes and paranoid… it was a wonder how he’d manage to convince Alice to perscribe you to them. Her gaze flitted down to the deeper darkness under your bed, where she saw the glimmer of the lock of a suitcase. On a better night, she’d make the move to get to that suitcase. She continued her scope to the nightstand and the ugly, rigid piece of junk you called a lamp. To the open window, back to the bed, the door, then finally the bathroom door.

Her eyes flitted back to you, at the drool pooled on your blanket.

She stepped over your strewn shoes, then took that brisk turn into your bathroom. She had expected the few bottles of cosmetics, lotion and some kind of cheap bottle of cleanser on your porcelain sink. In the small shelf behind your mirror—strange that she doesn’t have this—was a used razor blade, the cap sitting beside it. A half bottle of sleeping medication, a folded sheet of prescription, and your toothbrush. Her fingers wrapped around the bottle of medication, squinting through the dark to barely catch the printed words wrapped around the bottle. She popped the cap open, the stench of chalk slapping against her nose. Her nostrils flared, a cold shudder running down her spine. She capped the bottle and returned it to its rightful spot. Her fingers pinched the note next, unfurling it with a similar entitlement.

‘One a day, 30 minutes before bed! Take with water, no caffeine or alcohol, and after a meal. Follow the scheduled boxes.’

‘Scheduled boxes?’Her lips quirked, and she shook her head with a bemused smile. Cute. She folded the note into 3’s and pressed it to its location. She nudged it, adjusted it, until she was sure it looked just as it did before she had touched it. Her hands gripped the rim of the mirror, her eyes dragging over the assortment one final time. Though she could confirm with confidence that everything was just as you left it, the curve of plastic to the back, at the top of every shelf, caught her curious eyes. And as quick as she caught it, the quicker her hands took hold of it.

In her hands, she gripped a long and wide plastic box. 4 rows, 7 columns. on the strip, colour-coded and labelled by the first 3 letters of the day. Her lips quirked again, her eyes softening into reluctant fondness. Of course, you needed the reminder. Too carefree for your own good… Her fingers flicked open Sunday, empty. Monday, empty. Tuesday, empty. Her fingers flicked open and closed every day, of every week, of this month of your progress. Never missed a day, never missed a week. With growing fondness, she was continuously barraged with your consistency. Well, it lines up with how consistent your personality has been, that’s for sure! Always in the mood, always ready to welcome new people, even with such strange methods of—

Tuesday, today, the pill sat untouched and fresh-smelling of chalk.

‘Oh.’ Her lips trembled and still, grew despite herself. ‘You’re awake, aren’t you?’

Her hands gripped the box tighter, her joints as stiff as an old locomotive. Maybe she can use your hair oil…

Mechanically, her hands pushed the box onto the lowest shelf, sliding it in and knocking over the pill bottle. Her hands gripped the mirror tighter and pushed it closed, her reflection staring back at her, and you behind her.

Her cheeks creased, her eyes squinted. “Hiya!”

“Hi.” Your hand found the porcelain sink. “If you’re looking for the afterparty… it’s usually in the courtyard.”

Riyo blinked, her eyes staring at you through the darkened reflection, “Just wanted to see my… good friend!”

“Yeah?” Your hand slipped off the porcelain, and an undignified yawn escaped your lips. “Riyo… what are you doing snooping through my things?”

“Was that what I was doing?”

“Yeah,”

“Huh…” Riyo maintained her smile, though it now stretched into something awkward, “Maybe we can answer each other’s questions…?”

“Mine’s first.”

“I wanted to see the kind of person you were!” She chirped, “And clearly, you’re the type to know when to stop taking medication…”

You understood the unspoken immediately, “You kept looking at me, I thought you didn’t like me… or wanted to get me, so I didn’t take anything. I figured you were going to knock and ask to talk, but… well, when I heard my window sliding open, it clicked,”

“Ah… I must look like such a creep, huh!”

“Yeah.”

Silence floated easily between the two of you, again underlining Riyo’s sudden stipend of awkwardness. She gazed at the guilt of her reflection; however, she was unable to perceive you in the same reflection. Again, she was ostracised from your mind.

“Yeah… my bad… I guess I was in over my head…”

“You were…” Your voice now was softer than how it started, almost as if you were embarrassed for her. Finally, your body retreated from her back, offering her that minuscule space she needed to finally breathe easy. Her hand hadn’t even inched toward the pocketed Ripper, not once. Maybe, instinctually, she knew you wouldn’t hurt a fly, even though her mind was running a thousand simulations, with you turning out to be a secret operative.

“Look… I do want us to be friends, I think you’re really cool… but I don’t like creepy creepers crawling through my window,”

‘Hah!’ She turned around, her smile queasy, “Yeah… real sorry…! We can be friends for sure! I’ll just… see myself… out…”

Even when facing you, the darkness of the bathroom obscured most of your face, where all she could make out was the shine of your eyes. Your lips curled int a frown, and you sighed.

“Through the door… please…”

Riyo conceded with a mocked salute, “Aye aye!” Her joints, once rigid and stiff under the obscured scrutiny of your disapproval, snapped from their rust to provide enough flexibility to launch her out of the bathroom in quick strides. Her hair swayed with her quick strides, her hands finding the cool knob of your door.

“Sorry, again, really!”

Despite herself, she dared herself to glance back to confirm one final note. With an added tilt in her body backwards, she caught your person still in the bathroom. The assortment box sat on the porcelain, your fingers flipping open Tuesday, pinching the chalk between your fingers.

‘So… you really are just a regular person…’

You popped the pill into your mouth, swallowed it dry with a grotesque shudder. “Yuck!” You spat, then blew raspberries at the taste.

Her chest grew tight, and she returned her attention to the door. Her hand gripped the knob tightly, the cool metal grounding her to what was really, a shitty night built on her own lingering paranoia.

‘Hah… geez… I really messed with a normal person…’

“Kay! Bye!” She swung the door open and practically leapt for freedom.

On her way back to her room, she recounted the series of events that led to the encounter. More importantly, the signs she must have missed. She should have noticed you were faking it—or at least weren’t in that ‘deep sleep’ she had presumed. The soft breaths, your fetal position, the minute twitches in your fingertips, the random jerk in your leg. The drool on your cheeks, the stain on your bed…

The more she thought back to you and your sleep, the more she began to realise that maybe she was looking too deeply into it. You were probably, truly asleep, as you implied…she was just… wrong. Wrong about you.

Yeah. Wrong.

You were, simply, a jolly person. Someone who finds joy in the world and has an odd way of showing it. And you stayed consistent with that, even when you awoke to her snooping around—

How did you sneak up on her so quietly? Weird.

Regardless, the following day, and the day after, she watched you interact with people with not a shred of reluctance in your step. Always so eager, so willing to take that step forward, even if the recipient of your affections appears withdrawn from you.

“What is it with her?” You must have gotten it worse, she had thought. Where everyone got out with injuries and mild anguish, you came out ready to grapple for something before it could slip from your fingers. Then, when the effects of the smell had fully worn off, you collapsed on your front and lay there in utter stillness, listening to the distant explanation of Tamsy: how the smell had fabricated a reality so true, you couldn’t help but wish to protect the bearer of the smell.

“What’s her… problem?!” your voice only marginally escalated, before plummeting into a hushed whimper. Your hand trembled and found purchase over your eyes. Even then, Riyo wished she could see through your body to have a scope of your face. But even in misery, your back was turned to her, and all she could grasp was the tremble in your shoulders. Your body wracked up another ragged breath, and you were curling into yourself again.

If she wasn’t going through her own vices, Riyo would have made the move to be by your side. Trepidation held her chained to the floor, her injuries a minor addition to the turmoil. She should have known not to trust that girl. She should have known that this wasn’t going to be an easy job. She was the one who had invited you to tag along, unable to resist the siren’s call of a trip and job with you, even if it meant squeezing between her and Zanka the entire ride.

It was her own fault, really. She shouldn’t have subjected you to Rudo’s goals. She would have known that it would have hurt someone in the end—she had expected that person to be herself. Not… you. And she especially didn’t expect to see that memory again, there in the flesh. Or, better yet mocked flesh. Their voice, their smell… to feel the warmth that came from a love so strong all she can do is stand and fight to protect that.

A part of her had pointed that anger to Rudo. Had it not been for his goals, his drive to reach them by any means necessary—none of this would have happened. They would have never met Amo, they would have never been shown that, and you would have never been—

The anger didn’t last long. At least for him, Rudo got his hits in.

But a debt was still owed.

“That was a dirty trick,”

Riyo was a person of small talk; it was what she specialised in shortly after being corralled into this white-collar HQ. But she found that skill a weakness as she pinched Ripper in her hands, her fingers warm and looped around the round handles of her beloved friend.

Zanka had long recovered from his plight, or at least pretended to be. His cot was empty for only a few days before a new person moved in and claimed reign over the sheets. This new inhabitant, with her black hair and ends faded orange, and that round face, could only muster a fraction of feeling in her dehydrated face. Even when she caught her own reflection in the metal, the girl had already been sapped dry of her fears. As if Riyo were the least threatening person the girl had met thus far.

Still, there was a debt.

“It takes real guts to make them cry like that…” As still as the statue remains in the wastes, Riyo held herself tall and pointed at the girl in the cot. Her eyes wide, her lips pressed thinly, she tilted her head only a fraction, “You must really like hurting people, huh?”

Amo mimicked the stillness in Ripper’s aim, her hands folded over her lap, fingers twiddling and gripping one another. Scared little children comforting each other under the gleam of a rifle’s scope. Her throat bobbed, a pathetic raspy sound scratching at her throat as she breathed, “Amo didn’t mean it…”

Riyo remained stationary, “Amo did,”

The girl’s eyes watered, “I did…” Her gaze tore off the sharp end of Ripper and met the cold calamity of emerald, basked in an intensity unlike the one she had when they first met. If one could call it an official first meeting.

“Amo hurt—I hurt a lot of people…” She conceded with a forced maturity in her quivering voice. “And Amo—I know that I am a very bad person…but I want to change and—”

“Do you remember who you hurt?”

Her body stilled, as though someone tied a metal rod to her spine, yet attached needles so she may always feel them the longer she remains upright. The small clothes she wore prevented her from feeling suffocated, as those garments she wore prior often made her feel—but she still felt in the nude and worse of all, constricted. If she recalls, Rudo was on a mission, far, far away, her knight in giant gloves. He would not be back until the following day or two. How unfortunate for her to deal with this alone. Still, her gaze flitted away from Riyo, falling like tears, to her bundled hands.

“Um…” She began to grieve the warmth of Rudo, a warmth she felt she may have taken for granted, now in its absence. Her mind was a chaos of untied knots and bundled threads, the silhouette of a beautiful woman behind bars, lit with the holiness of a saint. Farther back, her hands that had asked for nothing but a single favour, clawed their way into the tower. She clawed and clawed at finely worn waste, dug too far and came across the splintered skull of Mister, and she was burying him again in quick shovelling. She shovelled back, until she was back in the tower, sitting on bent knees before a woman with black hair and kind eyes.

“I hurt that lady with the black hair—the… the mom-in-my-fantasy,” Her words pooled at her hands, and she held them like a lifeline, “The… the mean man with the umbrella, then the… the man with the black hair… then the big-big man—”

“Not them.” The dead rose from under Amo, selfish, vengeful souls that gripped for a body that did not belong to them. “There was someone else. The one with the hoops.”

The sand swallowed them again.

Amo blinked, her eyes lifting in time with her head, “Hoops?”

“Yes.” Riyo’s chapped lips moved swiftly, “Hoop earrings, sometimes they wear studs, sometimes nothing at all.” Her grip grew a fraction tighter, “Gold makes them stand out. It balances well with their skin. But they sometimes like silver, because the contrast draws attention. And they like attention. Them. That’s who I’m talking about.”

“Amo doesn’t—”

“The prettiest hair I’ve ever seen. It has so much volume when it’s not in a style, it poofs! Poofs! Did you know that humidity can make their hair unruly? They’ll keep it in braids. They treat it so well, and they always come out looking better than before. And you made them cry—cry.”

Poof? Hoops? Them? There was more than one…?

“I—"

“How can you not remember? You made them cry—you made them—”

Her eyes darted left, and her hand dropped to her side. Her fingers opened her pocket and tucked Ripper inside.

The door opened with a sigh, and suddenly, the warmth returned tenfold. Amo turned to the door, but saw not a hint of white hair or large gloves.

“Hey, can I—Oh!”

A strange person stood at the doorway, hair fixed in messy braids, as though they hadn’t been done in some time. They wore a pair of large pants and an even bigger tee over themselves, a graphic of a weird comic printed at the very front, bold and popping with colour. Your face was a pleasant mix of surprise and fondness, yet a begrudging embarrassment of being caught visiting.

“Riyo I—sorry, I thought it was just going to be Amo in here…”

‘Don’t leave…’ Amo thought herself, drawn to the warmth she never thought to find in someone who wasn’t her knight.

“It’s cool, I just wanted to see her myself!” Riyo seemed moved by a similar fixation, abandoning her stiff posture for a softer facade and sitting on the adjacent cot.

“That’s nice of you.” The person, with an almost sheepish flush to their face, stepped fully into the room, bearing a bouquet of papier-mache flowers in one hand. Their lips curled, then straightened into an awkward line. “…Rudo told me that in the Sphere, people usually give flowers to the sick, so… I figured… Well, I—” Your eyes darted, and your hands fumbled, “I didn’t have anyone to drive me to town, and I didn’t wanna ask Delmon ‘cus his flowers means so much to him so I figured— ‘well I can make them myself’ but ti didn’t know how so i had to ask some help from Dear so—anyways!”

You found yourself sitting on the same cot, staring at Amo as though she were someone so precious, “How… are you?”

Amo’s eyes found yours again, your hair, your clothing. The studs in your ears, how well they balance your skin.

“Amo…” the girl began with dawning guilt, “Made you… cry?”

Your youthful eyes grew, and the heat in your face doubled as though outed. “Oh…! I uh—yeah, I did, but—well, I cry easily! I’m a big crier! I cried yesterday, in fact, when—y’know that time when—remember that time, Riyo? I cried when that thing happened… y’know the thing…”

Amo looked to Riyo, but the other girl fixed her eyes on Amo with a cold certainty. This WAS that person. And Amo gathered that there was no ‘that one thing’, maybe there were no tears to talk about.

Caught, you moved so quickly that Amo shrank. When your hand thrust, her breath jumped, only to falter when you dropped the bouquet in her lap.

“Sorry… I get a little jumpy sometimes…” Your meek voice reached Amo’s ears, and your face appeared softer than before. “I… that was me, yeah… I mean, I’m sure other people were crying too…! Right?”

When no support reached you, your body bowed, “Geez, okay… well… Yeah, I… cried. It’s not fun seeing something like that, especially when it still feels so fresh, but… well… you were just troubled, right?”

Something fragile gripped Amo’s chest, squeezed her heart until her eyes stung, “No, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“It was so long ago!” You interjected with a cutting chuckle, “I’m over it now, really! I’m not here to get you back or something, I don’t do debts… I just heard that they found you and I figured that… we can be… friends…?”

Riyo should have known you were going to pull a stunt like this. Had she not watched you enough to predict this? She did, actually. She saw it over and over in her head the entire time she spent in that ride back to HQ, imagining you rehearsing lines in the mirror to get it right. She should have known you would have…

“Friends…” Amo’s voice floated to both her and your ears, trembling. “…Amo would like that…”

Your awkward face cracked into elation, and you were bouncing upright with that quickness that, again, made the girl flinch. “Oh-kay! Friends! This is great—when you’re well enough to walk around, send me a message! Oh—wait, sorry you’re—um just shout my name, and I’m bound to hear it! We can do whatever—we can even go to cafes and get some cake—”

“No-!” Amo’s sudden shout startled even herself. “I—Amo is fine.. thanks,”

You blinked away your bemusement, “Wow… you hate cake that badly, huh? First time hearing that…” Still, you were a joy. And you expressed that even when faced with that startling interjection.

To think… Riyo could almost laugh now. Well, she was laughing, tickled by the nonsense you began spewing shortly after. How your eyes crinkled, how your hands moved in wide gesticulations, and your feet kicked, then stilled. How, even when faced with someone who played a dirty trick on you, you didn’t mind the dirt.

Riyo exhaled, her hand finding the hem of your shirt. The only thing that she can hold onto, given hw frantic your hands were moving. If you can forgive her that easily, then… then… she was wrong about you, again. But then again, as her head dropped onto your shoulders, and you paused your gesticulations to allow the contact, Riyo wouldn’t have you any other way.

Hold on to that smile, and she’ll hold on to you. And this time, she won’t fail.

[5,566 words]

Zanka [Good Enough To Replace him] Jealousy, inferiority complex, Toxic

Zanka’s yandere tendencies would stem most likely from his insecurity and an inferiority complex. Given that he came from a broken home, with implications of abuse, followed by being outdone in the only thing special about him, he would most likely approach a relationship in a similar fashion.

Where the sickness had started in minor factions of doubt, it soon festered into something uglier.

Zanka, as a yandere, would be one who is on the precipice of violence, but not because of his supposed sadism, but actually because he can no longer stand being second place to someone. And under the implications of being abused in his family, we can say that his sadism stems from a desire to let people feel what he has felt, or to finally be in a position of power instead of being submissive to it.

We can say even that his drive to be stronger, whilst mostly influenced by Hyo’s sudden intervention in his life, is also caused by a desire to let others feel inferior to him rather than vice versa. Fighting geniuses is a death sentence because someone like him could never beat them—that’s what makes it so worth it. The narrative that HE is the exception to that rule is what drives him to be better than a genius. that something could be inherently special about him. So, in a yandere relationship, where we could say he derives validation from a single partner, it would mean that he is in a constant state of competition with himself and those he deems a ‘better fit’ for that partner, to prove that HE is the exception. Building on this, if he is not your type, then he believes himself worthy to prove the exception to those rigid rules.

His love will manifest as a persistent desire not to be second place to another person. So, in the case that he is not chosen for a romantic relationship by that person, he may just try to ‘work harder’ to be perceived as a better match than to outright say it. Zanka has manners in that sense, but he can be sassy.

But he’s also the type to try to remain visibly nonchalant, so he probably won’t express his displeasure for fear of being looked at sideways or perceived as lesser-than. I think Zanka is the only one who might be willing to, in slight, harm someone he knows as long as they are within the boundaries of a consensual sparring session. There, he has every ‘right’ to go all out without the consequences, and he can frame it as training without being looked down upon. He will try to hurt that person, not fully on Sadism (as I find the word very general), but to prove that he can, could, would…and that they are weaker than him.

Zanka’s love, if pushed to a yandere state in short, is driven by a desire for superiority and stems from his underlying insecurity. It’s consuming in its size. I don’t think he would be driven to kill anyone, even as a yandere, even when obsessed—if he had to kill someone just to take them out of the competition what does that say about him? I think he’d get a greater pleasure from simply proving himself right rather than taking them out of the game entirely. He drives to humiliate the competition.

I think his behaviour towards you will change depending on who or what you are. For Rudo or Riyo, where it’s very neutral—no matter who you are, they would behave the same— I feel Zanka has more conditions. (For example, whether stronger or weaker, Riyo will always strive to protect you and collect debts)

If you’re weaker than him, then it would justify his reasoning to be there with you and protect you, or even to train you. He would happily take the role as mentor if it meant only he could bring out your truest potential. (Emphasis on HE, he wants exclusivity.)

If you’re stronger than him, then it’s an excuse to train harder so the two of you can be on the same level of strength. It’s him envying you—wanting to be you, but also wanting you. He’s back at the academy all over again—in a world full of Geniuses like Hyo, he has to fight to prove why he deserves the seat at your side.

His yandere is both about how he interacts with you and how he interacts with others about you. It’s all about exclusivity. Only he understands you, only he can meet you in strength/bring out your strength, and only he deserves you.

He’s willing to try anything to get and keep your proximity over the competition. He would actively try to foster synergy with you so that he is perceived as your perfect counterpart.

In short, Zanka, as a yandere, is an insecure devotee, fighting himself, you, and others to prove why he deserves you.

[Headcanons | Moderate]

Zanka perceived his relationship with you as unique. And he will continue to have this idea that it IS unique, and that no one can ever match it

He’s not grabbing for you as one might expect from a yandere; he’s not like the rest of his team, who are more casual with touch. If anything, he expresses himself through the possessive view of you and verbal affirmations.

Quick to shut down, as politely as he can, if someone ever brings up an idea of how much better you would be with someone else. Either he speaks for you or clarifies rumours on your behalf. Simultaneously, he would subtly arrange himself to align or parallel with you more. So, to the outside world, the two of you are conveniently well-suited to one another.

If you like strawberry cake, he suddenly likes chocolate. If you prefer sweets, he likes spicy food. If you’re a night owl, he’s an early bird. Some tropes work seamlessly together—which was what started this little infection that the two of you DO belong together because of how convenient it is. But in some cases, you are not an exact parallel of him. Where he prefers the quiet in a fight —focused intensity —you are equally quiet—which is fine. Nothing wrong with that. But now the two of you are not parallel. You’re just like-minded people, which is harder to romanticise.

But he wasn’t going to change anything, either. So he pivots. Now, instead of the two of you being exactly parallel, it’s that the two of you are so deeply entwined that you tend to share traits. He likes that challenge.

If the two of you are in an established relationship, then you would find that his motives change from wanting to provide evidence that the two of you belong together to actively doing everything he can to keep you and justify the relationship.

His quiet possessiveness grows tenfold, where he is now, by definition of a relationship, allowed to hold or touch you without reason. And he abuses that.

Where he grew up not having anything for himself, despite being someone of privilege, you’re one of the few things he picked for himself—and that bond deepens when you consider that this is a fight he can win. And even if he is losing, he would fight harder to win.

Zanka knew what kind of person you were the moment he saw you, ashen and dewy, standing beside Enjin. With those deep-seated eyes, those petulant, curled lips, cracked from dehydration and lacking in vigour. Unkempt hair hiding under a satin scarf with a plethora of patterns, and a throat encased with beads. Then there was the way you stand, resting your weight on one leg while the other was only slightly jutted out, your hands tucked in the pockets of your trousers.

One of those… smooth talkers.

Maybe he hadn’t been specific before. It wasn’t necessarily how you dressed or appeared, per se. If anything, he had speculated that you must have been found on the street, given how roughed up you look. It was when you began talking, and somehow managed to gouge what and who everyone was sans fail. Zanka had catalogued it as a pretentious effort to appear sly when it must have been what Enjin had told you. But then you drove deeper and deeper, until Zanka was sure that you were stripping him bare with the same indifference.

‘” Okay, I didn’t teach them that,”’ Enjin spoke as he slapped a hand over your mouth, just as you pointed your attention to Rudo.

Yeah, one of those.

He’d even wagered that you must have a strange fixation on them, him in particular. He kept finding you already glancing his way, as though to further scope out his reactions to specific news or line of dialogue. Yet it seemed like no one else noticed, or at least nobody cared enough to point it out. Even when he made an attempt to allude to your supposed fixation, either no one caught it, or the conversation mutated into another.

‘” Y’know Zanka,”’ Riyo had started that lunch after that dreadful tower, taking a sip of Rudo’s soda, ‘” You and the new guy are so much alike,”’

Zanka must have made a face, for Enjin snorted around the mouthful of meat in his mouth, slapping his palm down on the tabletop. His lips flew open, “She’s right, y’know… both of you got this… nonchalance going on, noticed it?”’

‘” Well, I’d say they got it down better than Zanka,”’ Riyo murmured with a smile of her own.

Zanka had felt his eye twitch, halfway through slurping his noodles, when he set the bowl down. ‘” Just because we have a similar approach doesn’t mean we’re the same. If anything, I find it offensive.”

”You two are almost the same in other places, too, Zanka. Lighten up, huh? Could be a new friend for you. I think it would be interesting—”’

‘” And why would I be interested in them?”’ Quick and sudden, that Riyo perked with a cheeky grin. And he resumed his meal. From his seat, though, he had a vantage point and found himself looking over to the next table. You ate slowly, too slowly for his liking. You seemed mostly out of it, unable to enjoy the meal even though it was paid for you. Like you wished you’d be anywhere else.

But Follo was all over you, in the sense that he had so much to spill for some reason. Focused on you and your vigour… maybe trying to pick up things about you. Again, Zanka could not see anything remotely interesting about you. Maybe you were a tad bit cool, so quiet and to yourself—put together when you want to be. You did this thing where you’d tilt your head and scoff with a slight squint in your left eye.

His gaze snapped away when your flickered toward him, a heat creeping up the back of his neck. He busied himself with his food, but he could still feel your attention like a brand on his skin.

Lately, you’ve been getting into basic exercises ever since Enjin began piling food in front of you. He had asked you once about it—not because he cared. More like because he wasn’t sure how to feel about a second person in the same place he usually likes to train. He must have made it known to you, his disinterest with it, because you looked him up and down as if he was barely a passing thought.

It annoyed him—that indifference towards him. He didn’t expect you to behold him like he was someone great—not at all. He was no longer that boy, but he also didn’t understand why you seemed so… bored with him. He had noticed how quick you are to make small talk with everyone else. You and Eisha seemed the closest, given how often you spent the nights in the infirmary. Then it was Follo, given how close you two are in terms of age, and grew even closer when Follo found out about your little guilt.

He could only see Follo’s back form here, not that he minded. He has a perfect view of your face. Your dumb face, giving Follo more consideration than you ever gave him.

‘“How are they, by the way?”’

Zanka remembered how it felt when the poison began to flow through his blood and capture every soft edge of his nerves. His vision purpled, then darkened, then lit again with mottled spores of black. A kaleidoscope burst before his eyes, just as snakes hung high above him.

‘“I gave y’all a lil present a while back… pretty thing with the cutest eyes troubled eyes… they good? Alive, right? Right?”’ That laughter twisted in his ears, “Oh Zanka… you out of it already, huh? Okay, okay! If it wasn’t for the boss man’s orders, I’d slip a little letter in your pocket, so you can be my little messenger… well, I’m sure when they find out you’re dead, they’re gonna come lookin’ for me. And we’ll be together again,”

His feet were picked up, that lanky teen grinning at him with all his teeth and distorted features. ‘“You weren’t into ‘em, right? Just gotta make sure… they always get a lotta attention back home, and I always gotta fight to keep ‘em… so I’m just lettin’ you know that whatever you got goin’ on, ain’t mean shit,”

His body was dragged, and suddenly, he was thinking back at you. Not a single word had registered—not really. He felt the impression of words but couldn’t spell them.

‘“My man… they gon’ hate this… but they gon’ love what I do,”’

‘Your man? Your… what?’

“Yo, quarter combo brows,” Zanka’s gaze tore upwards to the door of the infirmary. You stepped into the infirmary without tact, a hand tucked into your pocket, the other gripping something wrapped in newspaper.

“Sorry for the late gift…” You seemed to look better. He has heard from Eisha in passing that when Tamsy and the others went to locate them, they dropped you off at Mole town. Apparently, you had a place there, and Gris felt kind enough to leave you there when you asked.

You must have just clocked back in, given how much better you looked, if that were possible. To be fair, you always had that thing about you. You tend to stand out no matter what room you’re in, even if you’re standing off to the side. How you could be behind bodies, and he’d still find a way to spot you among them, hiding in plain view. You’d tilt your body side to side, rock on your heels and toes.

“I heard what happened… rough stuff, I’m surprised you’re still alive,” You had the barest of humour in your eyes as you sat on the opposing cot, placing the small box on the small stand between the beds. “How you feelin’?”

Zanka’s lips trembled. You. He hadn’t thought much of you during his recovery—only recently, when suddenly Jabber’s voice infiltrated his head. And even then, he had disregarded your memory in passing. How weird that he thought of you, though. Speak of the devil, and they shall arrive. And the devis has… gotten him a gift…?

“‘M fine, nothing new.” He dragged the blanket higher up his body, though it still bunched at his hips. “Eisha almost got all of it out. Not that lethal,”

You seemed contemplative for a moment, the bags under your eyes emphasised as you looked down at him with equally avoidant glowering. But it was almost snuffed out by the new vigour in your skin, a warmth that replaced the cold clammy that had inhabited your face for a while. “Whatever you say,”

The cot groaned under your weight as you swung both legs up and over the sheets. Your arms are raised and folded behind your head. “If you need anything, ask, okay?”

“I’m not inept,” he fired back. “You can take your pity elsewhere.”

“Miss me with that bullshit, Zan,” You did that thing again with your head, looking at him as you made that face that made his sour. “You helped me out, now imma help you. This ain’t a debate. So quiet down on that—“ You motioned your hand in his direction, encompassing him, “—complex you got goin’ on. Treatin’ me like your enemy, mind you, the worst I’ve ever done was get spit on your shoulder,”

It was the night you were fully able. It was maybe just a night before the Tower situation. You were fully on your feet, and Enjin was determined to give you a proper welcome party, even when word had it that you had fought him because of it. Apparently, you weren’t too into having a party, more focused on getting the medication that Enjin had promised and failed to give you. You had gotten violent, according to some records, a byproduct of that ugly habit you had before joining. It was an ugly fight. The kind where apparently it caused someone to lose a bit of sense—but you were weak, and Enjin had everything over you.

Enjin was disappointed at the time for not trying anything. Well, he did. But Enjin doesn’t know that. He tried to forget it—it was a moment that neither of you had wanted. You were too guilty to even defend yourself; you just gave up when Zanka found you in your own route to a relapse. And he didn’t know why, but he felt gracious enough to help you back to your room and take the bottle away from you before you could.

Laid you down, threw a pillow at your face and called that a night. But there was that quiet acknowledgement to never speak of it again.

“So you’re because you want to thank me?” He coaxed, his fingers fiddling with the cuffs of his long sleeves.

“Yeah, that. You didn’t have to deal with my shit—and I made you uncomfortable,” You murmured, shuffling on the bed. “I know I’m not… the easiest guy to work with. And you don’t know me… I don’t know. You’re very… heroic?”

He had expected more from you. He really did. But your persistence, calm sent hod shudders running up his spine to settle at his face. Now, it has become glaringly obvious that there is a difference between you two. He had prided himself on that calm nature of his, being able to maintain a level head… There were clearly levels to it. You didn’t even look grateful.

“Just doing my job,” He murmured.

“Your job is to clean up trash beasts and train that spherite,” You spoke too quickly, “I ain’t got no part in that equation,”

“Kinda hard to not do anything,”

“True,” Your voice floated to him, and he felt another shudder, “But you didn’t have to take care of me. Easiest choice was to drop me off at the infirmary and tell Eisha… but you were so damn persistent on helping me keep all this a secret… my little nurse all of a sudden,”

His eyes narrowed, “Lookin’ too into it,”

“Alright then,” You gave up too easily for his liking. You shrugged, your dismissal an antiseptic scrubbing away at him.

When you turned your face away to look at the ceiling, Zanka followed your gaze up to the hanging lights. With a huff, he let his body fall back to the pillows, shuffling down to rest his head on the stiff pillow. He dragged the blanket up to his chest, his fingers splaying over his stomach.

This time, he found it impossible to ignore you. He again thought back to your first introduction. Again and again. His mind ceased to follow a linear path of events, flitting amongst several all at once.

How ‘similar’ the two of you were, as he mentioned. How the two of you shared such staggering degrees of social avoidance—with you being a ‘hardcore loner’—a joke probably made in poor taste, given the state they found you in. When Enjin had made the joke again, in front of you, you hardly reacted to the jab. Then, it became apparent the degree of ‘loner’ you were, but Zanka would categorise more of a detachment. That Remlin kid once drew all over your face, and all you were focused on was the fact that the ink was red instead of purple. Throughout all this, you haven’t changed much.

Call him what you will, he was sure you were about to snap one way or another. But you were pleasant throughout the trip. You seemed fixated on him just as much as he was on you, asking questions when you could about him—him. How weird. He had gripped Lovely Assistaff just a tad tighter when you had asked about his duration with a giver status.

‘“So, yer just gonna watch me do all the work, huh?” He had asked, masked and partially obscured by the fine trash clouding the land.

You stood closer than you should, given the threats, ‘“Sorry, you want me to fight with my hands? Want me dead, huh?”’

He couldn’t help the snort there, and he had turned away, ‘“Could at least…”’ do what? What could you do? You were wearing a standard uniform for a reason. ‘“I don’t know, give me a pointer?”’

Quickly, ‘“I like your fighting style,”’ You lifted your hand from your pocket and made a circular motion, ‘“All spins and twirls, looks nice. I like the handling of the staff you got goin’ on,”

Oh. Well, that was new. If only he could see your face, he could tell whether you were being genuine or messing around with him. Maybe you weren’t being genuine. It was too sudden to be something genuine. Suffocating warmth had pooled up to his face, something he was quick to rid of with a curt turn of his head. You were clearly watching him then, right? That proves it! You were watching him! And you were watching him because there was something unique about his fighting style that you just can’t get enough of, right? Yeah, that. He swung and hit, plummeted and struck—and he always found you farther away. Always there, always present. You saw that, right? You saw how he targeted 3 at once? Did you see when he pivoted his heel to get a better grip on the ground? Did you see when his lovely Assistaff took on a minor new form? Of course you did, you’re fixated on him. You’re so obsessed with him, it’s embarrassing. Fine. He’ll give you a show.

You were too careless for his liking, though. Your hands were in the finely ground waste as if it were your first time seeing something like that. Then, when Gris called for you, you raised your arm in mock defence, the sleeves of your loose shirt rolling down to expose your forearm, hints of depleted muscle. And you were slinking back off with the supporters with an attitude in your step, the kind that had the equipment around your hip popping with every step, until you were back at Follo’s side. Then, you were clapping your hand with Follo’s, and he seemed particularly excited to have finally picked up on that greeting gesture.

Communication had grown sparse as the day drew on. In that tower, though, he didn’t notice he’d move closer until his elbow brushed yours. He jerked back as if burned, muttering an excuse about needing more space.

When the smell got to you, you became a distance away. But even when you had snapped out of it, not a damn… change.

‘“What’s wrong with ya’?”’ Zanka has asked you then, when you let the blood running from your nose reach the top of your lip.

Your eyes, shallow and blank, blinked back into awareness and took the slow route to his body. ‘“Huh?”’

Zanka’s brows pulled close, ‘“Yer not as… emotional like everyone else,”’

‘“What’s there to trip over?”’ You simply said. ‘“It’s just a… party trick,”’

A party trick? Who do you think you are? He was sure from then on that you must think of him lowly, or at least don’t care about him as much as you try to appear.

“Wanted to see what type of person you actually are, figured that was my best shot,” Zanka admitted, only to bite his tongue in regret when his voice trembled at the last word. His eyes squeezed shut, a pestering groan escaping his throat. “You piss me off, y’know?”

“I do that,” You spoke, and he felt the frustration all over again. “You hate me, Zanka?”

‘Yes,’

“Hate’s a big word,” He muttered. “I just get iffy ‘bout ya,”

“Because…?”

Yet you weren’t even looking at him. Why not look at him? Making it look like you didn’t even—like you—

“Ya, actually meant what you said back then? ‘Bout me and my instrument?”

“Huh?” You began, bemused and maybe a bit annoyed at having your question go unnoticed, “What did I say again? Oh, right, I said you were cool,”

‘No. You said more than that. You were just speakin’ outta your ass then, huh? Figures… what do you really think of me?

“I mean, you are. Had to say that,”

“Right.” He murmured. “How many people have ya told that to, so far?”

For instance, he saw your composure falter, your eyes flickering with something grim. As though caught off guard, or sunk into something. It lasted for only a few seconds before you were scurrying to mutter, “Uh—plenty others, I guess,”

There it is. The smooth shit talker he knew you to be. Bet you had plenty of others on your roster, huh? How much blood you got in that choker? So whatever you say about him means jack shit in the grand scheme of things. You’re just a pretty face with a pretty mouth. He’d listen to your conversation with Follo on the way back to base, though he was tuckered out much like everyone else. He couldn’t help but want to see what got Follo so invested—what got you so talkative. Saying his name in that low, unimpressed drawl, but still having the decency to maintain eye contact and cling to every word Follo let slip. You said Follo’s name different tho—less focused. Less pronunciation. Less everything. But you said Zanka’s name with so much focus, so much emphasis.

“It’s a bad habit of mine—but I’m honest, you are pretty cool,”

Sure. Whatever you say. It was his fault for ever thinking you meant the compliment.

“The cool people always got this air around them, and in a game as rigged as this one, they always get their way,” you added, sans fail.

Maybe it was the impression of frustration in your voice that had Zanka turning on his side, confusion mottling his face. It was on the nose, wasn’t it? A bit out there?. “Since when did you get introspective?”

“Since 15 seconds ago,”

His face softened a fraction, and he took the opportunity just as it hit the waters, “This bout da—y’know since you… you speakin’ on experience or…?”

For a second, when your lips parted, and your eyes seemed to freeze, Zanka had thought—was sure he had overstepped. Maybe he had let his own curiosity get the better of him and lost the chance to get something unique. Something exclusive out of you. Something that proves that you had something against him. Or something about him. Something. He remembered the exact way you said his name in your first introduction. Again, that low, rumble, a lazy drawl that may have been a product of your lethargy—yet somehow lodged deep in his chest and refused to leave.

“I lost my own game, yeah. But you knew that already, huh?” You meant to joke, but the levity was only that by intention, not tone.

“Who doesn’t?” Zanka had meant to help you with your joke, but you hardly smiled. Suddenly, he felt shittier than before—worse, he felt painfully unfunny. He never cared before—he was no comedian. But now he wondered if the few times he had made a joke before were actually funny or if everyone had a collective duty of pity.

You intercepted before he could spew a half-assed apology, “If it wasn’t for them, then I wouldn’t be here. Not my damn choice, it was theirs and the game allows it. People with the most drive behind their choices tend to overcome the weaker drives…” Your eyes fluttered shut. “There was an easier, non-refundable way… but I was too much of a coward to take it. But when the scary option revealed itself to them, well, they took it no questions asked. willing to take the risk, and that’s why they won,”

Zanka sought your face despite it being partially turned away from him. Your voice, which had been shifting into the depths of frustration, had spontaneously mellowed out into something almost… reverent. Like you were reminiscing on your saviour and their victory, rather than loathing what they represented in your life. On one hand, Zanka perceived it as a joy to be alive. On the other hand, he wondered what made them so special, to win the game that should have been yours for the taking. What made that person so special to make you break character all of a sudden? How many compliments did you give them?

“Eh, if you’d won, we wouldn’t be talkin’ right now, right?” He murmured. “You’re here, talking to me.” It could have been anywhere else, right? You chose to be here. You chose him. You chose to come here and chat him up—bringing him a gift. That means something, right? You WERE watching him. You ARE fixated on him.

Sans etiquette, you blurted, “Yeah, I’d be dead. Right in a pile of trash, too, a broken leg or two,”

“Then that guy made a pretty damn good choice.” Had it not been for them, he would have never met you. You would have never been here. Surely that has to count for something, right? Not that the two of you had some remarkable bond—he didn’t even know your last name. But there was still something about you that he would have missed otherwise. Besides, you and whoever that person was are not on good terms again, right? If you two were, then you’d be with them, so… technically, there is no one else, right?

“Maybe,” You murmured, and suddenly dismissed the conversation with a redirection of your body his way. “Point is, Zanka, from what I could see, you’re pretty good at what you do. The best there are, the strongest I’ve seen… Jabber ain’t got nothing on actual skill.”

Zanka’s eye slit up despite himself. His fingers clenched minutely on the sheets, his lips trembling. “Complimenting me all of a sudden… sounds like yer tryin’ to get on my good side, even after knowing don’t really like you,”

“Hate is such a big word, I’d figure liking me would have been an easier pill to swallow,” You argued with a knowing glint in your pretty eyes.

‘Maybe…’

“And what if it was? What if liking you was easier?” He asked.

“It is easier, you haven’t strangled me yet.”

“Yet.”

Warmth crossed your face, and your lips quirked into something precious and beautiful. Your eyes creased, and your shoulders shook with a small, genuine laugh. It was cruelly quiet, and your voice came out almost mirthful, “I didn’t take you for the guy to make jokes.”

Was that your first smile? Ever? Gotta be, right? He made you… smile? Laugh? It was a nice sound, if he was being completely honest with himself. And it was caused by him. That means only he can make you smile, right? Only he can make you laugh? Not Follo or Eisha or—

Jabber

Zanka scoffed and turned away, “Don’t get it twisted,”

“Alright, Zanka. You got it,”

Yeah, that’s gotta be your first ever smile since joining. And he did that. Him. On his own. And he knows it’s only him so far because your face looked strained when it smiled, like it has forgotten how to. Or hasn’t done so in such a long time, that your face had been muted into that grim exhaustion. How your teeth peek, how your lips curl. To the way your nostrils flared just slightly—paired with the faint smell of the outside and cologne… yeah. He did that. Him.

That proves it then, right?

A smirk pulled on his lips, his face growing warm again. His chest grew tight, and he fought the eager trembling in his shoulders, and that stupid breathy sound that wanted to push past his lips. He clutched the blanket up to his face. ‘They’re seriously obsessed with me!’

‘They want me, me! I knew it!’

Well, then, he got a lot of work to do now, right? Can’t let people think they can come between this, right? Right.

8,879 words [don't get excited, he's sharing with Fu]

Enjin in [Loyalty] Confident, intentionally a bum in some cases,

Enjin as a yandere would be more casual. He is confident enough that I don’t think the infection would start as an insecurity, but rather a confidence that you and he are already destined to be, it just needs to be realised. Additionally, even if you are being pursued by someone else, he has the confidence to feel like he’d win regardless.

According to Semiu, Enjin is more of a bum in the cleaners, constantly chasing after women. It is unknown to me if he is successful or if his methods work. But I do like to think that they do, maybe not all brands of women tho. This is more of a headcanon and not backed by canon evidence (there’s not enough imo), but given that Kyouka asked for her greetings to be passed on to ‘the blond charmer,’ it could be that she was reluctantly charmed by him—or it’s a derogatory given that his ‘charm’ is what brought Zanka over.

Additionally, let’s say she WAS charmed by him—it could follow the trope of big-scary general bought by the weakest flirting game ever (as a funny little diversion trope); or that Enjin has some genuinely good game.

Moving past that, Enjin explicitly likes smart, well-endowed women. In this case, since we are going gender-neutral here for both female and male readers, we will focus only on the smart, non-childish part.

His relationship with you now must have been built on you checking off at least one of those traits. But I also don’t like making a character someone’s exact type. Regardless, his relationship with you as a Yandere is more casual than anything else. He is not outwardly possessive—he expects loyalty from you, and expects you to fight for what you want (him). So I don’t think he would worry if he knew you for that loyalty. If you are loyal to someone else, then that’s where I believe the yandere begins. A jealousy that your loyalty, time, and effort are for someone else.

Enjin is one of the harder ones for me to interpret, oddly. We will refer to his relationship for Fu for a moment. He dislikes Fu, not maliciously, but because he likes it when someone fights and has the drive to get what they want (a trait he likes in Zanka, for example), whereas Fu represents the opposite. Someone who is too passive in life and doesn’t even have the drive to make his own decisions.

This trait is most likely transferable if he meets someone his age, where he would be drawn to people that way. Again, I am not fully up to date on the manga, so my interpretations are NOT the ‘right’ ones! And even if I did read the manga in its entirety, my interpretations would not be the ‘right’ one. [idk, I feel the need to clarify this. We are all entitled to our own opinions!]

[Headcanons|Moderate-Long]

Though I have been exposed to spoilers so…

Enjin, as a yandere, seems to have a high grasp of his morals. I don’t think he would be the type to kidnap and or torture the person his infection made him cling to. Given his background, he may be entirely against stripping you of your autonomy. Instead…

Enjin, as a yandere, or a slow-developing yandere, is the type to gauge out what makes other people so interesting to you. He has most likely already tried his hand at you—he is the type to let you know from day one how he feels about you. So, the infection only started because you turned your back on him, either because of loyalty or simply a lack of attraction to him.

He will not force your hand, but he will become insufferable in his frequency. He is here, there, atop buildings, watching you go about your day. He won’t interfere with your day-to-day routine, but he also can’t help but wonder where you go, or what you do in a day.

Maintaining that friendship with you is easy; he knows when to back off in his flirting. But he can’t help but want to be around you all the same. If you need a favour, he will be your guy. He won’t trip over himself to do that favour for you, but if he catches wind of you needing that, he will try to get to you—he’ll find you way before you find him. He’s not omnipotent, so he doesn’t know where you are 24/7; he will ask around, though.

When he’s desperate to know your location, he will take it to Tamsy.

If he wants advice, he will go to Semiu—then make a face when the woman shuts down his delusions.

He is not cruel in his pursuit, nor is he trying to be a creep about it; he will try to make sure the two of you are always going together or at the same place. And if he can’t, he won’t trip over it.

If your loyalty is elsewhere, let’s say another man or organisation, then his approach will be somewhat different.

At first, he will try to move on and give you the space that you need from him. He will be determined not to come off as a creep or harass you, so he will try to make sure he is not near you. But he still gravitates towards you, finding himself in places you normally go to, subconsciously, just to try and catch a glimpse of you.

Semiu had probably told him some ways to move on, because she can’t stand seeing the bum even more of a bum over someone he can’t even have. She recommends finding something else to do—maybe even take on some jobs to distract himself. On rare occasions, if she feels the situation is not changing, she would recommend a random hookup to take his mind off it for good. Find someone else to obsess over. She doesn’t root for that route; it is more like a ‘if everything else fails…’ option.

The infection started with envy. Where he lies alone in bed, you’re probably with your partner. He’s alone, cold, a little horny, but mostly cold. Probably spending your nights in someone else’s arms, where you could have been in his, had it not been for your partner.

Now he’s wondering what they have that he doesn’t. Your loyalty is phenomenal, but surely this person has to be undeserving, right? What could they possibly do to get you whipped over them? He’s watching you when you can with your partner, trying to understand the dynamic or the character of your partner.

He could try all he likes to imitate what you like. But again, that drive and loyalty that drew him to you in the first place is unshakeable.

Enjin is not the type to kill anyone. Not with his background at the very least. His method is to have events that align a little too well. Sabotage and a lack of active manipulation. He is the type to let things play out, let things find themselves to him rather than the other way around. If he has suspicions of your partner cheating, then he’ll let it happen and help you find out without letting you know that he knows.

If your loyalty is to an organisation…

Loyalty was hard to come by for most. There could never be someone who is, undoubtedly, 100% loyal to a cause. However, Enjin wouldn’t jump to crucify anyone for disloyalty, as he had learned in his upbringing that loyalty can come in many shades, with its own exceptions. Though even then, that would be the rare exception, not a cookie-cutter of what happens. Furthermore, he could even say that sometimes disloyalty can be black or white; there isn’t always a reason. Not always a strong moral code or stressful circumstance, it just is.

He had known about the supposed disloyalty, more prominently when that young teen first approached him with all nerves and a severe lack of a Raider’s drive—that scrawny kid who never ceased to embarrass him with his awkward standstills and persistent whining.

But it really wasn’t the kid himself that evoked the wonder on the grey areas of disloyalty; it was you.

He had been just moments away from turning his back on the teen, after deducing that he was hardly a threat to him (more like a distraction if anything), when the kid started blabbering about a ‘security blanket’.

“Huh? Security Blanket?” Enjin prodded with an arched brow, his body turning a fraction towards the shorter teen. Standing within the walls of buried trash, curving walls, and the occasional tremor under his feet, wonder brewed in his mind. Piercing his worry and anxiety was a stupid image of this kid wrapped up in a comically large, fuzzy blanket, pink and worn at the edges, maybe with a blaring logo on the front. The image evoked the nastiest cringe his face has ever formed.

The stench only added to his disgust, but it was becoming a more tolerable trait than the cursed imager.

Seeing the older, and objectively cooler man, standing in disgusted silence, Fu found himself twiddling his fingers. The pads of his sweaty index fingers pressed together in fleeting kisses, his eyes sweeping his feet, Enjin’s feet, his body, his face, before promptly falling back to his feet.

“Yeah, well—Mr. Zodyl wanted to make sure we got this right, so we made sure to have all our odds played out for us…!” He fumbled again with his hands, his voice a jarring discordance that grated on Enjin’s ears. Socially inept, or maybe willfully ignorant (Enjin wagered it was the former), Fu garnered a sliver of confidence to whip his head up and, facing forward, crossed eyes despite attempting to make eye contact, and squealed:

“They let us know what all we have to do to make sure we win…!”

He knew the Raiders had their own teams, their own front lines and supporters… it wasn’t exactly hard to come by. But he hadn’t expected them to have a giver, maybe similar to that of Semiu. A giver with the ability to make predictions? And without risking blindness, that is? Well, maybe the kid wasn’t a total loss, after all.

“’They’,” Enjin reiterated, now dropping his harsher tone in place of something neutral, “So, you guys have a lucky Giver?”

Like clockwork, Fu’s eyes lit up upon realising Enjin’s full attention is on him (going exactly as he hoped!). He hopped in place, hands clenched with barely restrained victory. “Yup!” He spoke, popping the ‘p’. “They’re always nice to me, and always letting me know what I can do to win! And they told me that I have to win this fight, because if I don’t, then they can’t stop Zodyl from getting to me!”

Though spoken with a rush of excitement, his own words forced their way back to his ear, and his mood plummeted as quickly as his hands. His eyes flitted to his shoes again, his mouth salivating, “…I have to fight you, and win… I have to fight you and win, okay?! So… If you don’t mind…! Can you throw the first punch!?”

‘Oh yeah, easy money,’ Enjin rolled his head back, his face twisting into uncertainty, “I don’t know…” He drawled, “Hitting a kid is not really on my payroll… besides, it would feel so… wrong…”

“Huh?!” Fu gasped and took an eager step forward, “I—I can tell you more about them! Yeah! I can give you the info and-and—and we can fight! How’s that?”

“Well, when you put it like that…”

“Okay!” Fu chirped, smiling wide again as though he had finally cracked the code to getting his face caved in. He fidgeted on his pointed shoes, glancing about as though the walls may have the answers.“Uh, okay—so you need info on them uh—Oh!” He perked, “They’re really close with Mr. Zodyl!”

‘Close…’

“Like a second in command?” Enjin inquired. The kid nodded dumbly before him, smiling so hard that Enjin wondered if his face didn’t hurt.

“Yeah! They’re always around him—but they’re also the person who usually gives the talk-down to the new recruits! They were there when I first joined!” He added on as his thoughts drifted in whimsical recollection. You were one of the nicer ones. To be fair, no one had really done anything harmful to him, nor did they make him feel particularly unwelcome. Well, apart from Zodyl, who never ceases to express his disinterest in Fu’s constant dependence. Especially since it ‘impeded’ on Zodyl’s time with you. Regardless, it was you who had shown him to his quarters, you who had given him his first directive as a Raider, and you had allowed him to trail you whenever Zodyl refused to.

Enjin nodded along to the tale, his earlier intrigue now reduced to a dying flame. “Yeah, see, no offence, little man, but I thought you had more juicy deets…”

Fu’s whimsy severed itself as his body straightened like an iron rod, “Oh…!” His voice trembled, “I-I do! I really do!”

Enjin made a face, tilting his head away, “Uh, sounds to me like you only know them on a professional basis.”

That worked enough to stir up his concern. Fu was squirming in place, looking about the inside of the structure for a second time. Then, epiphany struck him faster than Enjin ever could, and the dimples on his face grew pronounced as he stood with a more rigid readiness.

“They’re loyal!” He barked.

Enjin blinked, “I’d expect as much,” He clicked his tongue, “Nothing really surprising. Gotta be loyal to work in a business like that,”

He tried not to think much of the Raiders. If he were being completely honest with himself, he would still hold the outdated views of the Raiders—that they’re a bunch of givers and non-givers, thrashing, raiding, and committing petty crimes. Even when the news hit of experimentation, he was still under the impression that most of them were petty criminals. If Zodyl really did wrack up a group of pure givers, he has to assume that most of their loyalty was deriving from some form of compensation. He can say here that Jabber’s reason is most likely the thrill of it all. Fu here was probably just because he had nowhere else to be. You? You must be getting paid.

“So what’s their weekly salary, huh? Info? A vacation? An item?”

Enjin had expected Fu to jump at the ready to answer his question, but the tn had only deflated, looking far more crossed than upset. His eyes never faced the challenge, though. His meekness was a constant reminder, but his voice came out almost firm. “…They’re loyal to the cause… like—”

He stopped himself. “They’re not being nice to me because of something else…!”

‘Yeah…whatever you say, kid,’

With enough sense to know when something was a touchy topic, Enjin pivoted, “Okay… what about… I don’t know… what’s their vital instrument?”

Fu’s mood seemed unable to replenish itself, “I can’t talk about that,”

Finally, Enjin’s impatience muted, “What?” His tongue rendered inoperable, all he could do was express his genuine surprise to receive a… what, pushback, from this meek, compliant teen?

Fu shuffled on his feet, feeling the scorching gaze, “They ordered me beforehand to never speak of their vital instrument, no matter what…! So that question is off…!”

It would be common sense to say that it was just the general rule. That’s how it works in the ground, right? Never ask someone about their vital instrument, never make a comment about it, never look at it. Mind your business, wait for the giver to talk about it. But this seemed like a deliberate act that felt more… rare? Like, even knowing was too much information? This person can’t be a…

No. There can’t be… No.

“Then…is that person here right now?”

Fu’s crestfallen demeanour disturbed him more than his awkwardness, “Zodyl doesn’t let them leave base… too ‘valuable’…heh…” Fu laughed to himself, “…if only I could be too valuable to leave home… then I could just stay at base and run little errands…”

‘If only…’ -

Alone. Fu knew that one way or another, he was going to end up alone again. It was only the vague comfort and the harsh insults of Hii that kept him company. His face sagged with every daunting second in the wastes, having long given up on communication. He lay curled in the nook and cranny of one of the trash heaps, finding the tight space a secure hole for the night. Or maybe every other night if he doesn’t get his bearings.

‘krrrk crrkkk frrrk!’ The equipment scratched in his ears, and he jumped to pinch it with his fingers. What had started as his momentary relapse into a depressive state burst into adulation of the highest decree.

“H-hello?!” He squeaked, his sagging face tightening into a hopeful smile. “M-Mr. Zodyl?! Cthoni?!…Jabber…?”

If it were Jabber, then he wouldn’t expect any help, anyway. Maybe just 5 minutes of laughter again.

‘Krrrk crrk!’ Static echoed and pinched his nerves, a voice struggling amongst the static. Franticness rose in waves, and he unclipped the choker from his throat to hold in his hands and up to his ears. Only to clip it back on a second later, when he thought the static had stopped.

‘“Crrk—Fu—there?”’

He rolled out of the nook and cranny and leapt onto the ledge and scaled the heap. “W-wait! I need to get a better signal! I can hear you!”

You. Oh you! Oh, how glad he was to hear from you!

His palm scraped against sheet metal that might as well have spelt tetanus with its rust. Standing on his rickety, hopefully temporary home, he stood at the ready. “It’s you!” His eyes grew wet, and he saluted at nothing, “Fu, reporting for duty!”

At the new height, the transmission of your voice smoothed over, and he could hear the crisp coldness that both unnerved and comforted him. Pricks ran up his arm as a sudden lightheaded sensation washed over him.

‘“It’s me…”’ He could imagine you in your office, sitting on that swivel chair that Zodyl had recently got for you. ‘“Are you hurt?”’

His smile trembled, and he wiped the creek of crimson moving down to his fingers. “No! I am ready for my orders!”

Still, his legs gave out, and he crumpled onto his butt on sheet metal and junk. His knees drew to his chest, and he plucked Hii from his pocket with a quiet, “We’re going home…!”

“I… I made it out of the trash beast… I think they forgot me…hah…” He spoke with a fiddle.

Silence met him at first, one that he had worried would be a lost connection. But then your voice returned to him with equal conviction,‘“I’m glad to hear you’re okay,”’

His voice quivered, “T-thank you! Um—my location—uh—I don’t know where I am! I can see a mountain up ahead—north—no, east? Uh—maybe if I just—”

‘“Fu, relax. Breathe.”’

Fu sucked in a greedy lungful of air, choked on the dust particles, and coughed it up. He inhaled again, exhaled. “Okay—I’m relaxing!”

He heard a sigh on the other end, ‘”…right. Okay, so… from what I’ve heard, you’ve failed to complete your mission, correct?”’

Of course, you knew. Cthoni must have sat you down and recited every detail of it. From the launch to Fu’s pathetic squirming.

‘“You have not fought your assigned cleaner, even after I’ve paired you all with the ones I felt you’d fare well against—with the exception of… Miss Noerde, to whom I failed with my own predictions…”’

Fu had wanted to retort. Had wanted to assure that it was furthest from the truth. If anything, he wouldn’t have gotten the sliver of confidence had you not done the prediction check. But not a sound escaped his lips, and again, he was thwarted by his own cowardice.

‘“Regardless of that… you’ve failed.”’ You paused. ‘“There will be no one coming for you.”’

His body grew cold, and he couldn’t get a word in before you started spewing.

‘“Wherever you are, please find yourself the nearest town. Let me know when you do, and I’ll transfer some money to you.”’

“Huh?” Fu finally mustered. “I—what did Mr. Zodyl say—”

‘“Zodyl is not pleased with your performance, and does not know I am in communications with you.”’ The imagery of you sitting in your office transmuted to you seated in the corner of your room, or the mouth of the pipe system, hunched over and looking over your shoulder. ‘“He had instructed us all to cut our ties with you—I have watched everyone do so. And he watched me do so.”’

Fu’s throat ran dry, confused “…Then…How—”

‘“I still have some of your blood from my previous prediction. I re-formed our bond that way. So I don’t have much time to speak before he notices my absence…”’

Fu sniffled, bringing a hand to wipe his face, “Th-thank you—”

‘“Don’t mention it.”’ The audio cut out, then returned. ‘“I do not know if you’re still with us. If he considers you a part of us. But it will be best to assume otherwise. Proceed with yourself as an informal exile. Remove your uniform if you can,”’

“I—I can’t!” He exclaimed, looking down at his patchwork of white and purple fabric. “I’m not wearing anything else under this!”

Silence. ‘“Do you see any grime around you? Mud or anything of the sort to stain your uniform with?”’

“Uh—no…? Wait, I can climb this peak and check!”

‘“Do that.”’

Fu released the choker and slid off the sad excuse of a shelter to rush to the larger hill of rock and trash. He climbed it with not much hassle, apart from loose gravel every now and then. Reaching the top, he found the vantage point provided him with a broader view of the flat lands and the trash-littered rubble. In the far distance, he can see the remains of the trashbeast, tyre marks from where the Cleaner’s recovery vehicles were. A part of him wanted to search for Noerde, given what you said; she must be around, too. Not dead. Can’t be dead. A woman like her?

He glanced all around, and frowned, “No… nothing…”’

‘“Well… it would be smart to lay low. The hellguard will most likely do a patrol following the recent events, especially paired with the Spherite’s involvement. If they find you, they will try to take you in. You’ll likely lose your life. Avoid them at all costs,”

He swallowed thickly, “Okay… lay low… got it.”

‘“Where exactly are you, again?”’

More confidently, Fu blurted, “By the trash beast,”

‘“Good. I can help you from there… There should be a town 3 hours from you. 2 and a half if you run to the northeast.”’

“Okay…” He breathed out. “Well, I… When can I come back…?”

‘” As I said, assume you’ve been exiled. If you attempt to return, I will be unable to vouch for you. You’ve made your weaknesses and failures clear to him; I cannot promise you life. Stay away, and you’ll be safe. Avoid the hellguards, and you’ll be safe. When you can, get a change of clothes with the money I’ll be sending. I’ll give the locals in town a call, and they should be able to provide a room for you to stay in. But…keep your senses sharp, don’t trust them easily, and try not to make yourself too known, you’re still wearing that Raider’s uniform—do you have your lantern?”’

“Yes…”

‘“Toss it.”’

His throat bobbed. “Okay.. yes… I can do that…”

‘“Good. Though it’s going to get dark soon… on second thought, keep it on you. You’ll need the light. Just make sure to be discreet about yourself,”’

He nodded profusely, “Okay.”

Silence fell again, and he found only comfort in knowing you were on the other side.

‘“That is all I can do for you, Fu.”’

His heart dropped into his stomach. He found himself sitting again to ease the tremble in his knees. “Can I still talk to you?”

‘“Operations and plans are changing right now. I cannot uphold communications past this point. And I cannot disappear again without bringing alarm to myself. I’ll have to sever our connections again, permanently.”’

Fu’s face grew numb, “…What am I supposed to do no…?”

‘“Currently, I am no longer your superior, or your comrade. You do not need an order from me, or my advice. Therefore—”

“Wait! Please!” He started. “I can—don’t—”

‘“Goodbye, Fu.”’

“I just need one more order!”

‘“Take care of yourself before I do,”

‘Crk!’

-

When Enjin had flown out of that tunnel, he had entirely expected that to be the last he’d ever see of Fu. No, that was a bald-faced lie. What he meant was that he had expected there to be a long period of time before he got to see that teen again. Preferably (or maybe not) with the rest of the raiders. The Food district was as colourful as every other part of Canvas town, with painted depictions of food and snacks on every shack and building to signify their niche. Enjin sat on a low stool, having shed his jacket and still arming himself with Umbreaker under his palm.

Having long finished his food, he was satisfied with just sitting there, stewing in the comforts of camaraderie. Dear Santa helping himself to one too many slices, with Bro urging the boy to consider how much he can physically handle. Then there was Rudo eating his food with gusto—under the promise of dessert, of course. And Remlin—

‘“It was Jabber!”’

As though the Sphere had curated Fu solely to agitate him, they had chosen to deposit him right into Canvas town. All short and rigid, with nothing different about him but maybe the smell of someone who hasn’t taken a shower yet. As one would expect, what had started as a quiet speculation on Amo’s whereabouts had spiralled into panicked aggression towards the raider teen.

Insults hurled left and right, Fu, a fugitive soldier, accepting all hurled derogatory epithets even though he quaked in his pointed shoes.

“He had to get through the entrance like everyone else,” Was what Enjin had to resort to when the teen was accused of being here for harm. As much sense it would make for a Raider to be here for—well—a raid, this was not just any other Raider… This was Fu. And Fu is… well…

Enjin looked the teen up and down, strangely drawn to the old conversation that had reached an untimely end. Not because Fu had run out of things to say. Oh no, the teen was eager to spill as much praise as he could—but because that was the moment Bro and Dear had swooped in.

“So, what, you’re alone?” Enjin probed, swinging an arm to rest on the back of his chair, his legs open in casual affairs, his finger tapping the curved handle of Umbreaker. “Thought your lucky giver was such a loyal buddy… you’d think they’d come get you instead of letting you wander alone…”

Fu, instead of deflating, perked up. “Well…! They are here! And they want to talk to you at the bar down the street! They didn’t leave me!”

Bro jumped to his feet, “Two raiders?! Here?!”

Fu, catching his mistake, turned quickly, “N-not like that! Day off! It’s their day off!”

“And they wanna get buddy-buddy with the enemy?” Enjin murmured.

Remlin, finding the confrontation more humorous than anything, grinned around their slice, “I call bull!”

“I swear!” Fu screeched. “Please just tru—come with me! They asked me to get you!”

“I don’t trust it,” Bro spoke over the table. “He’s a raider,”

“And I’m a cleaner,” Enjin swung his legs over and stood to his feet, “The only way those two can get through is to have no bad intentions… so I doubt this is a set-up… but if something goes wrong…” His finger looped around the snug choker, “I’ll let y’all know,”

Fu had calmed down once Enjin’s subordination was confirmed, swinging his arms on either side of him, looking more like a happy scout than a deadly raider. Still, Enjin’s guard was something unshakeable even in the face of something perceivably harmless. It’s the harmless-looking ones that do the most damage, after all.

“Right here…!”

Fu stopped obediently at the mouth of an open bar, where there was a greater population slumped over tables or laughing loudly to the other drunks. Fu smiled to himself, feeling and looking accomplished. Glowing, even.

Enjin looked about the open bar, to the bar counter, the stools, then the surrounding picnic tables of drunks. His gaze swept over twice, including the graffiti next, the location, and the visibility.

“Well… where are they?”

The teen snapped out of his glow and quickly pointed, “Right there on the stool—” He scurried off moments before finishing, squeezing through crowds to reach one of the occupied stools at the bar.

“I brought him for you!” He chirped with that same accomplished enthusiasm.

Enjin followed him after a few beats, stopping short of someone looking out of place. Out of place because they were drinking ice cream in soda, where everyone else had a bottle. If he could describe you in one word, it would be rigid. Where he characterised Fu by the random rigidness in his posture, you appeared rigid internally and externally. Back straight, hair well groomed, and clothing business casual. A long-sleeved buttoned-up, well-groomed, untucked and loose around your body.

Your head turned to regard Fu, your eyes fixed in a narrow shape, your brows permanently creased. He’d reckon that the job must have stressed you out enough so that now your face can’t seem to relax from their agitation.

“Thank you, Fu. You did well,”

The teen beamed, and you turned around entirely. “Good night, Mr. Enjin. I am—”

“I know who you are,” Enjin interjected, “He told me about you before,”

“I’ve heard,” You murmured. “Please, join me.”

You slipped off the barstool to take a seat at one of the tables, lowering yourself in the chair, whereas Enjin plopped down into his.

Then you turned to Fu, reaching into your bag to pluck a pouch. “Buy yourself some dinner,”

The coins jingled as the pouch landed in his palm. “What should I get?”

“Anything,”

“…but…what?”

Enjin’s eyes never left your face, “Get soup or something…. And give us 30 minutes. I got a lotta questions,”

“I can’t do 30,” You insisted.

“Kid told me it’s your day off… You can do 30.”

You made a sound, and Enjin couldn’t tell if it was amusement or surprise. Still, you turned to Fu, “Give us 30 minutes—get mild spice noodle soup. A fork. And no onions.”

Like he was bestowed the holy grail, Fu saluted and rushed out of the open bar perimeter to move down the road. Attempting to locate a noodle shop.

Your eyes watched him go, waiting until his body disappeared from the crowd and he took the path to the noodle shop. Once confirming his absence, your gaze moved to Enjin, hardening into something firm and professional. Where your eyes took him in, plus the surroundings, Enjin could only watch you. You weren’t as slimy as he thought you’d look… the top unbuttoned, and he spotted the hint of a necklace under your choker. Your vital instrument, maybe?

His gaze jumped back to your eyes, “So, you’re a raider? Or you’re like him and just… abandoned?”

You hummed, surprisingly at ease around him despite your exterior, “No, I’m still a raider.”

He had expected riddles and clues. Expected you to curve the question, or to spew filler to avoid answering it directly. Your direct character greatly satisfied him, and he found himself slumping into his chair. He motioned with his hand, “Does Zodyl know you’re here?”

“Mr. Typhon did not need to know my whereabouts. I requested a day off, and he gave that to me.”

“And you chose to come here of all places? For… What? You two knew we were here, so-”

“Allow me to interject,” You raised a manicured hand and waved it at him. His eye twitched, but he caught himself short of saying something… unkind. You planted your hand on the tabletop, your fingers tracing the lines in the wood. “I did know you were here. My… vital instrument is very versatile… After Fu’s unfortunate exile, I made a special effort to locate and meet him personally to discuss his migration options. He had informed me of his interest in you and your agency. So, under the standard of procedures, I have compiled his documents for him, and am here on behalf of him, to vouch for his place within your agency.”

“Vouch? Wait-”

“Yes, yes,” Your hands reached into a satchel that he hadn’t noticed before. A raggedy thing held together by bold stitches, hopes, and dreams. You drew two yellow envelopes from the bag, setting both in the centre of the table. “I am touching for his transfer into the Cleaners Department.” You reiterated.

Befuddled, Enjin leaned forward, pointing squarely, “But… you’re a raider!”

“I am.”

He tried again, “Your guys—” He pointed at you”—tried to kill my guys.” He pointed at himself.

You nodded once, “Yes, I am aware. I read the report.”

Should he shout? Laugh? Smoke? All three? Why were you so casual about this? Why aren’t you… maybe… trying to set him up? You’re just… handing over one of your own like that? Like a business plan? Why does he feel like he’s about to receive papers regarding custody rights? He raised his hands in mock surrender and let them fall back to the table.

“…You lost me.” He spoke with a lightness in his tone, too focused on the shock of the situation to focus on anything else.

Your eyes were cold and steady, and you pointed down to one of the envelopes. “It is my job as his superior to ensure that he receives a 2-week notice before being let go. Unfortunately, given the circumstances of his exile, abandoned within the trash beast-”

“You guys left him there?!” Enjin shouted and greatly appreciated the blast of music, keeping the conversation somewhat private. His shouting, however, did cause spittle to land on your cheeks.

You mildly flinched, raised a hand, and wiped it away. Your fingers pinched and rubbed the fabric of your shirt. “Mr Typhon had left him there, yes. I was as appalled as you, but I had to be less obvious about it when I heard,”

‘…huh,’ His eyes assessed you one final time, the haze of purple pulling back to show him, someone almost… soft? Was that… is that affection he’s picking up on? Were you… Were you actually a—

“So, despite all that…” He trailed as he enunciated, “You just… you’re helping him? Helping him join us? The enemy?”

“Fu was my subordinate. He deserves the bare minimum of protection and documentation. The envelopes before you are his documents.”

Dumbly, his gaze dropped to the envelopes on the table. His jaw slacked, his eyes honed in on the ‘Raidr’s Archive’ label seated at the very front.

Ignoring his stunned expression, you pointed your finger at the thicker envelope, “These are his basics, like his age and blood type and his psychological and physical evaluation—”

“You guys do that?” He interrupted with astonishment.

You nodded simply, “Alongside physiological evaluation, strengths, weaknesses, Giver status, state of Vital instrument, weakness of said instrument; My job is to be as thorough as possible,”

“Wow…” He gaped as his eyes tracked yours, “So, uh… you’re very… thorough, huh?”

“I do what I must.”

For a moment, he couldn’t help but linger on the modulated tone of your voice. How smooth it falls from your lips despite their rigidity and cold expressions. He could even say it gives off very much secretary vibes. But more on the macabre side—only because of who you work for.

“I am also providing myself as a kind of bargain, eye witness, or whatever you wish to refer to me as, to ensure the contract is legally binding.”

‘Contract?’ His gaze flitted to the second envelope. ‘Must be that…’

“I think we can take the legality out of the picture,” He gestured to your overall appearance and his. “Besides, I’m not sure signing a contract with a raider is a good move for me.”

“You’ll have sufficient time to read it, if that’s what you’re worried about,”

“It’s more like association,” He spoke again, trying to disguise his still-assessing gaze, “No offence to you or anything, but I can’t sit here and pretend to be cordial as if this is a simple transfer,”

You didn’t even flinch. If anything, you appeared almost apologetic. His stubbornness was something to be rationalised and discussed over. He had expected more of a… visceral reaction from you, in all honesty. But you just…

“It could be if you ignore our previous Spherite dispute,” You offered, and he almost choked.

“And that’s just ignoring everything!” He exclaimed. “Seriously, I can’t even trust the kid enough to seriously believe he is not a raider anymore. You’re here for what, the goodness of your heart?”

“Yes.”

“Bullshit,”

“Whether you believe me or not does not change my intentions,”

His lips flew open, then pressed shut. His eyes averted for a moment before falling upon you again. Staring into the pools of your eyes, you had the severe lack of life that every other giver lacks. A dreadful crestfallen haze that made you look as uncanny as everyone else. His voice quieted, “You said your boss doesn’t know you’re here… you’re telling the truth?”

Your voice floated to him in a softer breath, “I am.” Your eyes held his despite his prior outburst, “I did inform him of my absence, but not the reasons for it.”

“So, you’re a traitor,” He pressed.

You shrugged with a simple ‘hmph’, “Only if I’m caught,”

The whiplash from your professionalism to a simple admittance of ‘if I’m caught’, unfortunately, pulled a snort from his lips. His hand raised, and he clapped it over his mouth, leaning back as his shoulders shook. “You—no way…”

At the epicentre of this newfound humour in his person, your visage was equally confused as it was strangely pleasant. “That’s funny to you?”

“A raider disobeying orders to help out the abandoned? Yeah, kinda is… you’re… not who I thought you were…”

Without needing to hear them directly, you picked up on the implications with a frown. “I am still a loyal subordinate to Mr. Typhon. That part of me is consistent,”

“Debatable,” he mused, rocking his chair back with more ease than the beginning allowed him to. “If you were loyal to him, then you would have told him where you were heading, and who you were planning to talk to… but this is all your dirty little secret, right?” His lips pulled wider. “I’m your little secret, huh?”

Your lips curled further. “Yes.”

“Yeah?” He coaxed in a lower voice, before raising his arm, “Let’s get some drinks, then.”

The concept was unprecedented to him. A raider and cleaner getting friendly? Maybe more if time allows it? Hah, a story for the ages! Well… a story he won’t tell anyone, maybe Gris if both were really, really intoxicated, that is.

“Oh no, I’m fine,” You said grimly, “I’m not a drinker…”

“But you’re out of the job, temporarily,” he reminded as the bartender approached. “So, have a drink on me—Your little secret,”

“I’m fine, really—”

“Two whiskeys,”

Your eyes glanced up at the bartender, no one worth noting, then back at Enjin. “One drink.”

“There you go,” At his call, the waiter left in a scurry with the order, leaving the two in their lonesome again.

Enjin lifted his arms and folded them behind his head once again. “So, I take it you will loosen up once you get this drink, right?”

“Most likely,”

“Well…” he glanced down at the package, “I’m willing to let Fu into my team…” He trailed off with an almost sly grin.

You perked instantly, “I am very glad to hear that-”

“Buuttt,” he dragged, “I got a few more questions for you… call them the dealbreakers…”

“Give me your worst,” You fired back.

Sans, missing a beat, threw at you, “What’s someone like you doing in a place like the Raiders?”

Your lips flew open. “Fu is—Pardon?” Your mood plummeted, stunned.

His lips quirked, finding your stunned silence almost adorable, given how uptight you were the entire night. “You, in the raiders, why?”

You acclimated quickly, he’s gotta give you props for that. In no time, you were appearing as confident as ever, looking even more flushed in that shirt and that updo. “I suppose…” You started with a quiet murmur, “They found me first.”

“Really?” He probed. “So… no money under the table, no ransom, no evil desires, just… they found you first?”

Your brow arched, and you met his teasing probe with a pointed jab, “Did you really think I was there for something else?”

“Well… yeah!” He strained the last of his suspicions. “I thought you were evil or something! You mean to tell me you’re loyal because they found you first?!”

“Exactly that,” A glass was set down before you, golden brown liquid settling. The glow of the liquid caught your eyes for a moment. “If I were founded by the cleaners, I’d be loyal to them.”

He thought over it for a moment, “What if you change loyalties?”

“As in?”

“Join the cleaners?” His gaze hardened, though he tried to accompany the sudden seriousness of his voice with a lazy wave of his hand. “I mean… If you don’t mind transferring one of your own to us… Why not join us yourself?”

You answered without a second to waste, as though it didn’t need to be thought over. Not like how he thought over your loyalty. It was as if the Raiders were simply your destiny to the very end. And you exemplified that with a prideful tilt of your head. “I’m simply not interested in that transfer. I like what I do in the Raiders, and I am loyal to their cause.”

“The raiders cause, or Zodyl’s?”

Enjin had known that question to arouse something new out of you. He had wondered the depth of your loyalty ever since he realised your generosity was genuine and not some falsified bullshit to get leverage on something. To his frustration and interest, your answer was delayed by the palpable silence surrounding you. Your hand lifted to the skin peeking from your unbuttoned shirt, scooping up the necklace that he can confirm now, to be—

“Zodyl is a greedy man…” Your voice penetrated the pregnant pause, your available hand wrapping around the cool glass of whiskey, “When I first met him, he let me know all he expected from me. The more time I spend with him, the greedier he gets… To get anything in this world, where our very geography puts us at a disadvantage, is to play the game unfairly. To cheat, to con, to be as greedy as possible. His drive, his cause—they all exemplify what it means to be a raider,”

Of all things, your warmth was only expressed for… him. Him? That blunt and melancholic-looking man? The same one with the raggedy coat and—according to Rudo—no friends? The same one who abandoned Fu in the first place, and that blonde woman? How closed-minded can you be? What kind of confinement did he have on you?

“The cleaners could use more givers,” He pitched despite himself. “Especially more with the ability like that. I mean… we got one already. But hey, I could be a greedy man too since you’re into that,”

Humoured, you shook your head and released the necklace, “Not as much as him.”

He scoffed, his eyes dropping to the jewellery, “He gave you that necklace?”

Again, warmth encompassed you. “He did,” you said, smiling. “A token of his—”

“I could get you a better one,” His voice interjected in a dismissive tone. For once, you were rendered into absolute silence, your gaze depleting itself of the affection you had felt only seconds ago.

He held your stare, “I’m gonna be blunt with you: I thought you were going to be another know-it-all wannabe villain. But… you surprised me. You’re loyal, I give you that, but even you have a sense of morals. I can respect that about someone, but if you have to go behind your boss’s back just to help someone, maybe they’re not for you. Maybe you’re better off somewhere you can help people,”

Though even his honesty was not enough to shake your resolve. That was impressive of you. Someone not so swayed by words, tempted by them, or even considering them? How can he hate you for that, when this is the type of loyalty people will kill for? Zodyl… how did you land someone like this?

“That’s just the way it is.” You defended, “Me helping Fu is my personal motive, Zodyl doesn’t have to know because what I do in my personal life is none of my concern.”

“Does he hold the same value?”

“You clearly don’t,” Came your quick spat. “We are not here to discuss my personal life,”

He shrugged, “Can’t blame a guy for wanting to get to know you better…”

“On a professional basis, I will allow, but nothing beyond that.”

It was hard to take you seriously when this was the most flushed you’ve ever been—and he just watched you express almost reverence to your boss. Working off your present irritation, he snorted, “Maybe it’s just me… but I figured that since you’re handing one of your own over… that we’d be in contact more often,” he motioned vaguely to where Fu had disappeared. “If Fu acts up, who else am I supposed to rant to?”

“It would be none of my concern what he does under your care,” You grumbled.

Tickled, “But don’t you wanna know his progress?” He persisted, “‘Hey, Fu just defeated his first trashbeast’ or ‘Fu finally picked something for himself off the menu’,”

“He’s seventeen, not an infant.” You were good at most things, but for some reason, you found yourself unable to modulate yourself with Enjin, every possible jab at you. Your brows furrowed together, and your frustrations became as apparent as Enjin’s lack of indulgence in his own glass of whiskey. “I don’t need to maintain a connection over something as trivial as his personal life…”

“Fine then,” He conceded, “How about this: I take you out sometime?” He finally dropped, and the look of utter befuddlement crossing your face was something he was sure going to remember, “We’ll need a connection for that, right?”

When your lips curled into a snarl, he leaned back in his chair, “You said yourself, boo, your boss doesn’t gotta know what you do in your personal life. Mines don’t gotta know about my life either, so…” He propped his head on his elbow, flashing a confident smirk your way, “How you doin’?”

The chair screeched as you stood abruptly, your hands fisting into your pockets. You plucked a handful of coins and tossed them on the table, mortified just as much as you were disrespected.

“Thanks for having me, but I’ll be off now,”

‘Shit. Too bold, Enjin,’ His hand closed around his own drink as you circled the table. He tilted the rim to his lips and swallowed the brown liquid in one burning gulp. He slapped the glass down, reached into his own wallet, and tossed a few dollar bills onto the old table.

Then he turned on his heel. “Hey, wait up!”

He didn’t know how, but you were already on the streets. How did you manage to get through the crowd so quickly? He had to squeeze past people, hop over a few drunks, just to be graced with your retreating form. “Look, my bad, I get it! Just that—well, you’re pretty much my type. All cold and serious, but you got a soft side about you—you’re not who I thought you’d be! I thought we were getting’ along and vibin’—”

You scoffed, “‘Vibin’?”

“Uh—syncing? Twinning?” He paused, then tried again, “Help me out here, babe. Where did I go wrong?”

“Just—” You stopped yourself quickly, and hissed, “Just take care of Fu.”

“I got that the first time,” he insisted as he jogged up to you. “Look, I think you’re hot under all that seriousness. I like someone who’s all headstrong and loyal—and I think—I know—you could be a pretty good addition to the cleaners. The Raiders are the exact opposite of who and what you are—” His hand wrapped around your bicep, and you whipped around, your eyes flaring.

“Down!” Your barking command came, and suddenly his fingers unfurled from your arm, his hand jerking back to his body. His knees buckled, and the ground came zooming at his face. He collapsed with limbs heavier than steel, his lips kissing the floor you walk on.

‘The hell—?! How can they use their instrument in—’

“Stay.” You hissed, and his twitching stilled.

“Sit.” And he was seated up against the wall, his breath caught in his throat, his hair tousled. His breath came short and quick, his arms stiff and unresponsive to him.

You stood over him, looking down at him with all the hate a raider like yourself could muster. “Your speech won’t work on me. I won’t be swayed, and I don’t like having my loyalty tested. Stay in your lane, Enjin.”

“‘Stay in my lane’?” He rasped, fixed on the way his name was spilt from your lips with the venom supplied by your tongue. His gaze flitted to your necklace, only to find it completely unresponsive and barren of effect.

‘Your… your instrument is not—’

“What type of power you got to be this nasty…? Treating me like a dog…”

You scoffed, “Then you must feel right at home.”

“Hell yeah, I do,” He whispered, looking up at you and the neon lights behind your figure, “So… I’ll call you?”

Appalled, all your dignity allowed you to do was suck your teeth, cut your eyes and turn the other way.

He watched you leave, well, watched as much as he could, given the lack of feeling in his neck, “I’ll ask Fu! Catch you later, boo! You’ll come around eventually!”

A shame that you didn’t look back, really. You disappeared down a nearby road, and the effects of your instrument were alleviated from him in a sweeping wave. Though a part of him urged to follow you, build and present his case, the rational side of him vowed to give you space. There would be other times, he’s sure. Though if what Fu said was right… Then how would he ever see you again…? The only way to do so is if Zodyl decides to finally stop hiding you…

Then again, why hide you to begin with? A giver with the ability to control people through verbal command? Especially when you say them with such absolute authority. How quickly his body was to obey them before his mind could process the command. It was a terrifying power—the worst kind to ever exist. The kind that aims to strip one’s autonomy… So, was Fu’s devotion to you a byproduct of that power? If he were Zodyl, and he wanted Rudo so badly, he’d just send you to spew a couple of commands. Unless there was a major setback to prevent that…?

“H-hi… where’s…?” A tentative voice started from beside him, and he turned his head to greet the short teen. Fu stood with his hands full of his packaged dinner, his gaze sweeping the streets in search of you.

‘Bingo’, Enjin smirked up at Fu, “Hey there, little man, back already? You just missed them,”

Fu deflated visibly, and the man was quick to add on, “We did some talking… looks like you’re unofficially part of us, now…"

Fu blinked, “…Huh?” Processing the words, his smile split his face, and he looked about ready to cry again. “Thank you..! I won’t disappoint—”

“Before that…” Enjin’s interrupted before the teen could spiral, his eyes never leaving his. Though he maintained the usual casual posture of his character, Fu thought he saw something new in Enjin’s eyes. Something so similar to the same look Zodyl often gives you.

Then came his quiet request, “How about you tell all you know about them, huh?”

Zanka Nijiku

He refuses to admit it, but he loves it; he stays completely still when you touch him, as if any movement might ruin it. Even so, he keeps his pride, acting uninterested.

"You can stop now."

If anyone else sees him like that, his expression hardens instantly.

He becomes protective and territorial toward anyone who dares interrupt that perfect moment.

Riyo Reaper

She’s not big on physical contact, but when it comes from you, she openly loves it and doesn’t hide it at all; she sticks to you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

"Can you stay like this a little longer?"

Riyo always returns your affection, more than she receives. Long hugs, constant contact, watching you while you do it.

If you spoil her too much, she starts anticipating your gestures: tilting his head, seeking your hand, moving closer first.

Rudo Surebrec

At first, he doesn’t understand why you do it, but he doesn’t stop you either; he goes stiff and silent when you touch him, yet never pulls away.

"I don’t need that."

Even so, he doesn’t move, and over time he starts leaning into your hand without realizing it.

If you stop, it takes him a few seconds to react, then he looks at you, confused, thinking he did something wrong.

Your affection calms him more than he’d like to admit, easing that constant tension he carries.

Follo Tunito

He stays calm while you pet him, as if it’s just part of his routine. He enjoys it completely. Sometimes he takes your hand to adjust it better.

His gaze softens around you, his movements becoming slower and more relaxed.

August Stilza

He becomes dramatic about it and completely spoiled.

"So you don’t love me anymore or what?" if you stop pampering him for a few seconds. "And what about me, popcorn?" whenever you give attention to someone or something else.

He loves showing off how much you spoil him in front of others. If you ignore him, he gets insistent, almost childish.

Jabber Wonger

He’s chaotic and an absolute brat who asks for everything with no filter.

He might laugh, make weird comments, or provoke you while you’re pampering him. Sometimes he lightly bites your hand just to annoy you.

"Hey, pretty thing, keep going." "Slap me, come on, don’t be like that."

He becomes way too clingy, following you everywhere, demanding you feed into his masochism because he knows you’ll give in.

If you stop, he complains openly without holding back.

Fu Orostor

He closes his eyes while you pet him, completely tense but with that loyal, puppy-like smile.

He doesn’t ask for anything, doesn’t even speak unless you tell him to.

You gave him a rule: whenever he wants affection, he has to ask, and even though he never knows when he wants it, he usually asks when you’re alone.

"Master, could you…?"

Bro Santa

He adores it and starts actively seeking your closeness. It helps him calm down after dealing with chaotic kids all day.

"Come here." he says, wrapping you in a full embrace afterward.

He’s warm, affectionate, and very physical in how he shows love, always returning double the contact.

With you, he becomes a refuge, and he also seeks refuge in you.

Zodyl Typhon

He’s not used to it and insists he doesn’t care or need it, but he still makes you pamper him anyway.

He approaches silently when he wants affection and stays still while you do it.

"Give me that cockroach," he demands. "What?"

Arkha Corvus

A gentleman and a very busy man, he loves being babied and spoiled by you, but he would never use it as an excuse to stop being a gentleman; he won’t let you do things for him.

He leans slightly into your touch, almost unconsciously.

"Do you need anything, dear?"

With you, he allows small weaknesses he shows to no one else—and he likes it far more than he would ever dare admit.

Semiu Grier

She loves it, and although she never forces you, she takes every opportunity.

"I need to go to reception, stay by my side."

She always returns your affection, in a way much more sensual than you’d ever expect.

She seeks your closeness often, without any shame.

Gris Rubion

He doesn’t react much, but he never pulls away, because he enjoys relaxing under your touch.

After you noticed he was tense after missions, you offered to give him a massage. He liked it so much that now he acts tense just to feel your warm hands relaxing him.

"Will you give me a massage today?" he asks, his head resting between your legs while you stroke his temples.

She has deep rooted trust issues so she was a little cautious when you first started dating but she never made you feel on edge either. She was acting very relaxed with you without leaving herself vulnerable.

After she eased up a little more, she allowed herself to be more vulnerable but you had to work for it!!

She wants to match with you ALL the time like matching hairstyles, matching uniforms, matching nails, makeup almost everything.

She actually asked august to change up her uniform so it could match yours (which he was thrilled to do!!)

She actually started to trust you more when she fell sick and you took care of her without complaint. She was vulnerable but you weren't taking advantage of that, even nursing her back to health (with Eishia's help ofc)

If you want to know her backstory, you would have to open up first. By knowing you trust her enough to actually talk about your own past, she'll be more comfortable with opening up.

Moving on to the cuter side of your relationship, she loves teasing you! Seeing your expression change in many ways is just too cute how could she resist that?

She's a hyperactive sleeper. She's constantly moving, shifting from side to side from one end to another to eventually on top of you completely. She also snores when she's tired so good luck with that!

I think her love language is quality time. She loves spending time with you even if you're not talking. She loves going to places to explore together or hanging out in your room in general. She just wants to be next to you so it doesn't matter what you're doing really.

With her around, your hair will never need a trim again. If you let her, she'll work on your hair, dyeing or styling it however you want, or freestyle it.

Maybe it's weird but she has a small chunk of your hair tied with a small ribbon that she keeps. It reminds her of you when you're not there ^^ and your hair is too pretty

She'll lean over your shoulder in the car, trying to sleep. If gris is driving she'll be like dead weight on your shoulders so you'll most likely have a shoulder ache for at least 6 hours unless you sleep or take painkillers

She'll try to protect you on missions, always keeping an eye on you to make sure you're doing okay. Any kind of emergency or a mistake and she's right by your side to help you take care of it, dropping her own duties to put you first

If you get sick you better believe she's going to be on your ass, not even allowing you to go to the toilet alone. ESPECIALLY if you have high fever because she worries you'll pass out

She's just afraid of losing you because of how much she loves you and she knows she wouldn't be able to get over you quickly like she (possibly) did with her dad ><

——————

Riyo is a very chill and "low-maintenance" girlfriend for lack of a better term

she's not super clingy nor does she demand your attention 24/7

she makes it very easy to love her, being content with just sitting in your presence

there's no need for grand gestures or fancy words, just being there for each other is enough

she's not huge on pda but she doesn't mind casual touching such as leaning against your shoulder or resting her hand atop yours

she enjoys playing with your hair, running her fingers through it or coiling it around one of them

it doesn't matter if your hair is long, short, straight or curly; she's gonna get her hands on it

and if you're bald idk she caresses your head i guess

Riyo is very level-headed and works well under pressure so if you're anxious or irritated easily she's a good match for you

she knows just how to asses the situation and calm you down

your guys' relationship is one where people are unsure if you're dating or not because everything you do together is so natural yet not over the top like a lot of other couples

it doesn't really matter to her what other people think though; theres no need for her to go shouting from the rooftops that you're together but she will proudly confirm your relationship when asked or the situation calls for it

its not often that you guys argue but when you do it's usually because she can be hard to read

sometimes she can come off as nonchalant or like she doesn't care even when she does

and in these situations she finds it hard to understand why you're upset because to her she gave you a completely normal reaction 😭

but luckily with a bit of communication it can all be worked out

Riyo sat with the pen for nearly an hour before she wrote a single word.

The paper stayed blank.

The room stayed silent.

She had never been good at saying what she felt. Words were dangerous. They revealed too much. They gave people something to hold against you.

But silence had ruined everything.

The irony wasn't lost on her.

Eventually, she lowered the pen.

"One day, I'll let you know."

She stared at the sentence.

Too vague.

Too cowardly.

Too... her.

She folded the paper carefully.

At the bottom, in small handwriting—

"—Riyo."

She almost turned back.

She should've.

Instead, she slipped the note beneath your door before she could convince herself otherwise.

Then she waited.

Hidden across the street.

Like a criminal watching the scene of her own crime.

It took nearly twenty minutes before the door opened.

You looked... Tired.

The kind of tired that sleep never fixes.

You noticed the folded paper immediately.

You picked it up.

Opened it.

Read it.

For a second— Just one—

Riyo thought maybe...

Maybe you'd smile.

Maybe you'd understand.

Maybe...

Instead, your shoulders sagged.

Not in anger, nor in relief, but in exhaustion.

You looked at those six words for what felt like forever before your fingers slowly crushed the page.

"...One day..." You laughed– a broken sound. "So that's all I get?"

You crumpled the paper tighter.

"I waited." Your voice cracked. "I waited months, Riyo." Tears blurred your vision, though you angrily wiped them away. "I don't have another 'one day' left."

The note tore in half.

Then again.

Again.

Tiny pieces drifted into the apartment's trash bin.

The door shut.

Riyo didn't move.

She couldn't.

She watched until the lights inside disappeared.

Only then did she realize her hands hurt.

She'd clenched them so tightly her nails had broken skin.

"...I deserved that."

She whispered it to nobody.

Because there wasn't anyone left to hear her.

Not anymore, at least.

She never tried to leave another note.

Instead, she started writing letters.

Letters she'd never send.

Letter One

I don't know how to begin these.

I don't think I ever knew how to begin anything with you.

You always did that part.

You'd ask about my day.

You'd drag me somewhere.

You'd make me laugh before I even realized I was smiling.

I think I depended on you more than I realized.

I'm sorry.

I know those words don't mean anything anymore.

I just wanted to say them somewhere.

Even if it's only this paper listening.

—Riyo

She folded it.

Placed it in an empty box.

She told herself she'd throw it away tomorrow.

She didn't.

And she never did.

...

Letter Three

Today I passed that café you liked.

The owner asked where you were.

I lied. I said you were busy.

I'm getting good at lying again.

I hate that.

...

Letter Seven

Someone today had your laugh.

I turned around before I realized it wasn't you.

It's embarrassing.

I keep doing that.

...

Letter Eleven

I finally cleaned my apartment.

You would've been proud.

You always complained that it looked "barely lived in."

You were right. And it still does.

Even after cleaning.

Especially after cleaning.

It doesn't feel like anyone lives here anymore.

You always made it feel like home

...

The box filled.

Then another.

Then another.

Riyo numbered each letter carefully.

Not because she expected you to read them.

Because she needed to believe there was an order to all this.

That someday— Some impossible someday—

She'd hand you every single one. And you'd understand.

She began writing things she would've never admitted aloud.

...

Letter Twenty-Four

I almost told you once.

Remember that rooftop?

You asked me why I always looked at sunsets like they were saying goodbye.

I almost answered honestly.

I almost told you I never planned on letting anyone get close enough to miss me.

Then you smiled.

And somehow you made me want to stay.

...

Letter Thirty-One

What would've happened if I trusted you?

Would you have hated me?

Would you have run?

Would you have looked scared?

Or... Would you have stayed?

I ask myself that every night.

I always convince myself you would've left.

It's easier.

If I convince myself I made the right choice...

then maybe I don't have to admit I destroyed the only thing that ever mattered to me.

...

Sometimes she imagined impossible futures.

The dangerous kind.

The kind she never allowed herself before.

Maybe... If she'd told you the truth the day you met...

You would've laughed.

Maybe you would've called her an idiot for thinking that changed anything.

Maybe...

If she'd let you hold her after one particularly bad job...

She would've cried.

Just once.

Just enough.

Maybe...

You would've gotten your own apartment together.

Maybe you'd argue over dishes.

Maybe she'd complain about your music.

Maybe you'd steal her jacket because it smelled like her.

Maybe she'd pretend it annoyed her.

Maybe she'd secretly love it.

Maybe you'd have confessed first— because she never would've found the courage.

You would've stumbled over your words.

She would've stared.

"...You mean that?"

"...Yeah."

"...You really..."

"...Yeah."

Silence.

"...I thought I was the only one."

...

Maybe... There would've been mornings.

Lazy ones.

Where neither of you had anywhere to be.

You'd still be asleep.

She'd wake first.

She'd watch you breathe.

Think—

This.

This is enough.

Maybe...

Years later...

You would've gotten older together.

Wrinkles.

Gray hair.

Scars.

She would've teased you for needing glasses.

You would've teased her for pretending she didn't.

Maybe nothing extraordinary would've happened.

Maybe that would've been the extraordinary part.

Instead, she was writing to ghosts.

...

Letter Forty-Eight

I keep imagining different endings.

None of them look like ours.

In every version...

I choose you sooner.

I speak sooner.

I stay.

I don't run.

I don't tell myself I'm protecting you.

I don't make your choices for you.

I let you decide whether someone like me deserves someone like you.

I think...

You would've said yes.

And that's the part that hurts the most.

She stopped sleeping.

The letters multiplied.

Sixty-two.

Seventy-nine.

Ninety.

One hundred.

Every day became another conversation you never heard.

Letter One Hundred–

Happy birthday.

I still remembered.

I bought your favorite pastry.

I left it on the bench where we'd usually meet.

Someone else ate it.

I'm glad it didn't go to waste.

I still wish it had been you.

Some nights...

She'd take them all out.

Spread them across the floor.

Read every single one.

As if somewhere between Letter Seventeen and Letter Eighty-Four...

There'd be one sentence capable of undoing the past.

There never was.

She bought another box.

Then another.

Eventually, she stopped counting boxes.

Only the letters mattered.

Proof that she'd loved you. Proof she'd finally learned how to speak.

After there was nobody left to listen.

The final page she wrote that year wasn't numbered.

It wasn't really a letter anymore.

It was just a confession.

If there is another life...

I hope I meet you again.

I hope I'm not afraid.

I hope I tell you everything on the first day.

I hope I never make you wonder whether you mattered.

I hope I hold your hand when you reach for mine.

I hope we get ordinary days.

I hope we get boring days.

I hope we get enough days that saying goodbye feels impossible.

Maybe we'd have lived together.

Maybe we'd have argued.

Maybe we'd have loved each other loudly instead of quietly.

Maybe I'd have been someone worthy of standing beside you.

Or maybe...

Maybe we'd simply have been together.

At all.

She folded the page with trembling hands.

Placed it gently atop every other letter she'd ever written.

Closed the box.

And whispered into the silence that had become her only companion—

"I'll keep these...Just in case."

Just in case, somehow...

Against every law of fate she'd already broken,,, you came back looking for her.

...Just in case.

A woman who yearns is NOT a woman who earns in riyos sake. Be prepared for the next chapter though, I'm plotting on y'all.

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

SERIES MASTERLIST

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

"I love you."

Three syllables,

spent so cheaply

they've become a currency everyone can afford.

You love your mother.

Your dog.

The ocean.

The song that reminds you of being seventeen.

You love strangers

who smile at you in passing.

You love sunsets that never learned your name.

Tell me— what am I supposed to hear when you say

you love me?

Love has always seemed like rain.

It falls on everything.

Indiscriminate.

Faithful only to gravity.

If everyone can be loved,

then perhaps

no one truly is.

So I learned another language.

I hid the sharp parts of myself where they couldn't cut you.

I swallowed truths that would have bloomed into arguments.

I carried secrets like splinters beneath my skin,

telling myself– pain held alone hurts fewer people.

You called it distance.

I called it protection.

Maybe we were both right.

The cruelest thing about loving someone is realizing that sometimes

the kindest version of your love looks exactly like abandonment.

I watched us unravel

with my hands behind my back,

because touching the knot

would only pull it tighter.

You asked

why I never reached for you.

I wanted to ask

why reaching always felt like the beginning of losing.

So I left you slowly.

So slowly that you would think you'd make that first move

Not because the love died.

But because it refused to.

It stayed— quiet as dust on photographs

I still cannot throw away.

Now I revisit you

in ordinary places.

The drink you hated.

The road we always missed.

The silence after rain.

Memory is kinder

than either of us ever were.

It lets me keep the version of you

that never watched me walk away.

And I think

that may be my punishment:

To love you without asking to be loved back.

To miss you without believing I deserve your return.

To know that love can survive long after a bond cannot.

People say

love conquers all.

No.

Love survives all.

It survives silence.

It survives pride.

It survives absence.

Sometimes, it even survives us.

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

So sorry for the super short chapter !!! I swear I got more coming for y'all

SERIES MASTERLIST

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

The first week without Riyo felt wrong, but not painful yet.

You still caught yourself turning your head whenever you heard footsteps that matched hers. You still found yourself saving little stories throughout the day because she would've rolled her eyes at them before quietly smiling anyway. Every time something happened, your first instinct was still—

I should tell Riyo.

Then reality settled back in.

She wasn't there.

It hadn't happened all at once.

Really, it didn't.

Looking back, you couldn't even pinpoint when she'd started slipping away.

First, she took longer to answer.

Then she canceled plans.

Then conversations became shorter. Less personal. Every question about how she was doing was met with a practiced smile.

"I'm fine."

"Just tired."

"Don't worry about me."

Eventually...

"Stop asking."

You tried.

You really did.

You told yourself everyone deserved privacy.

You told yourself she wasn't obligated to tell you everything.

But Riyo had become someone who seemed to vanish for days at a time only to return with new cuts hidden beneath long sleeves, bruises she insisted were accidents, exhaustion buried behind half-lidded eyes.

And every single time...

She smiled.

Like nothing had happened.

Like you weren't watching her slowly disappear.

...

"You've been avoiding me."

The words came out quieter than you'd intended.

Riyo didn't stop walking.

"I've just been busy."

"You've been 'busy' for two months."

Silence.

You hurried after her. "You disappear without saying anything."

"I'm here now."

"That isn't the point."

"It should be."

You grabbed her wrist before you could think better of it.

She froze, and for a second neither of you moved.

"I miss you," you admitted.

The words almost made her turn around.

Almost.

"...I'm still here."

"No." Your voice cracked. "No, you're not."

She gently pulled her wrist free.

"You don't need to worry about me."

"I do."

"You shouldn't."

"I care about you."

"I know."

"Then why won't you let me?"

Riyo looked away.

"Because there's nothing to help."

"There has to be."

"There isn't."

"There has to be!"

Her shoulders stiffened.

"You don't understand."

"Then help me understand!"

"I can't."

"Why?"

"I just can't."

"That's not an answer!"

"It's the only one you're getting."

Something inside you finally snapped.

"No." The word surprised even you. "No, I'm tired of that answer."

Riyo stared.

"Do you know what this feels like? I spend every day wondering if you're alive."

Silence.

"You vanish."

Silence.

"You come back hurt."

Silence.

"You won't tell me anything."

Silence.

"And every time I ask because I'm worried about you—" Your voice rose. "You make me feel like I'm the problem!"

"I'm not—"

"You push me away every single time!"

"I'm trying to—"

"What?!"

The question echoed.

"What are you trying to do, Riyo?"

She couldn't answer.

Because the truth?

She was trying to protect you.

But that could never leave her lips.

"I just..." she whispered. "I need space."

You stared at her.

"...Space."

She nodded once. "...Please."

The word hurt more than anything she'd said.

Because she'd never asked for distance before.

Never.

You swallowed.

"...If that's really what you want."

"It is."

It wasn't. It absolutely wasn't– but she forced herself to nod anyway.

"...Okay." You smiled. It was the saddest smile she'd ever seen. "I won't bother you anymore."

As soon as the words left your mouth...

Riyo wanted to take everything back.

But she couldn't.

She couldn't let you get closer.

She couldn't.

So she watched you walk away.

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

...

Days became weeks.

Weeks became months.

Neither of you adjusted.

You still looked for her in crowds before remembering.

She still instinctively walked toward your usual meeting places before forcing herself elsewhere.

You both stopped sleeping properly.

Eating became optional.

Everything reminded you of each other.

A joke.

A song.

A cup left on a café table.

The empty seat beside you.

Riyo wrote messages that never got sent.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm sorry."

"Can we talk?"

Deleted.

But your mailbox remained empty, and she never sent a single note.

Meanwhile...

You kept wondering what you'd done wrong.

Had you pushed too hard?

Asked too much?

Been too clingy?

Maybe she'd gotten tired of you.

Maybe she'd realized you weren't worth keeping around.

The thought lodged itself somewhere deep inside you.

It refused to leave.

... Three months later...

The rain wouldn't stop.

You almost turned around when you heard footsteps.

Almost.

"...Can we talk?"

You froze.

Riyo.

She was standing beneath a black umbrella.

Looking thinner.

More tired.

Her eyes met yours.

For a second...

Neither of you spoke.

Then,,, "...Okay."

The café felt strangely familiar.

Neither of you touched your drinks.

Riyo kept rehearsing words she'd never practiced saying aloud.

You waited.

Patiently.

Just like always.

Finally— "...I handled everything wrong."

You blinked.

She looked down.

"I shouldn't have pushed you away."

Silence.

"I hurt you."

"...Yeah."

"I know."

"..."

"I'm sorry."

The apology sounded genuine– painfully so.

You hadn't expected it.

"I don't..." You sighed. "I don't hate you."

Her head lifted slightly.

"I've just..." Your fingers tightened around your cup. "I stopped understanding where I fit in your life."

Riyo's chest tightened as she spoke. "You matter."

"Then why did it feel like I didn't?"

"..."

"I would've stayed."

"I know."

"I would've listened."

"I know."

"I would've accepted whatever you told me."

"I know."

"So why wasn't I enough?"

The question destroyed her.

Because you had always been enough.

Too much, even.

You were the reason she'd walked away.

The reason she'd kept lying.

The reason she'd chosen loneliness over honesty.

Because if you knew...

If you ever learned what she really was...

She'd lose you anyway.

"...It wasn't your fault."

"Then whose was it?"

"Mine."

"Then let me help you fix it."

She looked at you.

Really looked at you.

There was hope in there– a small, fragile, delicate glimmer of hope.

Maybe... Maybe this could still be saved. Maybe she didn't have to lose you.

Maybe—

"...Tell me the truth."

The words were soft.

Gentle.

Not demanding.

honest.

"No more excuses." You reached across the table.

"I don't need every detail." Your fingertips brushed hers. "I just need you."

She nearly broke.

She should have taken your hand.

She wanted to.

God...

She wanted to.

But then she remembered blood.

Bodies.

The people she'd killed.

The contracts she'd accepted.

The lies she'd already built your friendship on.

If she accepted your hand now...

Everything after this would become another lie.

She couldn't do that to you.

Not anymore.

She slowly pulled her hand away.

"...You deserve someone better."

Your expression fell.

"...What?"

"You deserve someone who can actually tell you who they are."

"I don't care."

"I do."

"I said I don't care!"

"You should."

"I choose you anyway."

"You shouldn't."

Your voice cracked.

"Stop deciding what's best for me."

"I'm trying to protect you."

"From what?!"

Silence.

Again.

Always silence.

You laughed.

It sounded exhausted.

"...There it is."

"What?"

"The wall." You looked at her with eyes she'd never seen before.

Not anger, per say.

Exhaustion.

"I reached out."

"..."

"I waited."

"..."

"I forgave you."

"..."

"I asked for one thing." Your eyes shimmered. "The truth."

Riyo couldn't give it.

"I can't."

Those two words.

Again.

Always again.

You stood. "I think..." You swallowed hard. "I think this is where we stop."

Riyo's heart lurched. "...Don't."

"I can't keep loving someone who refuses to let me know them."

The sentence hit harder than any weapon ever had.

"...Please."

"I've spent months wondering whether I mattered to you."

"You do."

"It doesn't feel like it."

"It isn't like that."

"Then tell me what it's like."

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

You smiled sadly. "...Goodbye, Riyo."

You turned.

This time...

She reached out.

Her fingers caught your sleeve.

For one heartbeat—

Hope.

Then instinct took over.

Someone entered the café.

A stranger.

Harmless.

But Riyo's assassin instincts reacted before her emotions could.

She let go immediately.

Her eyes swept the room.

Checked exits.

Checked faces.

Checked hands.

The movement was automatic.

But you saw it.

Every bit of it.

The calculating eyes, the reflexive scan, the person who seemed prepared for violence before affection.

You stared.

"...Who are you?" The question barely rose above a whisper.

Riyo froze.

Too late.

She'd shown you something she'd spent years hiding.

Not the whole truth.

Just enough to make her look like a stranger.

"..."

You slowly stepped back.

"I..." You shook your head. "I don't know you."

The words were quiet.

They hurt more because of it.

"You've been right all along."

Riyo looked up.

"There really is someone you've never let me meet." Another step backward. "I kept waiting for my best friend to come back. But maybe she was never really there."

The café door opened.

Then closed.

The bell chimed once.

And that was it.

Riyo didn't chase after you.

She couldn't.

She remained standing beside the table long after your untouched drink had gone cold.

The chair across from her stayed empty, and it would stay empty forever.

Because this time, there would be no messages- no second attempt.

Some things don't end with screaming.

Some things end with a quiet goodbye.

Those are the endings that hurt the most.

I have it queued to post for the next week, expect the final chapters soon

SERIES MASTERLIST

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

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

Your head hurt. But it wasn’t the first time.

None of this was the first time.

"I already told you, Riyo," you began, your voice firm, as if repeating it would make it real. "We’re nothing."

There was a silence where you could hear her breathing tremble, even through the line.

"What does that mean?" she asked, raising her voice, and the boy beside you began to stir in his place on the bed.

"Tch… Lower your voice, will you? I’d rather talk when I get to headquarters." You cut the communication before she could respond.

Silence filled the room again, uncomfortably. You could feel the heat of the body beside you, the weight of a careless arm over your waist. Everything was "normal."

And yet...

You carefully pulled away, getting out of bed without making a sound. You grabbed your clothes from the floor, dressing quickly, without looking back. Without thinking, because you didn’t want to think.

You just left.

The air outside the headquarters was too cold, seeping into your bones and making your teeth chatter, but Riyo was already there, waiting for you, and her mere presence made your heart warm just a little more.

It shouldn’t...

Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, her gaze drifted toward the station’s cars, as if she had been waiting even before you made the decision to come out. Because she knew you, and she knew you would.

Oh... she knew you so well...

"You didn’t take long," she said, looking at you with a serious mask that tried to hide her sadness, but you knew her too, every part of her.

"I had to make sure he wouldn’t wake up," you replied, crossing your arms as well, imitating a calm you didn’t feel.

Her eyes lowered slightly, assessing you. Then they returned to your face.

"Of course."

But that "of course" didn’t sound like agreement.

"What do you want, Riyo?" you asked, sharper than necessary.

She didn’t answer right away. She pushed herself off the wall slowly, taking a couple of steps forward until she stood in front of you, and her hand rose to cradle your cheek with sadness.

"To stop feeling this, because it hurts."

You frowned. "What?"

Riyo shook her head. "That you’re ashamed of me."

The silence that followed was dense, both of you knew none of this was right, especially you, but, darling, you were so deep in denial.

"I’m not..." you insisted, immediately looking away toward the station’s logo as you pulled back from Riyo’s touch.

"Say it while looking at me, please."

You clenched your jaw.

"Riyo..."

"Say it. Say that when you wake up next to him in the middle of the night, you don’t think about me, about everything we could be if you weren’t so afraid of rejection... You’re his girlfriend, but you’re my everything, Y/n."

A plea. A damn plea.

Firm and tired.

You looked straight into her eyes.

"We’re nothing." you repeated, more with the intention of convincing yourself than Riyo, but you’d have to stop the world to stop the feeling, and both of you knew that was impossible.

Even so, this time you didn’t hesitate.

You didn’t tremble either.

Riyo let out a short, humorless laugh, followed by a shaky sigh.

"Of course we’re not... ‘nothing’ that only shows up when the lights go out."

You didn’t respond.

"‘Nothing’ that knows exactly where to find me."

You looked away.

"‘Nothing’ that—"

"Shut up." you said, shaken, taking a step back.

Because you knew where she was going, and you didn’t want to hear it.

Riyo went silent for a second.

"Why?" she murmured. "Because you don’t like how it sounds when someone else says it?"

You clenched your fists. "You don’t know what you’re talking about."

"I know exactly what I’m talking about."

"Or tell him," she continued, lowering her voice, "to make you feel the same."

Your stomach twisted and you didn’t respond.

You couldn’t. You felt like you might throw up.

Riyo watched you in silence for a few seconds.

Giving you the chance to take it back, to say something different, to finally choose her.

But you didn’t.

She straightened up, taking a step back, putting distance between you, so cold it made you shiver more than the night air.

"Fine," she said at last.

"Riyo—"

"No," she cut you off. "You’re right." Her eyes never left yours. "We’re nothing."

The echo of your own words sounded different in her voice.

"So stop looking for me."

"What?"

"Stop looking for me when it suits you." Her tone was flat now. "Stop acting like this is… whatever it is to you."

"Riyo, I don’t—"

"And stay with your ‘nothing.’ Good luck, Y/n. Have fun."

She didn’t shout or look at you with anger, because that would’ve made your decision much easier. Instead, she simply turned around.

And started to walk away.

"Riyo."

She didn’t stop.

"Riyo, wait."

Nothing.

You watched her walk away, each step farther, more final.

You stayed there, frozen, with the cold digging into your skin and something worse settling in your chest.

Because you could go back to that boy, or go to your room and crawl into that bed and pretend everything was fine. You knew this wasn’t the first time you’d had this argument... but why did this one feel more final?

You could keep saying you were nothing, you could repeat it as many times as you wanted.

Did it end here?