#two shot

“They’ll drain every barrel of alcohol we have at this rate.” The redhead jokes.

“Not like we’re going to celebrate when we get to the actual island, you two will be alone. Unless you want a crowd following you?” Beckman jokes back and Shanks taps his finger against his chin in mock thought.

“Hmmm.. nope. Don’t think we’ll have space for more unfortunately.”

“Thought so, no one wants to see you love birds cuddling either.” Beckman smirks while taking a sip of rum.

‘They’re probably cuddling right now.’ “Awwe, don’t be too lonely without me.”

“I’d never. You can stay there as long as you’d like.”

‘I’m not welcome there.’ “You sound like a jealous lover Beck~”

“I’ll tell the men to sail without you as soon as we dock.”

‘I wonder if they’d turn me in.’ “You’re too mean.” Shanks gives a fake(?) sigh of distress and the first mate only chuckles in response. Someone pours him a tankard of ale and puts it on the table, the captain chugs the entire thing.

“You miss em that much?”

“...yeah.”

_____________________

(YOUR POV)

You’re in your house, in your room, looking in the mirror checking your outfit. Lying on the bed is a man with pink hair, drawing.

“I know this is going to be your house but try not to get paint everywhere in that guest room.” You remind him and he huffs.

“I already stored the mattress and bedframe, paint in my painting room isn’t going to kill me.”

“Aba.”

“Okay okay, I got it.” He knows that tone. “You’re just worried. I never expected the person selling me a house would be a worrywart.”

“I’m selling it to you cheap, Aba. I don’t care about the house, you can do whatever you want in that painting room. I just mean don’t make it so messy that animals can hide inside. "Connecting with nature doesn’t mean you should get rabies.”

“True.” He scribbles more as you finish fixing your clothes in the mirror. “Are you meeting your boyfriend now? “ He realizes he didn’t get you anything as a goodbye. “...Do you want condoms?” You look back at him, he looks awkward. Despite you two only becoming friends because he wanted a house where he could be alone, you two get along well.

“It’s fine, you’re using those for your project. Though it gave me a heart attack when I saw them.” Abayomi is on the unsociable side, you can tell that request was him meaning well. “Don’t offer condoms to people, though. I know you don’t use them but it’s still considered unusual.” He nods. “I’m going out now.” Aba gets up.

“I’ll see you off.”

(SHANKS’S POV)

Shanks hops off of the ship, you two planned to eat somewhere nice so he’s dressed fancy. Nothing crazy, a nicer button up and suit pants and he still kept his coat; he even managed to find patterned suit pants. It’s like you blasted his regular outfit with a fancy ray.

‘I couldn’t tie my hair up.’ He thinks to himself while fiddling with a strand.

…

He’ll go pick you up, he’s feeling too antsy to just wait somewhere. A smile forms on his face at how nice you’ll look as he makes his way to your house.

His heart starts to feel light as he sees where you live. He finally sees you, stopping in his tracks. Right in front of him is you and your affair partner. Your back is to Shanks’s and your hands are on your affair’s face, tears rolling down the dark skin.

‘They’re kissing.’ He feels sick as he scoffs. ‘Must be comforting him for going out with me.’ Shanks catches himself feeling proud for a moment, like you’re choosing him over that man; but it’s short lived. It just means that you’re completely fine being affectionate right before going out for you and Shanks’s anniversary. His heart hurts as he turns and walks away. He didn’t know you could be like this, but in the end he can’t help blaming himself. How bad he must be for someone as kind as you to turn to cheating another person. How much suffering were you keeping in? He should’ve known leaving you would’ve been for your sake.

But.. How can he do that now?

Even though this is happening he can’t even bring himself to think of leaving you. The you who he’s already given his heart to, he would be nothing. He would leave his everything with you, what he had left. It’s okay, you haven’t stopped loving him, you still have love in your eyes. Maybe if this is what it takes to ease your suffering enough that you can bear to stay with him.. he’ll take it.

What a nauseating thought.

‘I can’t deal with this right now. Once everything is over. Once everything is over, then I can prepare for it. I’ll enjoy and deal with this as I can like I’ve done for other things. Focus on the good and deal with the bad once I have the chance.’ Nauseating. He just told himself he can’t leave you but now he’s thinking of leaving. It’ll go back and forth and he can’t tell which it’ll stay on.

He stops in front of the restaurant and puts a smile on his face. This is no time to be upset, it’s still him and his love’s anniversary.

_____________________

Shanks makes eye contact with you and sees your face light up as you run towards him, enveloping him with a hug before pulling back to smooch him.

“You look so handsome when you dress up.”

“Did you expect me to dress like normal for our anniversary?” He kisses you. “I want to look at least a little nice.” He runs his hand along your waist. “It’ll be hard to live up to how you look right now, though.” You kiss him back and the two of you go inside the restaurant. There’s already a reservation, and Shanks sits with you. While you two are eating you notice he seems.. off.

“Shanks?”

“Hm?”

“Is something wrong?” He stops his fork mid-bite, pausing before taking it.

“Maybe I’m just nervous since we’ve been together so long now. I’m happy.” Your partner smiles at you but you still feel off about it. “How couldn’t I be nervous with someone so stunning in front of me, anyway? I knew the minute you walked out of your house.” You tilt your head in confusion.

“The minute I walked out..?” He freezes, eyes wide.

“I mean-” His heart starts to thump loudly. “I just mean I’m sure you-”

“Don’t lie Shanks, so you saw me.” He puts his fork down, the mood suddenly darkening. “Shanks, listen-”

“Don’t.” You get more confused, even hurt, but try to continue.

“I can’t keep this secret from you anymore. I was planning on telling you today, anyway-”

“Stop.”

“Are you upset? Love, I’m-”

“STOP.” A wave of haki flows through the restaurant, waiters and customers suddenly passing out. Your own mouth shuts. “Don’t.. don’t tell me.” His voice is shaky with his head down. “You don’t have to.” You’re confused, but have an idea of what’s going on. You stand and reach across the table, cupping his cheeks and lifting his head up. There are tears in his eyes. A few roll down and he looks away before closing them. “Please.” You let out a deep breath, still unable to speak, but continue to caress Shanks’s face. After wiping his eyes with your thumbs he finally looks back at you, his haki dissipating.

“You’re misunderstanding, baby.” He looks irritated, but shakes his head. “No, you are. I need you to calm down for me. I know you’re panicking right now but let me explain myself, okay?” He gulps. “I’m not cheating on you.” Shanks flinches at that word, gritting his teeth. “I love you and I will continue to love you, and that means not betraying the trust that you have given me. If anything, you’ll likely have to worry about that even less now.” His eyebrows furrow in confusion. “I sold my house, I was with the person who bought it. He and I became friends and he started getting emotional when he realized I was truly leaving.”

“What..?” It still isn’t adding up.

“If you’re wondering, yes he was living with me. He’s homeless. Well, he used to be homeless. He’d spent all of his money on buying the house and I wanted him to be safe so I had him move in and slowly take the time to change out furniture and paint.”

“T..The condoms..?” You flinch at that and his expression darkens.

“No, no. It’s not bad. He was using it for an art project.” You stand up and pay for the food on the table, leaving a tip. Shanks looks around, realizing what he did and you squeeze his hand for comfort. He looks so sad. It hurts you. “I’m sorry, I wanted it to be a surprise so I kept it secret.” You say, walking in silence to your former house. You stop in front of it and knock on the door.

…

It opens.

“(Y/n)? You already said bye.” He shifts. “Don’t tell me I got emotional over nothing, I don’t think I can handle crying again..” Aba mumbles sheepishly. He notices Shanks. “You brought him over..? And why’s he look so bummed?”

“Shanks, this is Abayomi. The new owner.” Shanks stares at the man, Aba slowly starts to sweat.

“You aren’t going to scold me for buying it for so cheap, right? I swear I’d offer more if I could.” You shake your head.

“Aba, can we see that condom project?”

“Huh? If you want to buy it, it isn’t finished yet.” You all head into the house and Abayomi opens the door to a paint room. There’s a smaller corner for crafts. Sitting on a table is an art project featuring a humanoid figure hiding from other humanoids covered in condoms. Some of them are even filled, but it’s clearly just some paint. Shanks stares at it, silent.

…

…

…

“It’s supposed to be metaphorical, like hiding from a world and people so full of sex as a sexless being.” Aba mumbles, face hot from embarrassment. He doesn’t usually like to show unfinished projects, it’s nervewracking. The message gets across less so it could look silly. Shanks stays silent.

…

…

…

Sighhhh

He lets out a long breath.

“I’m fucking pathetic.” He puts his face in his hand. You quickly hug him.

“No no, not true. You were right to be suspicious, I should’ve handled it better.” You quickly comfort him, rubbing his back. Abayomi stands in the background, confused and nervous.

‘Did he feel bad for not getting it?’ The artist wonders to himself, not knowing if he should try to join in on the comforting. You look back at him.

“I’m sorry for dragging you into this Aba, he thought that I was cheating on him with you.” The man points at himself with wide eyes. “Yeah, I kept it a secret but he found out.”

“But I don't feel romantic or sexual attraction."

“He didn’t know tha-”

“He’s not even interested in those things.." That made Shanks feel even more pathetic and you go back to hugging him and rubbing his back; repeating that he’s not dumb or pathetic.

‘do i help or not..?’

____________

Shanks takes a big gulp of hot chocolate.

“I didn’t think you’d go in that room, my bad.” The artist stands to the side while you sit next to your boyfriend.

“This is why I told you to try and keep your things organized, at least a bit. Not long ago you had lost an entire block of clay. We didn’t even find it.” You scold him.

“It’s alright. I let my insecurity snoop around.” Your attention goes back to Shanks with a soft voice.

“I really was acting suspicious, though. You didn’t have to hold it in. Why didn’t you ask me about it?” Shanks stays silent. “Hun?”

“I—didn’t want you to admit it.” He confesses. “If you didn’t know I knew then we could just pretend to be normal, right?” It feels pathetic admitting this. You quickly pinch his cheek and he doesn’t fight it.

“What kind of reason is that!? The next time you’re nervous about anything like this you go straight to me, alright!?”

“ohay” The redhead meekly says. He pauses for a moment once you let go. “Why are you selling your house? Do you want to move?” A smile forms on your face.

“Yup!” You get closer to him. “You’ll help me, right?”

“Of course I will.” He’s still not getting it.

“So silly, I mean I’m moving in with you, Shanks.” His heart thumps.

“but your life here?”

“I’m leaving it behind, obviously. Why else would I sell my house? It’s perfect for Aba too, he’s always wanted to live at least near nature.”

“I long to be in the woods.”

“Exactly.” Shanks pulls you closer and hugs you tightly.

“I-I, oh gods.” He went from the worst news he could think of to the best news he could think of. “You aren’t afraid of the danger?”

“I’d love to be near the love of my life.” You pull away to cup his cheeks. “Especially when he needs the support.” You watch as his eyes water again and he hiccups before kissing you.

“Thank you. I love you.” He repeats that in between kisses, holding you close. “You’re moving into my room, I’m making space immediately.” He gets up, slinging you over his shoulder. He quickly waves at Abayomi.

“It was nice meeting you, goodbye! And nice art! If we meet again I’ll commission you.” Aba waves back, awkward but happy for you two. Once you two are gone he crouches down.

“That was so nervewracking, oh gods.” At least he didn’t cry again. Though one of you three did. He thinks about what Shanks said and pulls out a canvas. “I’ll give the lovebirds something to buy when we meet.” Meanwhile, you and Shanks smile at each other; happy for the future.

You finally felt like someone saw you as something other than ‘the transfer girl with the unusual accent’. And to Dick, you were so much more. You didn’t expect anything of him. You didn’t expect him to be perfect, you didn’t expect him to be collected all the time. You were one of the only people who seemed to really get him— the only person to see him as Dick Grayson and not Bruce Wayne’s ward or Boy Wonder.

He hasn’t told you his secret yet. Honestly, he’s not sure he should. Not because he couldn’t trust you, no. Because he’d be endangering you with a secret you shouldn’t have to keep. And, while he’d tried to deny the fact, he wanted this part of his life– you, to be kept separate. He wanted this to belong to him. Not to Robin, but to Dick Grayson.

Though, that didn’t stop him from using the Batcomputer to find out your birthday— which he already had a present for.

He enjoyed the feeling of normalcy that came along with you and your presence. Even though others didn’t seem to share his sentiments.

From the moment you two began talking, hushed whispers spread across your year group. ‘Why would he hang around her?’ or ‘I wonder if it’s just because she’s new… out of pity?’ Your classmates made little effort to hide their speculations, often talking right in front of your face. Not that it bothered you. You hardly cared– or that’s what you believed. Truly, why would you care? You weren’t ever going to befriend the ones that speculated or ostracised you. They weren’t worth that extra effort.

But Dick, he was worth every minute. Every extra second you spent after class, in the library or even the courtyard was worth it. You were glad to have someone so open to share your thoughts with.

It was nearing Christmas and the school semester was finally coming to a close for the holidays. You hadn’t planned on returning home this year, to your dismay. Christmas was one of the biggest holidays for your family and you were pretty bummed that you couldn’t spend it with them. You mentioned this to Dick in passing and of course, he always listened. Which led you to your current status.

It’s the first Saturday of the vacation and Dick has taken it upon himself to show you around the better parts of town, the parts that are actually decorated for the holidays. In the past few hours, he’s taken you into several shopping centres to unlock your ‘inner Christmas joy’ as he so gleefully put it. You told him it wasn’t so much about the decorations, but rather the people around you. However, that didn’t stop him from walking out with two bags of ornaments in tow.

If it’s one thing you learnt during your shopping trip, it was: you had to be careful around Dick Grayson.

He always knew what you were thinking of getting. If you even so much as glanced at something for more than two seconds, it’s already in your basket. If you stopped to look at the price tag, dick would wordlessly take it from you, dropping it into your cart and leaving you with only a cheeky smirk. And to no one’s surprise, he beat you to the card machine— somehow, managing to distract you enough with something else in the store that you completely missed the cashier checking everything out. To this moment you don’t know what the sum total came up to.

Now, you two sit in a nearby cafe, nesting steaming coffees in both your hands. It’s a nicely decorated place. Even its pastries were Christmas themed. Festive, good lighting– warm toned lamps lighting the walls. Nothing too harsh on the eyes. An ideal place to rest your feet, you think. Dick sits opposite you, the small distance doing little to hinder the fragrance radiating off him, the same one you’ve complimented a thousand times before. Despite the holiday rush, this cafe was unusually empty this time around save for a few people who placed to-go orders.

“No one really dines in here.” Dick answers your unasked question. “This part of Gotham is filled with busy people— with little to no free time in their schedules.”

“I figured…” You look to a man collecting his drink, too occupied on his phone to even be bothered to thank the barista. “Manners in Gotham are… scanty.” You sip your drink carefully so as to not spill any on your newly bought coat. Also courtesy of Dick.

“Unfortunately. Gothamites aren’t the nicest bunch of people.” Dick offers a small smile, which attaches itself to the frown you didn’t know you were wearing.

“It’s not like that back home. Our people are… a talkative bunch.” you chuckle, remembering the weird instances you’d have with strangers or the conversations you’ve overheard. “Sometimes, too talkative.”

You raise your head to Dick, who’s already looking at you. He takes in all of your words with an expression not unlike admiration. “That must be nice.”

“It is, sometimes. But regardless of where you go, there’s always gonna have the more, uh… unwelcoming set of folks.” You don’t mean to think of school when you say that, but Dick knows. He always does.

He opens his mouth to speak, slowly inching his hand towards yours, but you already know what he’s going to say. “I’m not worried about that. I’m glad we became friends.” Dick shuts his mouth quickly, retracting his hand. He tries to bite back the smile that creeps onto his face, He has his bottom lip tucked between his teeth, fighting the upwards curl of his mouth. It’s cute, you think. And even cuter the way his lip slowly unfurls from beneath his teeth as his facade betrays him. All plumped and red from biting it — or maybe just the weather. Either way, around you— he was never much good at hiding his expressions.

Dick hears what the rest of school thinks of you, despite you hardly doing anything to upset anyone. There were a select few who enjoyed your presence, your quiet kindness, support and honesty. But they didn’t know you like he did. They didn’t grasp just how special you were. Dick finds that, whenever he’s with you, he truly gets to enjoy the little things in life. Like the way your eyebrows furrow when you’re thinking. Or the way you talk or laugh. The direction your head tilts when you’re confused. No one pays attention to that, except for him.

“If we have time after this, would you wanna help me decorate?” you ask after a beat of admiring Dick’s adorable face. Not realising that Dick was doing the same with you.

“Sure.” He answers a bit too eagerly and hopes you didn’t pick up on his fumble.

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The snow falls lightly across the streets, littering the freshly swept pavement with specks of white. Thin blankets of snow cover the bare trees spread across the streets. Both of your feet crunch against the snow reforming on the pavement, leaving boot marks in your wake. Delicate snowflakes drift from the grey sky, landing on your shoulders. Your pace slows behind Dick’s as you hold a gloved palm out to catch the white specks.

“Y’know, I haven’t seen snow before Gotham.” You say, snowflakes falling into your gloves. “Doesn’t snow where I come from.”

“You’ve never been away for Christmas?” Dick asks tentatively.

You shake your head, “Never. Most of my family tends to return home instead.” You frown, not thinking you’d ever see the day where you were disappointed with being in another country. Your frown catches onto Dick’s expression and you wish you hadn’t seen his face fall. Seeing his lips curl in the other direction pulls painfully at your heartstrings. Your disheartened state should never be the cause of his.

You look up to talk to him, but the glare that bounces off the snow down right nearly blinds you. “It’s okay though.” You recover, trying to smile up at him despite your squinting. “a first time for everything right.”

He smiles back at you, deciding then and there that this year was going to be worth more than your tears.

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It’s nearly four o’clock when you arrive back at your apartment complex which your relative had so graciously left you. Technically, it wasn’t yours but the actual owner was never around– always travelling. Much like the rest of the tenants in this place. It’s a decent sized place on the fourth floor, well furnished, cosy closed floor plan— there’s even a communal pool at the top of the building, not that anyone bothers to swim in it. The only thing the apartment lacks is a soul. You hadn’t exactly gotten to decorating it yourself.

“Maybe I can take you shopping sometime?” Dick offers, resting the bags on your kitchen countertop.

“Again?” You chuckle.

“Well if I had known, I would have taken you to the department store today. I know a really good one.” He hums, starting to pull out different ornaments from the first bag. “We should start with the tree.” He starts unpacking the faux Christmas tree from a compact box, its branches flattened from the restricted packaging.

You two make quick work of mounting it up, fluffing out the branches and setting the red tree skirt under it. Now, it’s onto adding the lights. Dick decided on warm lights— a stark contrast to those heavy blinkers your family would use. But, you prefer the warm. It’s almost as if Dick knew.

You stand behind the tree as Dick passes the lights around the front. You can’t help but think of how oddly domestic it all is. At what point does one begin to question platonic love?

You try to ignore the way he lets your hands brush every time he passes the bunch to you and the spark you feel at his touch— you really do. You also try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. Those things seriously exist? You had always thought people were just making stuff up for the sake of it.

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The snow outside your apartment picks up, now falling in a constant array. It’s long past five and your Christmas tree, along with some wreaths and tinsel now fill the empty corners of your apartment. With your plain throw pillows and blankets traded for red and greens, you consider your job complete. Dick has even decided to put some hanging decor on the ceiling, swearing up and down that it’ll stay despite the flimsy tape.

You stand next to him in front of the door, admiring your handiwork. “Not bad.” You hum.

Dick makes an expression at the side of your eye, “Seriously? That’s all I get?” He mocks the offense, “‘Not bad’?”

You laugh at his antics, “Thank you, Dick.” You turn to face him fully this time, “It means a lot. Really…”

Dick reciprocates your affection, smiling warmly back at you. His dimples pop at the action and you can’t help but stare. You’ve always admired how pretty he is. Especially neat for a guy. Then again, he doesn’t seem like the type to let himself get too messy. But that isn’t it at all. Just him, you think. His face— it’s so adorably perfect. You don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s the expressions he wore? Or the way every feature of his perfectly compliments the next. Or how his smile is just so damn bright it manages to light up your whole mood. Whatever it is, you don’t even try to stop the words that flow from your mouth.

“You’re really pretty, Dick.”

Immediately, he flushes at your praise, the red going all the way to his ears. From the way he reacted, you can tell you’ve been staring at the boy for far too long. “Oh– um, t-thank you… You too. You– you’re really pretty too.” He bashfully fights the way his lips tug upwards. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him stammer that much in one sentence— ever.

A moment passes and it looks like he’s regained his usual stature. You giggle at his attempt at composure. “Actually, can I show you something?” He holds a hand out for you to take.

He then ushers you towards the corridor leading to your bedroom. For a second, you think he’s managed to distract you long enough to decorate your room for you. You’re taken aback by his abrupt stop in the entrance of the hallway. He turns around to face you and the look on his face comes off as almost impossible to read. He looks like he’s fighting both a smirk and bashfulness all at once. Dick then takes both of your hands in his, wordlessly gesturing upwards with a tug at your interlocked hands. You follow his gaze up to — oh…

Hanging on the arch above you is none other than —a mistletoe. You’ve never seen one hung in real life, expecting to be put to use— only in movies. Much less seen one from this angle. Your eyes find Dick’s once more and he just stares. He’s about to apologise, tell you to forget this even happened. He looks scared almost. Scared that you’ll reject him, kick him out even. But you don’t.

You stare back at him for a second, in thought. Then, you pull him down by his collar, stopping when your faces are so close together that your breaths mingle in the warmth of the other. His eyes are blown wide, searching yours intently— almost as if he doesn’t believe this is happening to him. “Smooth.” You giggle before meeting his lips with yours.

Dick practically melts into your hold, arms wrapping tentatively around your back, slowly inching towards your waist. “Is it okay if I– if I hold you here?” He breathes against you, looking at you with stars in his eyes. If anyone asks, he’d surely tell them you fell from the sky. You chuckle at his unusual bashfulness today.

“Yes, Dick. You can hold me wherever you want.” You reconnect the two of you, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck. The kiss is sweet, a mix of hidden emotions and untold secrets—some of which Dick couldn’t wait to share with you. But, not right now. Right now it’s about you and him, under this stupid mistletoe. He’ll look back and laugh at this plan one day, he thinks.

Moments pass before you two need to break apart for air. Dick speaks first, “Does this mean we’re together?”

“Do you want to be?”

“Of course I wanna be.” He answers a beat too early.

“Then, we’re together.” You giggle against his lips.

“Oh thank goodness.” He sighs, “I thought you were seriously gonna turn me away.” He latches onto your lips again, silently walking you back to your couch. He plops down first, leaving enough space next to him for you. He doesn’t give you a second to adjust before he’s on you again. “Can we stay like this for a bit?” Dick threads a hand through your hair, the other gently rubbing the skin of your cheek. With the warm light bouncing off your features, You look ethereal to him. And when you give your response? Dick knows he’s a goner.

“For as long as you want.”

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extra:

Darkness has long enveloped the sky in his starry embrace. The moon lazily shines through your pulled curtains as you and Dick huddle together on your loveseat couch.

Dick’s not sure how he managed it, but Bruce had given him time of patrol tonight. He definitely knows, Dick winces. He always does. C’mon, he’s Batman for crying out loud.

“I got you a present.” He whispers into your hair, gesturing to the single box under the Christmas tree. “You didn’t even notice, did you?”

Your eyebrows raise in realisation as you shoot up from his embrace. “I didn’t get you anything!”

Dick only chuckles, “You don’t have to.”

“Awh, you got me a present and I completely forgot about you…” you huff. “I’m sorry…”

“Hey, hey. It’s fine. Besides, you’ve given me a present today already.” He holds your face in his hands like you’re made of glass, delicate— as if one wrong touch would shatter you in his grasp. When he realises you’re not going to respond, he prompts you.

“Well, what present would that be, Dick?” He tries to mimic your voice.

“Oh I don’t know, maybe your love and affection?” He responds as himself.

That’s when an idea pops into your head. “Hold on!” You leave his lonesome on the couch, retreating to your bedroom. From the living room, Dick hears drawers opening and pen caps flicking on and off.

You soon return to your spot on the couch with something small cupped in both your hands. “Okay, I’m done.” You slowly open your palms to reveal a piece of paper, shaped like a trophy and stuck to a pin. On it, there’s some flowers and fancy borders. And in the middle, it says “Best Boyfriend Award!”

Dick’s face turns shamelessly red, smiling ear to ear. “It’s perfect.” He kisses you on the cheek, “pin it for me.” To which you stick it right below his left collarbone, flattening out the flimsy paper against his shirt.

“Do you wanna open yours now?” Dick moves to reach for the gift. You stop him before he can even get his butt off the seat. “No, because I know you got me something good and I’d like to feel proud of my small victory right now, yeah?”

He chuckles, relaxing against the armrest and pulling you tightly against him. “Whatever you say.”

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a/n: merry christmas everyone! not sure if it’s just me but this year christmas actually feels festive if ykwim. i was really in the spirits this year for whatever reason. I’ll continue writing for this specific reader but wow im awful at slow burns i’m so sorry. I might update this later on to fix any grammatical errors and whatnot so yah! Just a warning.

You face the curtains and near one of the large windows draped with pale rose. You push aside the fabric and fine twisted iron bars painted white in front of the glass. They go with the rest of the refined decor but have a more defined purpose; to keep you in.

You back away and turn. It all rushes down on you. Not just the epiphany of his deception but your own naivety. You wanted it to be real as much as you doubted it was. You’re just so tired of trying, you couldn’t think of doing this all over again.

You stop yourself as you approach the bed. You don’t sit. As much as you just want to collapse into yourself, you can’t. You pace, addled and alone, dizzied by this unfamiliar place; by the dire circumstances of it all.

The dull ache in your back stops you. You rub where you landed on the hardwood and the pain sinks in. The agony of the impact and the betrayal twinging together as one. Your lip trembles and your eyes burn, panic boiling in your stomach, bubbling up to your chest.

You throw your hands up, shaking your fingers as if trying to flick away some unseen taint. You gasp and gulp, flapping your hands as your breath scrapes in and out. The realness, the realisation, the rawness crashes down and quakes in your legs. You wobble as you make another course across the room.

You grab the tie knotted loosely at your throat and heave. You try to untie it but your hands are clumsy. You grunt as your anxiety pulses and sweat sears your hairline and nape. Get it off! Get it off!

This can’t be real! It isn’t, it isn’t, it isn’t!

The room smears in your vision as you teeter weakly. You yank and snarl at the silk. Off, off, off!

You turn and suddenly you’re not alone. The tall figure grabs your shoulders and steadies you. Jonathan follows the lengths of your arms to your hands and forces them to your side. He holds them there until you’re still. You blink at him and whimper.

He clucks and lets you go. He quickly unknots the tie and drags it away. You stagger back and grimace.

“Get away,” you breathe.

He sighs. “Now, darling, I am merely helping you.”

“No, no, you… you… you trapped me!” You lunge forward but cannot get past him.

He growls and catches you with one arm. Easily, so easily you feel like nothing more than air, he hurls you back. You stumble and land on the bed with gasp.

He tuts and smooths the tie with his fingers, staring at the silk as his tongue pokes out. He shakes his head and his eyes flick up to yours.

“You will see what’s good for you.” He spins away and struts out. The door snaps shut and the lock clicks into place. You stare, stunned and speechless, the force with which he repelled you still pulsing in your muscles.

💘

The night passes in sleepless vigil. You sit against the door and stare. You leave the lights on. You don’t intend on letting your guard down. Not again.

Your body can’t keep up with your mind. You start to slump, your eyelids droop, your head thrums. You’re only kept from passing out by the click above you. You look up as the lock twists and the door handle turns. The jerk of the door jars you.

“Darling, I will ask nicely until you press me to other means. Please remove yourself from against the door.” Jonathan commands from the other side.

You hesitate. You should resist. The bruise on your lower back convinces you to listen. You’re weak. You’re terrified.

You drag yourself away and get to your knees. You stand and face the door as he enters. You hug yourself and back up.

He watches you. His face is different. There’s no longer than easy calmness. His jaw is tight and his eyes are intense. You shudder.

“Why are you doing this to me?” You murmur.

“To you? I’m doing this for you?” He intones.

You pout and push your shoulders up defensively. He puts his hands on his hips and exhales. His nose flares and his eyes wander around the room.

“Have you chosen something to wear?” He asks.

You frown. “What?”

“As nice as that dress is on you, it would be prudent to change into something clean.” He insists.

You shake your head. “No, I… haven’t.”

It’s disconcerting how normal he’s acting. He’s pretending like he hasn’t trapped you here. You squeeze your arms and stare.

“Come on, darling. Much to choose from.”

He takes a step then pauses. He turns back to glance at the door then closes it. Your eyes meet his as he faces you again, his brow twitching. You look down guiltily.

“Come,” he nears and extends his hand. You shy away. He flinches but draws back. He gestures you ahead of him.

You turn and he points you to the sliding doors embedded in the wall. He looms close as he opens the left one and reveals an arrow of floral and soft fabrics on hangers. There are shelves of shoes and accessories mounted below and to the sides. A dream closet in any other circumstance.

“What do you prefer? I think this shade of rose would go wonderfully with your complexion.” He touches a frill of sheer pink ruffle. You stare at the spectrum of fabrics, speechless. “Darling…” he brushes your arm.

You wince away. “You choose…”

“It isn’t about what I’d like, it’s about you.” He insists.

“I want… to go.” You breathe.

He clucks then sighs. He takes a hanger off the bar and turns his attention to the shelves. He picks out a pair of elegant blush heels to go with the dainty fabric of the dress. He takes his time in selecting a chain with a single pearl from the jewelry box.

He turns to you and holds up the dress, comparing it to your body. You shuffle back and cross your arms tighter. His brows twitch and his cheeks pinch.

“Darling, don’t be ungrateful.”

You bite down. Your shoulders tense and rise and you lock your arms. You look down, resigned to whatever fate he’s decided for you.

You yipe as he grabs your chin. You look at him, latching onto his forearm in fright. He squeezes until you whimper.

“I said do not be ungrateful.” He snarls.

His long fingers send a twinge through your jaw and your heart pounds in futility. He’s so much stronger. You whine and pet his arm pleadingly.

“Ow, I– I’m sorry. Th-th-thank you.” You stammer.

He exhales and narrows his eyes. Slowly, he releases his grip on you, his fingertips lightly stroking down your neck. You shiver as he caresses your throat and his lips curve.

“Good. Now, you must get cleaned up, darling.”

💘

“I was correct about the dress.” Jonathan says as his eyes scale your body.

Can he not see the pinching cinch at the waist or how your chest is read to the pop free? Or perhaps he enjoys the sight of your discomfort. Or merely doesn’t care. It would make sense to assume that none of this is about what you want.

“Come, sit.” He clasps onto your wrist.

The heavy thunk of the heels is softened by the rug. He leads you to the vanity and pushes out the stool to sit you down. You fold your hands and look past your reflection at the door. So close, so far away. Open.

“Hm,” he brings up two vials and compares them to your face. “It was hard to match with a photo.” You furrow your brow as he considers the tubes of tinted moisturizer. “But it was advised that heavy foundation may be too much. Besides, you have a lovely natural glow.”

You flutter your lashes. The truth sinks into your chest. He planned this all along. Beyond the date. Everything is too prepared, too perfect. That fact adds to your horror.

“Might I borrow your hand?” He gestures with two fingers.

You look down then slowly raise your hand. He turns it over and tests the moisturisers on the inside of your wrist. He hums as he considers the slightly sparkly patches.

“I think we’ve found the one.” He sets one aside and keeps the other. “Close your eyes. Tilt your head back.”

You listen. You drop your hand back to your lap and squeeze until it hurts. He applies the moisturizer with his hands. As your face heats up at his touch, a chill curdles through the rest of your body.

As he finishes, you open your eyes. He twists the cap on then uses a makeup wipe to clean his hands. He sifts through his collection of jars and vials. He turns to you and gently frames your chin. He tilts your face.

“Your brows are lovely.” He praises. “And you won’t need very much touch up overall. Gorgeous…” he purrs. “You’ve a natural beauty… unique.”

His voice is breath, slightly gravelly. He trembles as his thumb rubs your jawline. He shifts his weight in his shoes and clears his throat. He reluctantly draws back and goes back to his search of the makeup.

One hand subtly rests on his belt and he angles awkwardly as his fingers slip down and tug on his pant leg. The tension of the fabric strains at the front as he tries to relieve it. Oh.

“Eyes, just a touch of mascara.” He guides. “Yes, your lashes are the perfect frame for such beautiful eyes.”

He bends to carefully apply a coating with the wand. His gaze boils under your skin. You squirm. He finishes and stands straight. The chafe below his belt is even more obvious.

You look past him to the reflection of the door. He puts the mascara down and takes a stick of blush. He dabs it on your cheeks and blends with a tear drop sponge. He steps back to check his work.

“Now, for the lips. A gloss…” he turns and picks up several tubes.

You stare at the door. He trades two of the tubes and continues his perusal. You turn slowly on the stool. He turns the shades between his long fingers.

You set your feet and slide forward slowly, watching him in the mirror. You shift off the seat awkwardly, keeping your legs bent. His eyes dart to your reflection and you blanch.

Shoot!

You jolt up and race for the door. You trip in the heels and hit the doorframe only to be wrenched back by your hair. You cry out and press your hands to your head to try to ease the tear in your scalp. He hurls you back and you tumble onto the floor.

You heap on your knees and sob. “Jonathan, please.” You beg. “Just let me go.”

“Darlingggg,” he growls. “Do you not see all I’ve done? For you?”

“I’m scared.” You gulp as you keep your head down. “It was one date.”

“Ah, darling.” He circles you. “I paid for much more than one date.”

You flinch and look up at him, lip quivering. “What do you mean?”

He stops and bends his knees, coming closer to your level. He tilts his head as his tongue glides over his lips. He lets out a long breath.

“Darling, get off the floor.” He commands calmly.

“Please, let me go…”

“Be good and listen. Get. Up.” His voice is rigid and raw.

“Please.”

“Get yourself up or I will.” He whispers.

You shake as you put your palms to the floor. You move slowly, steady your feet in the heels and you stand. He rises with you.

He steps closer and runs his hands down your waist. He stretches his thumbs around your hips and squeezes. He hums as he pulls you against him. He jerks his pelvis so you can feel him.

“I’ve never been the type to take it all after one night, but darling, I simply don’t think I can resist.”

He angles your back to the bed and shoves you. You stumble back, flailing, and land on the mattress. You gasp and push yourself up on your elbows, legs splayed under your skirt over the edge. He approaches with a feral glint in his eyes and steelish posture. His fingers are curled dangerously.

“Please!” You shriek and push down on your elbows.

Before you can drag yourself back, he catches you under your knees and keeps you in place. You squeal and writhe, kicking out as he kneels between your legs. He squeezes and slides his hands up your skirt, kneading your thighs as he rumbles.

“I tried… to wait. I tried to be a gentleman.” He growls.

“Please,” you utter one last time but you already know he won’t hear.

He purrs and leans forward. He lurches you as he pushes your thighs up and you fall onto your back completely. He dives under your skirt and presses his lips to your knee, dragging his mouth up your leg as you quake.

You hurl out another gasp as your chest arches. Tendrils coil up to your pelvis and tangle in your core. You close your eyes as they sting with shame and shock.

His nose tickles your thigh as he creeps higher and higher. He nuzzles the thin panties he chose. His fingertip graze the edge of the fabric as he spreads his tongue wide, tasting you through the sheer barrier. He laps and sucks on the fabric as you wet it from the other side.

You squeeze your eyes tight and clench your teeth as you battle your own body. His breath clouds against your lips as a moan escapes you. He traces along the trim of the panties and carefully pulls them aside.

His fingertips graze your coily hair and tender folds. He slowly delves between them, feeling the natural response to his tending. He groans and drags his nose along your cunt. He presses his mouth to you and extends his tongue, little by little, tasting you in a deliberate, tantalizing swipe.

You twitch. He gropes your thigh and plunges in more eagerly. His fingers tease you as his tongue twirls on your clit. Hot pressure centres in the cluster of nerves as he circles your entrance tentatively.

His fingers and tongue work in time. Tugging at your pleasure and fear. He drones as he drinks you in, stretching his tongue further down to meet his hand. He pokes at your entrance, and dips the tip just inside you. You squeak and cover your face.

Your body meets his fervour. You tremble in delight and deceit. He trails back to your clit and toys with it. Your thighs shake as he kneads your flesh, tying you up in knots until all once they come loose. Your body contorts as your orgasm unwinds and plucks at every part of you.

As you writhe through the intense ebb and flow, he dips his finger inside of you. Your walls squeeze him and you bite your thumb to keep from whining. He curls his knuckle and presses, rocking his hand as his tongue keeps its furious pace.

Once more, your insides tangle into each other, stomach tight, thighs bound. You arch as you reach another climax. You whine and whimper as tears of humiliation and helplessness spill down your temples and seep into your hair.

He slips his finger free and draws a wet line down your thigh. He kisses your other, smearing his wet lips on your skin, and flips the skirt from over his head. The fabric fans above your waist, exposing your lower half and the twisted panties.

He rises as you peek out between your fingers. His eyes are dilated and smokey. He grabs your hips and urges you further onto the bed. He bends your legs and settles between them.

He sifts through the skirt and spreads his hands across the bodice of the dress. He fondles you as he nibbles his lip. He folds the cups back so your chest falls out and he bends to nip and nuzzle your naked tits.

His tongue flicks around your nipples, teeth teasing each, lips suckling until you quiver. You whimper as his hands follow your arms to your hands and he guides them to his head. He sits up and leads your touch along his chest and stomach.

You shake as he presses your palms to his button-up. You bat your lashes and snivel. He smirks as he pushes your thumb to a button.

“Do it.” He rasps.

He lets you go. He watches your hands tremble as you undo his shirt, button by button, revealing his trim but muscular form beneath. Your eyes go wide as his chest rises and falls, a patch of thin curls between his pecks. He shudders and grabs your hands again. He pushes them against his taut stomach, moving them all over.

He bends over you and kisses your lips. You smell the tangy but sweet smell of yourself on his breath. Your hands stay on him, gliding along his sides as his tongue invades your mouth. He growls and rocks his pelvis.

“Darling,” he drags his lips down your cheek. “I thought I could… wait.”

He reaches down between you and shifts. He pulls at his belt until the buckle clinks free. Your spine tenses and your shoulders lock. He rolls his hips as he pushes his trousers down and groans louder.

He takes your hand from beneath his shirt, his other arm bent beside your head, and he guides it down. He puts your fingers around his dick as it bobs above the band of his briefs. He shivers as you touch him.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve needed you.” He snarls as he keeps his hand around yours. 

He lowers himself, using your hand to put his tip against your lips. He slides down to your entrance and holds his breath. You feel the tension pulsing in him. He eases into you as he loosens his grip on your hand.

Your arm falls slack at your slide as he dives into you. You squirm and squeal as your walls hug him. You wince and bite down. You don’t know if you can handle it.

He senses the resistance. He rocks his hips slowly, tilting in more and more with each drop of his hips. His shirt tickles you as he steadies his shaky motion. As he bottoms out, he sighs and pets your hair.

"Hobie– holy shit, you're here, you're actually here," you rushed out in one breath, trembling uncontrollably, while he held you like squeezing hard enough would make the tremors stop.

In return, your own hands fumbled clumsily at his torso, as if making sure he was real for a second, before fisting at the back of his graphic tee as you tightly hugged him back. "I'm so sorry, oh god, what the fuck."

"Okay... 's okay...None of that now," He tried to laugh lightly, but the wave of his own emotions kinda made the attempt flop. The portal closed behind him, dropping floating items with a clatter and plunging your bedroom into darkness again. "You missed me, I take it?" He asked into your hair, trying to lighten the mood as you rolled onto your sides.

'Yes, so much,' you wanted to reply, but the words stuck in your throat, so you just gave a frantic nod. Tears you could no longer hold back spilled freely from your eyes now, dampening Hobie's shirt at the shoulder.

His heart sank a little—color palette flickering from magenta to black and white.

"Slow breaths, luv, with me now, yeah?" You felt one of his big hands rub your back in soothing patterns, tracing circles between your shoulder blades.

Slowly, his chest expanded and deflated against yours as he began taking deliberate breaths, encouraging you to copy him. It was a bittersweetly familiar process; you didn't miss having to do it, just missed doing it with him, always with him. Missed this sense of safety he brought you in. Honestly you missed being able to do anything with him here at all.

You drew in shuddering breaths through your nose and exhaled slowly, pursed lips trembling. You centered your focus on the warmth he was radiating—wondering if it was the touch starvation that exaggerated how comforting the warmth of another body was. Convincing you how everything was just so cold without him within reach. You'd rather believe he really was magical like that.

"My days, this was the longest fuckin' month of my entire life," Hobie sighed, his own relief palpable in his voice. Finally getting to see you, his stupid, his freaky, his precious—even like this, all teary and embarrassed and bundled up in his clothes after slaving away at a faulty gizmo for a month... it was like waking up from a bad dream. You felt his chin resting on top of your head. "That my hoodie?" Such a prick.

A weak laugh chuffed out of you as you forced your breath to steady, grounding yourself in the reality of his presence (and your embarrassment); so warm, so undeniable, his heart thumping heavily against your sternum. The storm raging inside you finally began to pass, leaving room for something else to form in the air. "Maybe..."

Hobie's hand slid down and idly played with a loose thread near the hem. "Was wondering where I'd left it." Liar liar pants on fire. He knew damn well.

He gently pulled back, but only enough to (hopefully) look you in the eye. His eyes crinkled at the corners when all he was met with was the bashfully presented side of your head.

"This is so embarrassing," you croaked under your breath, heat spreading like wildfire across your face.

"Awh, don't be like that. You're well fit in it," Hobie cooed the same way you would to a crying kid, pressing a tender kiss to your crown. His vision tunneled a little when it occurred to him that you were wearing... only in his hoodie. And a pair of briefs.

It reminded him then. Right. You were... busy before he got here. Very busy, he had seen—practically watched, but he's not ready to address that.

Too late. The nonchalance from earlier wore off. A flush started in Hobie's neck and flooded his face, sitting high on his cheekbones and warming his pierced ears—sure, his darker complexion made it hard to see, especially in the dark (but that didn't matter cause spider-person night vision); but there was also everything else, like his racing heart, his failed attempt at a poker face, and the fact that he literally became pink that made him feel like a highlighter with you.

He suddenly found himself hyper-aware of every point of contact between you two, replaying everything, before his brain actually caught up— "...Well fit I tell you."

Yikes. That long charged ass pause between those two sentences made him wince internally.

Your lashes fluttered open, clumped together with tears, your gaze snagging on the snug studded collar around his neck with a snicker.

"I mean- well, if you say so... hah." you amended, turning your head to press your nose to Hobie's now considerably warmer neck. Endearing detail. "It's still embarrassing though."

Hobie hummed. "Fair enough."

And then you aggressively breathed him in.

– "Ack–!" He shrieked—choppy “?!” cutouts popping above his head—as the air tickled him.

– "Sorry," you whispered, even though you weren't.

You inhaled again, slower this time, letting Hobie's scent fill your senses; a heady mix of nervous sweat, laundry and lingering body wash that made your head swim and your blood sing. "...I guess that's bearable if you find it hot."

Something about your tone made his pulse jump against your mouth, and fuck, you could practically taste the anticipation radiating off him, saturated with a month's worth of pent up longing and yearning. It was enough to relight the earlier embers in your gut with a vengeance.

"More than hot. T'was like coming home to a surprise birthday party," Hobie smirked, like it'd help him ignore how the proximity wasn't getting him harder by the second, or how the kisses you were clumsily pressing to his throat were driving him up the wall. "No cake, but.. eh, consumerism's overrated innit?"

You hummed in agreement, snickering, but the scrape of your teeth against his skin spoke of your intentions louder. I am starving, it told, and not for cake.

As if Hobie could hear it, his fingers threaded in the hairs at the back of your neck, sending sparks crackling down your spine and making your knees weak. Good thing you weren't standing.

Then, gently, just once, he squeezed your nape—your teeth sank in the side of his throat, right above his choker, like a trained dog.

A high fractured moan of your name clawed out of Hobie's throat, sending raw heat straight to your dick—and all you could do to not cum on the spot was press closer, bite harder—just shy of painful, just enough to make him keen.

"Fuck," he swore very eloquently, squeezing again. You let go, moved slightly, and bit down again. "Oh, I love you so much. I missed you. Fuck."

In your time together—your wonderful, wonderful time together—Hobie had taught you one thing; squeeze meant yes, give me more.

And boy, squeeze Hobie did. Here, reduced to a heavy breathing, writhing mess under you, he just kept squeezing over and over. And you, eager to oblige, simply kept biting. For every bite, your tongue swept over the indents, tasting sweat and salt and Hobie, keeping you diving back in for more. "Mnghh... missed you..." and more... "Fuck- love..." and more. "Keep going..."

Only when Hobie said that did you realize that this position wasn't enough. You splayed a hand on his chest and pushed him under you, crawling over him and straddling his hips. His flustered "woah" floated up to your ears, while his free hand flew to your lower back, holding on like he was scared you'd vanish. The superhuman strength behind it held you firm instantly.

With him under you like this, every sensation was heightened. You could feel him squirm and harden under you, pressing up between your legs, how hot and bothered he got at the slightest shift. And you wanted to eat him whole.

Wet kissing sounds floated in the air as your lips and teeth pulled at his skin. His grip on your hair tightened as jolts of liquid heat shot through him: to his head, up his spine, down south to his cock. It didn't hurt, far from it. It was more like you were a teething puppy gnawing on its favorite masochistic chewtoy. Who could not stop moaning about it.

You gasped in unison when your bulges rubbed together through your clothes- and fuck, it felt so much better than whatever the hell you were trying to do with the mattress earlier.

"I missed you," you said hoarsely, words smothered against his skin. You languidly rolled your hips down against his. "Fuck.. so much."

He drew in a shuddering breath, hips answering with a buck of their own. "You've got no idea."

Your breathy laugh puffed against his warm neck. He let out a needy sigh, offering up more of his throat to you. Your teeth gently pulled at his skin and drove him mad in the best ways. You kept chasing that frustrating-but-delicious friction that drew soft noises from both of your throats and made a damp spot spread at the front of your boxers. His own hips rolled up with a shuddering whimper, while holding yours down on them, grinding your erections together with shameless need, head falling against your shoulder as your name shakily tumbled from his lips. "Fuck... you're so good," he swore, voice strained, "I missed you so much. Sorry, I know I keep sayin' that, but- fuck."

"No, it- it's fine," you stammered as if you were coming up for air. "It's also just... true. So..."

"Hah... hahah. Yeah, yeah you're right," Hobie chuffed, swallowing audibly, gasping and whining under his breath. The dampness at the front of his pants was making the fabric cling to his sensitive skin. God, he felt like an exposed nerve ending.

"It's just... it's been too fuckin' long, man... I– " his voice came out whinier than intended, "–really need this."

After a moment of suckling at his neck and grinding on his lap, you pulled back with a wet sucking sound to admire your teethy-work; behold, Hobie's once pristine neck was now glistening with your spit, imprinted with half a dozen football-shaped marks made of indents left by your teeth.

The sight—your own little twisted work of art, you thought to yourself—made something feral and possessive preen viciously in your chest. You loved seeing Hobie like this, loved the idea of him walking around in suit knowing your bite marks could peek out where people could see just at the right moment. Sure, It'd be hard to tell because of the newspaper-collage style he's got going on, and how he's constantly moving in general, but the possibility was enough to make you giddy.

"So," you heard him breathe out with a crooked grin. "How close were you? 'Fore I got here?"

You ground down on him harder out of spite, and his eyes fluttered shut on a moan. He bucked up very enthusiastically. "Not that close," you lied through your teeth, "the... the smell was helping. I needed real you though." That one was true.

"Yeah?" Hobie smiled, looking dazed.

"Mhm," you nodded, avoiding eye contact.

His gaze dropped to to your crotch. "Well, you've got- (hhff) you've got real me now..." his breath hitched before he could finish the thought. This still wasn't enough. This wasn't nearly enough. He looked back up at you, brows knitted with need that looked your favorite kind of pathetic. "Can we- can we please get naked?"

Something in your brain must've clicked.

Immediately, you pulled away, eyes misty, before pushing his shirt up with a frantic nod. You both became a blur of frantic movements and heavy, horny breathing. Hobie moved back against the headboard, taking you with him. You scrambled after him and dropped on his lap, pushing his shirt up to his ribs and yanking his pants down, nearly shredding his boxers trying to get them off. He shuddered beneath you, dick slapping against his abs, hissing as the cool air hit his heated skin. Your brain stalled. Woah. You didn't say that out loud, but you may as well have with the way you were gawking at it. Hobie squirmed a little, a shy grin touching his lips. "Hah..." You couldn't help yourself; your hand, completely dry (if not a little clammy), enveloped his cock reflexively. Hobie's jaw dropped on a soundless keen, hips bucking up into your warm grip while your free hand fumbled with your waistband, hurriedly freeing your own aching cock with a wounded sound. "Sorry," you blurted out for some reason, stroking him using the moisture gathering at his tip as lubricant, "I'm in no condition to edge you." It made Hobie laugh-moan. "Understandable—" his lower belly trembled, "no... no complaints there."

You let out a high laugh, and then your fist enveloped your shafts and held them together with a gentle squeeze.

"Haaah..." "Aaah..." You whined in unison. Kind of. It was like two puzzle pieces clicking into place.

You and Hobie both slowed down, just to... take a second and breathe. Let the reality of it settle in. Your senses were scrambled, the frantic haze of lust and adrenaline making it hard to think straight. Hell, you could've mistaken it for your spider tingle going haywire.

Which meant, you needed a moment to ground yourselves. You focused some of your attention on the weight of your and Hobie's erections and the way they throbbed in your grip; heated and slick with your liquid anticipation. Safe. It was safe, right now. You were in bed, at home, about to have a much needed heartfelt and sexually intimate reunion with your lover, and you were safe. Finally.

In the comforting darkness of your room, Hobie was looking up at you with his hands on your hips, drawing circles on your skin with his fingertips beneath you.

His gaze was hazy with lust and pure adoration, his throat faintly glistening with your spit, his sleep shirt wrinkled and his lip ring begging to be kissed off his lips. You let out a sigh, praying to everything that this wasn't a loneliness induced dream.

"Hey," He drawled, trying for a smile. He just ended up looking... horny. And like he missed you and he couldn't believe you were even real and half naked and in his lap like a dream come true of his own right now.

He looked perfect.

So perfect in fact, that you simply didn't reply, just leaned in, closed your eyes and finally, finally kissed him on his pretty lips, stealing the sounds coming out of his mouth; a soft hum, a sigh of relief, and a needy gasp paired with a minute twitch of his hips under you.

It started off slow and syrupy, like you had all the time in the world for the first time in fucking ages. Longer than the time the two of you were apart, even.

You languidly tilted your head, deepening the kiss and accommodating Hobie's nose, tongue meeting his in a wet slide that made him scrunch his eyebrows and throb hard in your grip again. In tandem, you shifted on his lap and gave a slow, tight stroke to your dicks, eyes blissfully rolling back in your head as you arched into the friction.

Hobie was right there with you, pulling you closer, grasping at straws as his own world went white. Kissing you and drawing this out was proving rather difficult after this long without hands-on practice, but he's spiderman, and spiderman CAN do fucking both.

So his hands moved. They slid up your... well, his... hoodie, finding the bare skin of your torso, remapping your body and possessively kneading into the flesh while angling his head to keep up with the kiss.

You sucked on his lower lip, hand picking up the pace, giving special attention to the flushed heads of your cocks in a way that made you both break away for air just to pant into each other's mouths.

"Not gonna last," Hobie warned suddenly, head lolling back invitingly.

"Me neither," You confessed, before going for the throat. Literally. You bit and kissed Hobie's throat—the side you hadn't attacked yet—and your name fell from his lips like a prayer.

"Fuck—" he moaned. You really wanted to.

It only made you stroke faster, chasing the high, filling the room with the fap-fap-fap of your hand and the symphony of your whimpered curses.

Your vision started blurring at the edges. The pressure in your gut was closer to bursting than you thought. Hobie immediately clocked it.

"Love that," the fucking traitor decided to speak, "finally seeing you again, and you're taking charge, just... oh, you're perfect." That absolute bastard.

"Bie, don't..." you moaned pathetically, fist thwacking loudly against your pelvises, "don't do this to me..."

He knew. "Keep going baby." Your head fell back. "Bie, please..." Hobie was getting off on it, of course he was. But it wasn't gonna be enough, and.. "wanna- finish together-" but you still stroked faster... "nnnghhh—"

His hands slid down to your ass. He really wasn't that far. "We will baby, just..." he watched you through barely open eyes, his jaw hanging. "Just keep... that's good..." that last word. God. You hated him and you loved him.

You couldn't finish alone on your first night back though. There was no point. But you couldn't hold it out for long, the dam was cracking.

So in a last ditch effort, you tightened your grip on the upstroke, repeatedly twisted your wrist, and made it so your thumb pressed down on the sensitive vein running up the side of his cock. The change in rhythm was your own undoing. "Aah—!" But it worked. "Hhaah-fuck...!" Hobie went rigid, hips jerking upward with enough force to lift you slightly off the bed. His eyes rolled back, warm, milky ropes of cum erupting from the heads of your cocks, splattering on your fist and mixing on your lower bellies.

You rode out the aftershocks together, milking the last few drops of the orgasm until sparks of overstimulation shot down your spine, then became a boneless, breathless, sated heap of spidermen on your bed.

The mess cooled on your skin, making it feel kind of tacky and gross... In a good way. You didn't give a shit. Hobie was with you. You made this mess with him. And after a whole fucking month you wouldn't have it any other way.

You flopped on top of Hobie, burying your face in the crook of his still-collared and now bite-covered neck with a sated sigh. "...I did... I did miss you by the way," you said between heavy breaths, "and I'm so happy you're back."

He kissed the top of your head and moved his hands to the small of your back with a tired, dopey smile. "Yeah... yeah I'm happy to be."

A weight you had been about to let crush you finally lifted off your shoulders; it felt like you could take a real breath now... and maybe, eventually, clean up the mess.

Yeah.

“It's mine!” Jake took the yomyo from your hands, looking at your children with narrowed eyes, then he proceeded to smile at you. “It's not my fault you are so handsome.”

“You are still acting like a kid.” You teased, handing food to Lo'ak.

“All his life.” Neytiri answered when she arrived. When she sat down next to Tuk and the little girl squinted in happiness. You realized how much the children loved her. Even if at first it was confusing to understand, you ended up thanking her to help Jake and you to form your family. The kids called her ‘aunt’ and it melted your heart; she was a Sully too.

And the family was bigger than expected: Spider, the human teenager that was brave enough when he was kidnapped by the RDA. He showed his loyalty to the na'vi. Always curious and respectful. The few times when Spider left Kiri's side was when he was helping somewhere else. Somehow, you felt connected with him after Jake told you his story: a human who fell in love with Pandora, wishing to have blue skin.

“Here, let me help.” You said softly when Spider had problems with the special machine he used to eat when he's with the na'vi. The exopack was left next to him, safe where no one could step on it.

“Thank you, sir.”

“I told you already, just call me by my name.”

The boy smiled, knowing it was very difficult for him to adjust. You reassure him one last time before taking one last peek to everyone. One of the things you were used to doing with the tayrangi was always checking on people. The least you wanted to be was a burden, especially when the clan saved you and took care of you when you lost your memories. But now it was for a different reason: you were a father. The children —your children— needed you as much as you needed them, but the war forced you to separate. That's why you were making sure to do all the things you didn't do before. Everything started with little things, like asking if they needed help with their mattresses, if their weapons needed fixing, if they needed help with their hair, if they were fine with the food…

“Kiri, do you want more fruit?” You asked, looking at her almost full plate of fish.

“No, thanks.” The girl didn't even look at you. You could count with one hand the times she spoke more than three words to you.

It had been only a couple of weeks since you met Neteyam, Lo'ak, Kiri, Spider and Tuk, but you've already picked up on some things that make them different from each other: their way of speaking, how they behaved within the family, the relationship each one had with Jake and Neytiri, and how they interacted with other people. Kiri wasn't the best at talking with others, or expressing entirely how she felt, but you knew she was special. Spider was her best friend and they did almost everything together, but Kiri used to isolate herself too. You noticed when Spider was fishing with Jake, or Lo'ak and Neteyam left with Neytiri. Tsireya and Rotxo were kind young metkayina who always tried to include her, but Kiri loved her space. Although you questioned if that space felt lonely sometimes.

Jake and Neytiri noticed the way your expression changed. Of course, you didn't think Kiri hated you. You were aware that she needed more time to adjust. Maybe she grew up hearing stories about you, but all of you needed to get used to this. You understood when Neteyam felt embarrassed when he called you ‘dad’ again, the third night all of you were about to sleep; you felt happy when Tuk started asking for good-morning kisses you the same since day one, and you also felt your heart beat with love when Lo'ak expressed how comfortable he felt when you turned around after he called you sempul; so you would also understand if Kiri needed time to talk to you freely.

One morning, under the sunlight and in the middle of the ocean, you decided to help Jake collect human weaponry. It was a tiring activity, even surrounded by water, and drops of sweat would slide on your back and neck. At least Jake and you were a good team because it would be the third boat to return to the shore full of guns. Ronal and Tonowari weren't happy about this. After all the trauma, you didn't know how to feel about it either. One thing was sure, you didn't want the metal trash floating in the beautiful ocean, causing the same contamination that was on Earth once.

“You should have stayed with Neteyam.” Jake spoke when you surfaced. Your braids were on your face, so you moved your head to clear the view. Jake had to look away from you and kept fixing a rifle. He couldn't lose focus.

“Yeah? Why is that?” You ask with a smirk, carrying a gun on your shoulder. You left it in the boat and then climbed in. You positioned your legs to exert force and began to hoist up other weapons that were tied to the first one with a rope.

“First, you are still working on your breathing and swimming technique. Second, you would have had ten more minutes to sleep. I had everything planned with Lo'ak.”

“He's just a kid, Jake. Lo'ak deserves to have some time for himself, too. He told me he was going to meet Tsireya.”

“Still, he needs to learn this.”

“I agree.” you said with some effort, your arms flexing. "But all in due time." You hissed in pain when you felt a sharp pain in your fingers. “Shit.” You checked your fingers, still holding the rope with your other hand. Jake loosened your grip so he could examine you himself. The last weapon slipped back to the bottom of the sea again. “Jake! I dived a lot to get that one.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes…”

You pouted, watching the metal sink in the middle of the water. Jake would have laughed at your expression if the worry didn't fill his body. Two red burning marks shone across your fingers, and your mate sighted, ashamed he didn't protect you.

“You need to go with the tsahìk.”

“I can treat it myself… Jake, the gun.” You mention again with the same tone. This time, he chuckled.

“I can't believe you are more worried about the gun than your hand.”

“You forget I'm a warrior too.”

“Even warriors have to take care of themselves.”

“That's what I always said, and you never listened.” You used the same playful tone as usual, but Jake still pressed his finger slightly against your wound. You smacked his arm in response. “Hey! That was mean! Is that how you treat your husband? Even Tuk knows better!”

You cried in pain, sitting in the boat. Jake shook his head, and after kneeling in front of you, he kissed your hand. “I needed to see how deep the wound was. Thankfully it’s not deep. However, we need to go back.”

“But-”

“No ‘buts’. I'm going to help you first, and tomorrow I'll come back for your precious weapon. Okay? Right now, I need you to stop using your hand.”

“You treat me like a baby.” you muttered, though it would be a lie to say that your heart didn't beat faster when Jake treated you like that.

“Because I just love you so much. I don't like to see you hurt.” Jake leaned and kissed your forehead; you put your arms behind his neck to get close again and kiss his lips. Your lips moved like you spent the last fifteen years kissing day and night. “Let's go before we have to stay here for the rest of the day.”

“Sempul!” Little Tuk screamed with excitement when she saw both of her parents. Tuk crossed the sand to reach you and hug your legs. When he rested his chin on your body, looking up, he showed you enormous eyes full of light and love.

“Hey, Tuk-Tuk.”

“What is it, baby girl? Is everything alright?”

"Tsahìk called Kiri, so I'm stuck with Lo'ak and his stinky hair."

"Tuk! I told you not to run- oh, hey, dads."

"Why did she call your sister?" Jake asked as you caressed the little girl's hair.

"I don't know, something about training."

"Do you think this has something to do with what you told me?" You lowered your voice, but Jake enjoyed having to step a little closer to hear you better.

"Maybe, why don't you go and see if she's doing alright? I can stay with the kids while you are gone. Remember, you have to take care of that hand."

"What happened to your hand, sempul?" She took your hand between her small ones, observing the red marks that made her pout.

"It's nothing serious, darling. I'm going with your sister and then I'm going to be better."

"Let's go, kids! Son, Tuk is right. Your hair needs some washing."

"Dad!"

"Hehe, stinky Lo'ak, Tsireya won't like you like that."

You walked with a smile, not knowing Jake peeked one last time, checking on you, and thinking about the possibilities of Kiri feeling awkward or out of place with the tsahìk. Deep down, he sensed his older girl wanted to get closer to you but didn't know how. If this was an opportunity to make her feel like she could rely on you, it was perfect.

Following your steps, the village was calm, surrounded by voices and laughs here and there. Everyone was working on the daily duties, no danger close, no drama and no animals to worry, but when you opened the curtain of the tsahìk's tent, you found Kiri sitting in front of the oldest son of the clan leaders, no one else was there. Something in your chest burned when you noticed her teary eyes, while she was holding one of the boy's hands, as if Kiri was trying to prevent him from hitting her. Ao'nung —that was his name— hissed. And that was your last straw.

"Get away from my daughter!" In just a matter of seconds, you took the boy by under the armpit to make him stand up and push him back. Maybe you were going to get in trouble for baring your fangs at the heir of the olo'eyktan, but no one was going to mess with your children. After all, Jake and Lo'ak told you about the times when Ao'nung was a pain in the ass. Taking your son outside the reef? Picking on your daughter? "Are you alright, baby girl?" Your face turned a little bit, enough to see her face. There were no marks or signs of aggression.

"Wait, sir-"

"I wasn't talking to you, boy."

"Yes! Everything is fine! Why did you push him?"

"He hissed at you! Were you hitting my daughter?!"

"N-No! I would never!" Ao'nung looked between Kiri and you, looking for help because his chest was rising with anxiety.

"Stop! This is a misunderstanding!" Kiri walked between the boy and you. She didn't look hurt at all.

"But I heard him hissing at you! And you were fighting with him!"

"No, no! I was helping him."

"Huh?"

"Ao'nung got hurt during his training session. The tsahìk asked for my help because she needed to talk with some elders; she knew I helped grandma back in the forest." Kiri was explaining everything slowly, as if she was afraid you would take something the bad way. "And yes, Ao'nung kicked me in the face-"

"What?!"

"Kiri!"

"But it was an accident! The medicine stings a little, and I didn't warn him, so he reacted by reflex. He was hissing the whole time!"

"I promise, sir! I didn't do it on purpose!" Ao'nung's heart was sinking in his stomach. If you could only see yourself from his point of view —shoulders and jaw tensed, eyes like arrows—, you would understand why his voice was trembling.

"And I wasn't fighting him, I was trying to make him stay still. He's a cry baby, I didn't want him to kick me again."

Silent filled the tent for a moment while you analyzed each one of Kiri's words. It made sense now that you noticed that your daughter wasn't actually crying and that Ao'nung had wounds covered in green, paste-like medicine. Oh, Eywa. The boy looked at you like a wounded pali (diehorse). If you were still in your human body, your whole face would burn in embarrassment.

"Well, I'm… I'm really sorry about that, son. The first thing I saw when I arrived was… well, you know."

"It is… alright." Ao'nung took a deep breath, trying to steady his heartbeat before talking to you. "Toruk Makto and your family probably told you about my bad behavior towards them when they arrived." You nodded once. "So I understand you were protecting her. You don't have to worry about me anymore, I'm trying to become friends with everyone now. That's why I suggested Kiri when my mom almost took my eyes out for my foolishness."

"We are done, by the way. I don't need to wrap your wounds now, but your mother would do in a few hours."

"Thank you, Kiri. Am… can I go?"

It took you a few seconds to understand that he was talking to you. After you apologized again, Ao'nung left, muttering hisses in pain. When you were left alone with Kiri, inside the biggest tent of the village, in silence that returned the peace in the room… you feared the 'protective act' just managed to make her more distant. Instead of letting out a deserving complaint, Kiri took your wounded hand and observed it just like Tuk did prior, but with much more attention. Her hand guided you to sit where the previous patient was, and you waited there, in silence, while the girl made all the work like a pro. The medicine she applied was of a different color, but it stung, too.

"Ouch!" You hissed quietly.

"Don't kick me." The girl didn't laugh or smile, but you sensed a little bit of teasing in her voice.

"Kiri, I'm really sorry if I embarrassed you in front of your new friend. It really looked like he was picking on you again. Anyhow, if Ao'nung tells his parents and they reprehend you, just tell me, and I'll apologize to them."

"Did you mean it?"

"Did I mean what?"

The girl stayed in silence for a moment, stoping her movements as well. Then she decided to finish wrapping up your palm with a leaf before hugging her knees close to the chest. You didn't move, what if you made the wrong decision of touching her hand or caressing her cheek to encouraging her? Would she tell you to stay away from her and never talk to you again?

"When you called me 'daughter'?"

Something broke inside when you heard Kiri ask that question, with an insecure tone that made you want to protect her from the whole planet and its dangers. Why was she asking such an obvious thing? Was it not obvious for her? Did she really believe you didn't recognize her as such? Was that the reason why she was so distant with you? All of those and more questions floated in your head for so much time that Kiri looked up, trying to understand if you listened to the question. Or maybe you did listen, but it was something you said in the heat of the moment, and now you didn't want to be rude.

"I see. You can go now if you want…"

"No!"

"No?"

"I mean- I don't want to go, and of course I meant it, baby." You finally slipped closer to her, managing to lay your wounded hand —now wrapped and ready to heal— the side of her head. "You are my daughter just as you are Jake, Neytiri and Grace's. Maybe I didn't know about your existence the last couple of years, Eywa, I didn't even know about your brothers! but all of you are a blessing from the Great Mother."

"But I come from sa'nu Grace."

"This isn't about DNA, darling. She was our friend, someone very important to us. When Jake and Neytiri adopted you like a Sully, you became mine too. And I would never ask for a different Kiri as my daughter, not when I have this intelligent, beautiful girl that has a great connection with Eywa. And that's why, even though I know we still have a pat to follow, I would love if you see me as your sempul too."

"I always wanted to know you. I grew up hearing stories about you, and your adventures and investigations with dad, and every time my brothers and I would go see the stars, I would ask Eywa and sa'nu Grace to help you find your way to us, or to lead dad to you…" a tear ran down her eye, and you stroke it away. "I always thought about what I would tell you the first time we met, maybe ask you about how similar na'vi and humans are to understand if I'm really that weird. So when you rescued me from Quaritch's hands and Neteyam told me it was you, I literally cried from happiness. But then the days passed, and I noticed how easy it was for everyone to talk to you, and all the questions got stuck in my throat because maybe… maybe you didn't want me."

Your little girl finally let out all the tears she was holding, and this time, you didn't hesitate to wrap her with your arms, protecting her with your whole body and soul. Seeing her cry like the baby you never got to know, but you loved, was a different type of feeling. Maybe that's what it was to be a dad, to be ready to skin alive anyone who wanted to hurt your kids, but also cry with them like you were crying now.

"I will always want you, ma Kiri." You left a kiss on her temple. "And I will always be here, next to dad and aunt Neytiri to make you feel safe and loved."

"I want that."

"Oh, darling…"

You hugged her really tight until she hit you, slightly, in your arm. The poor girl almost passed out thanks to you. Fortunately, she started laughing at this, and it made you happy to know you provoked it.

"I'm glad we talked about this."

"Me too, darling. Me too."

"By the way, Ao'nung won't tell his parents, not now that he wants us to forgive him."

"Well, that's good to know. Still, we should scape with dad and the others, just to be sure we won't meet the leaders' fury for scaring their son."

"Now?"

"It's better to do the things we want today. We don't know what will happen tomorrow."

You stood up after putting one of her braids behind her ear. Then you pulled her out and started to run towards your family's tent, not paying attention to the giggles of the metkayina that were caused by your daughter's laugh. It was good to see how free she felt at that moment. Perhaps you also left behind a huge weight that was crushing you before.

"And this is my friend Tai'ni. She's a zukzuk (pandoran otterfin). I recognize her because she has purple stripes on her back and head!"

"Wow, Tuk! She's so pretty! They look like a mammal we had back on Earth. We called them otters."

Tuk was dipping her feet in the ocean, sitting in a rock with you and Kiri, while Neytiri and Neteyam made accesorios for the family on the sand, and Lo'ak was diving with Jake and Spider. All of you 'scaped' —more like they were forced by you to reunite in the beach— with the ilus until you arrived to a small island that was close to the village. Neytiri was a little worried that someone would need you, but Jake reassured it was enough for a warrior to make a hand gesture from the village to catch your attention. Gladly, you had better eyes in your new body.

"Where they friendly too? I heard animals on Earth tend to be more aggressive." Kiri joined the conversation.

"I guess it depends. Most of the otters were friendly, cute, and fluffy, but not all of them."

"Do you a book where we can see them, sempul?" Tuk blinked with her long eyelashes and puppy eyes, knowing you could never say no.

"Maybe Norm or Max have some of my old journals. I never specialized on animals, but it was part of the work. We can search there, Tuk-Tuk."

"Dad has some of them." Neteyam sat next to you when Neytiri told him to go with you, so he dipped his feet in the fresh water too.

"Some of them?"

"Your journals. Dad always took us to the labs to show us your work. Sometimes, he would read them out loud like tales. He brought them here." Kiri answered.

"You can read them to us now, daddy!"

"Maybe even with toys, like aunt Neytiri used to sometimes." When Neteyam added that fact, you turned your face to see a smiley Neytiri working with shells and pieces of wood. She looked at you with precious tenderness, thinking about how happy the kids would be now that the author of those 'tales' was there, with them, ready to share all his knowledge.

Suddenly, something —someone— emerged from the deep ocean right in front of you, grabbing your legs while letting out a loud roaring sound. Tuk let out a high-pitched scream, grabbing your arm, while Kiri and Neteyam turned their faces in reflex.

"Here comes the shark!" Jake grabbed Tuk too, and she started to giggle.

"But daddy, what's a shark? I didn't see that on the books."

"It's was my favorite!" Lo'ak emerged from the water too, swimming closer to his family. "Still scary if you ask me."

"Boo!" Spider made Kiri jump when he did the same as Jake.

"Skxawng! You scared me." She splashed water at him.

"Careful, she learned how to kick!" You teased.

"Dad!" She rolled her eyes.

"Hey! Come dive, there's a family of ilus that are playing with a pup!" Lo'ak talked in excitement after he submerged again.

"Yes! Let's play with the ilus!"

Kiri helped Tuk to get inside the water, while Lo'ak and Spider pulled Neteyam by the legs when he suggested to stay where he was. Then you turned around to see Neytiri still working, oblivious of everything.

"Come on, Tiri."

"Am… I'll stay."

"Hey, you can't stay here by yourself. This is a family moment." Jake said.

"I'm not good with water…"

"I'll help you, auntie!" Tuk said, her hair all wet already. "The ilus are really patient and friendly!"

"You don't wanna make your niece sad." You smiled when she rolled her eyes, putting aside all the materials.

When everyone was on the water, you were ready to swim, too, but Jake positioned himself between your legs, laying his cheek on your thigh. Some marks of age and battles adorned his face, but under the shadow that your body provided, his face looked relaxed, adding youth to his expression. And now he was looking at you attentively, just like you were looking at him.

"What?" You whispered.

"I wish I got to live forever to always see your precious face."

Your stomach lurched, and you had to avoid eye contact with him so he wouldn't realize the effect he had on you. But Jake knew; he knew he drove you wild, that a word, a glance, or a touch was enough to bring you to your knees. And honestly, you wanted nothing else. But having him so close, right next to you, was still a little hard to believe. That's why you were grateful to be able to raise your hands and caress Jake's rough skin with your fingers, exploring each of the blue stripes, making him close her eyes.

"I could never get tired of you, my love, or our children. Never." You murmured as you leaned in to place a soft kiss on his lips. Jake's mind went blank, but between sighs and the urge to wrap his arms around you, he asked the question he'd been wanting to ask for a while:

"Were you able to talk to Kiri?" His raspy voice made his breath brush against yours. "Yes, we cleared everything up and... we said things we couldn't before. Now, it'll be easier for both of us to get closer." You smiled and hugged him around the shoulders, a little awkwardly because of the position, but then Jake spread your legs even further and he emerged his entire upper body to hold you properly, making you laugh.

"I'm grateful. She needs us, love."

"I know. And I'll be there for her like I wish I had been before..." Jake took your jaw in his hand and stroked it before pressing his lips to yours. Your eyes closed and savored the feeling of him surrounding you completely.

"Come on, dad! Stop being gross!" Kiri yelled from far away.

"There's kids here, you know?!" Lo'ak teased too.

"Well, I'll show you all the love we have for you too!"

Jake turned around to go after your kids, and you swam to them, excited to enjoy an evening full of laughs and jokes. Under the clear sky and around the beautiful animals in the ocean, you thanked Eywa for letting you return to your love and your family.

Taglist (to be added comment here):

he ran a hand through his messy hair and grabbed the black hoodie hanging off the back of his desk chair. it smelled faintly like sweat and summer rain. whatever — it worked. he pulled it on and stood, giving a lazy glance toward the window. somewhere, just out of sight, kids were probably already skating down the street or dragging their feet toward school.

haruka didn’t care.

he wasn’t like them.

not really.

routine came next: a half-assed stretch, two mouthfuls of cold water from the tap, a slice of bread from the fridge he didn’t bother to toast, and then silence as he stepped out into the narrow hallway of the apartment. no parents calling after him, no sound of breakfast cooking, no cheerful good mornings.

just the heavy thud of his footsteps down the stairs, and the city already buzzing beneath him.

he liked it better this way. alone.

no expectations. no one to disappoint. no one to get in the way.

he tugged his hood over his head and jammed his hands into his pockets, letting the early heat of the pavement soak through the soles of his shoes as he started down the hill. there was no real plan — maybe a stop at the usual convenience store, maybe a detour to the gym before anyone annoying showed up. either way, he kept moving.

haruka sakura didn’t slow down for anyone.

not anymore.

₍^. .^₎⟆

the alarm buzzes at 5:42 a.m.

not because you like waking up that early, but because that’s the latest you can afford to sleep and still make the day work.

the room is dim and quiet, except for the soft whirring of a box fan tucked against the window. you sit up slowly, rubbing your face with both hands, eyes still heavy with sleep. your back aches from falling asleep sitting up against the couch again — you meant to move to your bed, but your brother had a nightmare and ended up curled up next to you sometime after midnight.

you don’t mind. not really.

your bare feet meet the cold floor as you stand. you move on autopilot. eggs first. toast next. orange slices if there are any left from the last grocery run. everything done quietly so your little brother can sleep a few more minutes. the kitchen light flickers on with a faint buzz, and the sound of the pan warming up fills the silence.

you glance at the clock.

6:09.

time to wake him.

you pad softly to the bedroom, nudging the door open with your elbow. the little lump in the bed is still there, tangled in a blanket and clutching one of the worn-out plushies your mom bought years ago.

“hey,” you whisper, crouching down beside him. “breakfast is ready. come on, baby.”

he groans and buries his face in the pillow, but you smile. gently, you brush his hair back and press a kiss to his forehead. “you’ve got ten minutes. if you’re not up by then, i’m blasting music and dancing. horribly.”

that gets a muffled laugh.

back in the kitchen, you make two plates. one smaller, cut into pieces. you pour a glass of milk and a cup of instant coffee. your phone buzzes with a message — nothing important. you don’t answer.

your brother finally appears, rubbing his eyes and dragging his blanket like a cape.

“eat, then brush your teeth,” you say softly. “uniform’s already laid out. shoes too.”

he nods sleepily. you watch him for a second. he looks so much like your dad. or maybe you’re just remembering it that way.

after the dishes are rinsed, the backpack zipped, and his hair combed down flat, you grab your wetsuit and the board that’s been leaning against the corner near the door.

your favorite part of the morning is always after you drop him off at school. not because you don’t love him — god, you do — but because the ocean is the only place you don’t have to think. don’t have to carry so much.

just waves. water. sky.

freedom.

you slip on your headphones, sling your board under one arm, and lock the door behind you.

the streets are still sleepy. the salt is in the air.

you’re double-checking your brother’s backpack when you hear voices outside your building — loud, familiar ones you’ve heard echoing down the street before. usually from the rooftop next door or during weekend scuffles in the alley when boys try to prove who can hit harder.

you step out, keys in one hand, backpack in the other. your little brother follows close behind you, his sneakers thudding lightly against the concrete.

a group of boys stands outside the building next to yours — all tall, loud, a little chaotic. you recognize them. haruka’s friends. you’ve seen them around. one of them is already halfway up the stairs, knocking on haruka’s door like he owns the place.

“he’s not home,” you call out casually, tossing your board into the bed of your truck. the words come before you even think about them.

they pause, heads turning.

“what?” one of them says — wide grin, messy hair, way too much energy for this hour.

“he walked out like ten, maybe fifteen minutes ago,” you say, adjusting your brother’s backpack strap. “headed down the street toward the convenience store. hoodie up, hands in his pockets. same as always.”

they blink.

you’re not sure if it’s surprise or confusion that colors their faces. maybe they didn’t expect anyone to answer. maybe they didn’t expect you.

“oh—uh, thanks,” one of them finally says, scratching the back of his head. “you his neighbor or somethin’?”

you nod once, then glance down at your brother and nudge him toward the passenger seat.

“cool. uh—thanks again,” another boy calls out, and they start walking off, some arguing over who’s going to text him first.

you don’t wait to hear the rest. you slide into the driver’s seat and start the engine.

it’s nothing.

just neighbors.

just directions.

still, you catch one of them glancing back at your truck as you pull off down the street, surfboard rattling lightly in the back, like maybe they’re wondering how much you actually know about the boy with fists like bricks.

truth is — not much.

but you notice things.

and sometimes, that’s enough.

₍^. .^₎⟆

the overhead lights in the convenience store buzz like a fly trapped in a jar. harsh and too white, even for him.

haruka stands near the drink coolers at the back, a can of black coffee already sweating in his hand. he hasn’t paid yet. hasn’t moved in five minutes, really — just standing there, hood up, earbuds in, letting the sound of drums drown out everything.

a group of middle schoolers walks past, laughing too loud. one of them bumps into his shoulder and apologizes without looking back.

he doesn’t say anything. just watches them go.

his phone buzzes. once. then again. and again.

he exhales slowly through his nose, pulls it from his pocket, and swipes the lock screen open with muscle memory more than thought.

rando neighbor girl knew where you went lol.

said u walked off down the street like 15 mins ago.

kinda scary how she clocked it exactly.

also she surfs. didn’t know that.

haruka stares at the screen.

he doesn’t respond.

he tosses the can of coffee in the basket at the register and waits in line, jaw set like it always is — half annoyed, half tired. but there’s a flicker in his brain now. a voice threading through the static of his morning.

neighbor girl. surfing. fifteen minutes ago.

he tries to place you. tries to remember your face — but it’s just vague outlines and passing glimpses. someone dragging a board past the building. someone with headphones in. someone with calm eyes and heavy steps.

he hadn’t realized you noticed him.

he hadn’t been looking.

maybe he should’ve been.

he pays, nods once at the cashier, and steps back out into the morning.

the sky’s brighter now. warmer. annoying.

he pops the tab on the can, takes a long drink, and starts walking.

toward nothing. toward everything. he doesn’t know.

but the waves are probably breaking by now.

and for some reason, he thinks of you — all quiet and sharp and slipping past him like a shadow.

by the time he makes it back to the apartment, the coffee can’s empty and warm in his hand, his hoodie sticking to the back of his neck from the heat crawling up the pavement.

he doesn’t expect the door to be unlocked.

doesn’t expect to hear voices inside, either — loud ones, echoing off the walls like they own the place.

he pushes the door open and sees all of them piled in like it’s nothing. shoes left at the door. bags tossed in the corner. someone’s already eating his chips.

“yo! finally!” ren says, halfway through a sandwich from the store downstairs. “took your damn time.”

“door was locked,” haruka mutters, kicking his shoes off and stepping inside.

“barely,” umemiya grins, sprawled out on the floor like a cat in the sun. “you’re late to your own house, bro.”

“tch,” haruka clicks his tongue but doesn’t argue. he just drops onto the edge of the couch and rests his head back for a second. they’re already too loud. too awake.

“anyway,” hayato starts, leaning forward with too much energy, “we were thinking—beach.”

“what.”

“you heard me,” he smirks. “waves are good today. figured we could mess around for a while. maybe run some drills. maybe not. mostly just not.”

“c’mon,” ren adds. “we haven’t had a chill day since that last fight, and i’m tired of sweating in the gym. let’s hit the beach. bet sakura’s too chicken to get in the water.”

“i’ll drown you,” haruka says flatly.

they all laugh.

someone throws a towel at his face.

“surf girl’s probably down there too,” umemiya throws in, casual but watching him closely. “the one who said you left this morning. she’s got a board. truck was packed.”

haruka blinks.

doesn’t say anything.

he stands up and grabs his phone off the floor.

“fine.”

“that’s it?” hayato grins. “you’re in?”

haruka shrugs, pulling his hoodie off and heading to his room. “if you’re gonna be idiots, might as well do it in the sun.”

behind him, someone lets out a whoop. someone else turns the speaker up.

and just like that, they’re moving — backpacks packed, towels slung over shoulders, teasing and yelling and stomping down the stairs like a parade nobody asked for.

haruka walks in the back of the group, quiet, sipping the last drop of coffee, letting the voices fade into white noise around him.

surf girl. neighbor. you.

he still doesn’t know your name.

but maybe today, he will.

₍^. .^₎⟆

you drop your brother off just before the bell rings.

he waves, small and sleepy, backpack straps too big for his shoulders. you watch him disappear through the school gates before pulling away from the curb, your fingers drumming against the steering wheel, the radio low and full of static.

your chest doesn’t unclench until you see the water.

the truck rattles a little as it rolls onto the gravel lot overlooking the beach — quiet, tucked into a pocket of the coastline not many people claim this early. you know it by heart. every dune. every tide shift. every crack in the stone path leading down to the sand.

you park under the shade of a leaning pine and kill the engine.

suddenly, it’s just you.

you pull off your hoodie, change quickly behind the open door, tug your wetsuit up over your hips and zip it halfway. the breeze is soft, brushing salt against your skin like something familiar. something kind.

board waxed. leash checked. you slide your phone into the glovebox and shut it with a soft click.

the rest of the world stays up there.

you walk down to the beach barefoot, board under one arm, towel slung over your shoulder. the sand is cool this early, not yet burned by the sun, and the waves roll in slow and steady, soft like breathing.

you paddle out past the break, muscles remembering the rhythm even though your mind is still heavy with everything you had to do just to get here.

but now, there’s just the ocean.

no rent.

no alarms.

no grief hanging from your shoulders like soaked clothes.

just water.

you catch a small wave, nothing wild. just enough to glide.

just enough to feel free.

and as you paddle back out again, hair clinging to your cheeks, you squint toward the shore — and see movement. a group, loud and chaotic, descending the path like a wave of noise crashing against your quiet morning.

you don’t recognize most of them.

but one walks slower.

head down. hoodie in one hand. jaw sharp, gaze somewhere distant.

him.

you look away first.

not because you’re nervous.

just because the ocean needs your focus more than he does.

for now.

₍^. .^₎⟆

the beach’s quiet doesn’t last long after his friends hit the sand.

they explode onto it like they’ve never seen the ocean before — throwing towels down, kicking off shoes, arguing over who brought sunscreen and who forgot it again. someone’s already halfway to the water. someone else is trying to wrestle a beach ball out of a backpack.

haruka lags behind.

always does.

he shrugs his hoodie off and tosses it onto the edge of someone’s towel. then he stands there, bare feet sinking into the warm top layer of sand, eyes half-lidded under the early sun, just watching.

it takes him a second to notice you.

you’re further out than he expected. alone. past the break, arms strong as you paddle out again. no stumbles. no hesitation.

just rhythm.

he squints.

for some reason, he thought you might’ve been the kind to play at surfing — board for show, drifting around with headphones on. but you’re real. trained. maybe even better than half the idiots he came here with.

he doesn’t realize he’s watching too long until umemiya bumps into his shoulder, grinning.

“that her?”

haruka doesn’t answer. just exhales slowly through his nose and looks away.

but he knows the answer.

he can feel it in the way something clicks, quietly, behind his ribs.

yeah.

it’s you.

the girl with salt on her skin and shadows under her eyes.

the one who noticed him before he noticed you.

he brushes the sand off his hands, picks up a towel, and walks down to the edge of the water. he doesn’t go in. just stands there, letting the waves rush over his feet.

you’re still out there.

you haven’t looked back once.

you don’t need to.

but something in him wonders — if you do turn around, if you catch him watching — would you say something?

or would you pretend not to see him at all?

either way, he stays still.

shoulders relaxed.

eyes sharp.

and waiting.

you’re riding a smaller wave when you hear it — the echo of laughter from the shore, faint but sharp, carried over the water like a ripple through glass.

you don’t look.

not at first.

the voice that cuts through the rest belongs to one of his friends — you don’t know their names, but you know the tone. teasing. familiar. the kind of thing boys say when they’re trying to poke at something they don’t understand.

“yo, sakura’s watching surf girl like he’s studying for finals!”

your fingers falter for a split second where they grip the board.

you recover quickly, pushing forward through the wave. spray hits your face. you duck under, heart skipping a beat — not because you’re embarrassed.

because it’s true.

you felt it.

you knew.

when you come up, blinking salt from your lashes, you risk a glance toward shore.

he’s still there.

closer to the water now, towel in hand, one arm bent lazily across his chest. his eyes are locked on the horizon — not on you, not anymore — but there’s something about the way his mouth is set that makes it feel like he’s still looking, just differently.

you don’t smile.

you don’t wave.

you paddle back out.

behind you, the waves keep breaking. ahead of you, the sea stretches wide and open. and somewhere in the middle of it all, you’re not quite alone, but not exactly seen, either.

₍^. .^₎⟆

the sun’s higher now, and the waves have softened. you’ve had your time — just enough of it — and now, the day starts calling you back to shore.

you ride one last wave in, controlled and clean, the board cutting across the water like you were born doing this. and maybe you were. it’s the one place where your body feels like it belongs.

you step off in the shallows, leash dragging behind you, and start walking toward the truck.

you don’t look at them.

but you feel it. the way their voices quiet a little. the way the laughter shifts.

you prop your board up against the side of the truck and grab a towel. it’s instinct now — opening the door just enough to block your frame as you peel the wetsuit down your hips, towel wrapped around your chest, swimsuit sticking to your skin like glue.

you change quick. practiced. not for attention, but for efficiency.

but you can feel eyes.

not all of them. just one pair.

he looks away fast.

too fast.

haruka’s jaw clenches.

he wasn’t trying to look. not really.

but something about the way you move — focused, unbothered, real — just hooks his attention like nothing else has in a long time.

and now his ears are warm.

“bro,” umemiya grins, nudging him hard enough to make him stumble half a step. “you’re so obvious it hurts.”

“shut up.”

“she’s kinda badass, though,” ren adds, nodding toward the truck. “quiet. mysterious. definitely stronger than hayato.”

“hey!”

“you live next to her, right?” someone asks. “why don’t you talk to her?”

haruka just scoffs, low and defensive.

he doesn’t say it, but maybe… maybe he wants to.

you throw your towel into the truck bed and slide your board in beside it. you’re about to climb in when your phone buzzes — and your stomach drops.

DCFS scheduled home visit — 11:15am.

you check the time.

10:47.

your keys fumble in your hand as you throw open the door and start tossing things into the front seat — wrappers, receipts, the hoodie your brother spilled juice on yesterday. you’re talking under your breath, cursing time, cursing yourself, heart starting to pound in your chest.

you don’t notice them walking up until someone says,

“hey… you okay?”

you freeze.

you look up.

they’re all standing a few feet away — like they weren’t sure if they should come closer or not.

haruka’s not quite making eye contact, but he’s the one who asked.

and you… don’t know what to say.

you’ve never heard that question asked like that. not curious. not judgmental. just… genuine.

your voice catches in your throat for a second before you force something out.

“i’m fine. just… forgot about a visit.”

“visit?” ren asks.

you hesitate. you weren’t going to explain. but something about their faces — open, confused, a little concerned — makes you soften.

“DCFS. child services,” you say quietly. “they come by sometimes. for my brother.”

and then you see it — the way the realization hits them, one by one. like a wave.

like oh.

you never said anything.

you never had to.

until now.

haruka’s jaw flexes again — not like before, but different. thoughtful. quieter. like something’s clicking into place behind his eyes.

and for a second, you hate how exposed you feel.

but none of them laugh.

none of them ask dumb questions.

they just… look at you.

you’re halfway through throwing a towel over the seat when one of them — you don’t know his name, but he’s got a loud voice and louder questions — blurts it out.

“damn, your parents really suck that bad someone called DCFS on you?”

the words hit sharp, stupid.

you don’t flinch. don’t even blink.

you just hum. soft and short. noncommittal.

like it’s not worth explaining.

because it isn’t.

your hand closes around the door handle. your voice stays steady.

“i gotta go.”

and then you’re in the truck. engine rumbling. windows down.

none of them move.

you pull away from the beach lot without looking back, sand kicking up under your tires, the ocean shrinking in the mirror as the weight of real life sinks back into your chest.

they stand there for a while after you’re gone. quiet, for once.

someone lets out a low breath.

“that was kinda harsh,” ren mumbles. “maybe she didn’t want to talk about it.”

“you asked, man,” umemiya shrugs. “don’t get pissy about the answer.”

haruka hasn’t moved.

he’s watching the road you took, the way your truck faded out of sight like it was never there in the first place.

“still weird, though,” he mutters, arms crossed, voice low. “you’d think if your parents had some DCFS meeting going on, maybe don’t go surfing like nothing matters.”

the others glance at him, but no one argues. not really.

they don’t get it.

none of them get it.

because no one realizes — not even haruka — that there’s no meeting happening with your parents.

there are no parents.

you were never the kid being watched.

you’re the one they’re watching with.

they linger on the sidewalk across from your house, half-curious, half-awkward, the sun creeping higher while the street stays quiet.

“yo,” ren mutters, squinting at your open front door, “is she seriously doing all the cleaning?”

“looks like it,” hayato replies, crossing his arms. “where are her parents, though? it’s like— what? twenty minutes until that lady from child services shows up?”

“maybe they forgot,” umemiya says casually, frowning. “or maybe they’re just not home. that’s kinda messed up.”

“yeah,” ren nods. “imagine leaving your kid to scramble around the house alone while DCFS is literally pulling up. brutal.”

they watch you rush back and forth — folding things, taking out trash, rearranging clutter on the coffee table. your hair is half-tied and falling loose, shirt damp with sweat, jaw clenched in that way people miss unless they’re really paying attention.

none of them are.

“damn,” hayato mutters. “that whole family’s probably a mess.”

haruka hasn’t said anything yet.

he watches you disappear into the hallway, then reappear with a spray bottle in one hand and a stack of dishes in the other. your movements are fast but careful — not frantic. like you know this drill too well.

like it’s routine.

he stares, brows pulled low. says nothing.

because a part of him wants to agree — yeah, what kind of parents leave their kid to clean up the house alone for their meeting?

but another part — quieter, sharper — keeps chewing on the edge of that question.

why does it look like you’ve done this before?

₍^. .^₎⟆

you’ve just finished wiping the kitchen counter when there’s a knock at the door.

not loud.

not impatient.

just… official.

you take a breath.

then another.

you smooth your shirt, check the living room one last time — pillows fluffed, tv off, your brother’s shoes tucked neatly by the door — and open it.

a woman stands there with a clipboard in one hand and a soft smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. government car parked right behind her.

“morning,” she says, eyes scanning you, then the space behind you. “you’re y/n?”

you nod. “yes, ma’am. come in.”

she steps inside, shoes clicking gently against the tile, gaze taking in every corner. every detail.

you don’t flinch.

she doesn’t sit, just walks the space, noting things on her sheet.

“your brother’s at school?”

“yes,” you reply, “dropped him off at eight.”

“good,” she says, nodding. “attendance has been consistent?”

“every day,” you confirm. “on time.”

she gives a small smile, finally facing you fully. “sorry we didn’t give more notice this time. i know it’s short.”

you shake your head. “i understand.”

her voice softens slightly. “i can tell you’ve been working hard.”

you nod, swallowing down everything that rises behind that sentence. the late nights. the skipped meals. the balancing act between childhood and parenthood.

“how have things been at home since our last visit?” she asks, pen poised.

“stable,” you say carefully. “he’s doing well. he’s adjusted to his class, made a couple friends. sleeps through the night now.”

she nods. “any behavioral concerns? aggression? nightmares?”

“not anymore. the counselor at school’s been helping.”

the worker makes another note.

“what about finances?” she asks, more delicately now. “still covering rent and utilities?”

“yes. i work part-time at the cafe two blocks over. early mornings. and i’ve been selling custom boards on the side.”

“boards?”

“surfboards,” you say. “i shape and finish them. helps with extra income.”

she pauses, looking at you differently now. “you do all that… and care for him alone?”

you hesitate.

not because you don’t know the answer — but because you’re so used to living in it, you don’t think of it as impressive. just… necessary.

“i do what i have to.”

the woman stares at you for a long moment. the air between you shifts — something heavier settling in.

“he’s lucky to have you,” she says quietly.

you almost say, i’m the lucky one.

but you don’t.

you just nod.

“last question,” she says. “are you still pursuing legal guardianship, or are you waiting for the next review?”

your throat tightens.

“i’m waiting,” you say, barely above a whisper. “until i can prove i can handle it long-term.”

she clicks her pen closed.

“you’re already proving it,” she says.

and somehow, that hits harder than anything else.

the door clicks shut behind the DCFS worker, and for a few long seconds, the house is utterly still.

you don’t move.

you just stand there in the middle of the living room — hands limp at your sides, heart still thudding under your ribs like it doesn’t realize the visit is over. the quiet feels unnatural. like something’s wrong. but nothing is wrong. not anymore.

the floor is clean. the paperwork on the fridge has all the right signatures. the bed’s made. there’s food in the kitchen.

you remembered everything.

except—

your head jerks toward the clock on the microwave.

3:32 PM.

you blink.

no.

school lets out at 3:00.

your heart drops to your stomach like a stone.

you’re already halfway out the door by the time your thoughts catch up. keys in hand, shoes untied, phone buzzing in your back pocket.

5 missed calls.

1 voicemail.

your little brother’s name on every one.

you race down the porch steps, hands shaking as you shove the key into the truck’s ignition — but you don’t even make it out of the driveway before you see him.

he’s already walking up the sidewalk.

his small backpack looks heavier than usual. his face is red — part sun, part fury — and his eyes are glassy, sharp little accusations behind unshed tears.

he doesn’t stop.

he walks straight past the truck, straight up the steps, and when you try to follow, he slams the front door shut before you’re even halfway there.

you get to the porch just in time to hear the click of the lock turning.

“wait—!” you gasp, knocking hard on the door. “please, hey— i’m sorry, i—”

but he doesn’t answer.

you knock again.

“hey, open the door, okay? i’m sorry. i lost track of time— that meeting ran long, and—”

nothing.

you crouch to peek through the window beside the door and catch a glimpse of him — standing in the hallway with his little arms crossed, jaw set.

you try again, softer this time.

“i didn’t forget you on purpose.”

silence.

you press your forehead against the door.

“i was just trying to make everything right,” you whisper. “i just wanted them to think we’re okay…”

your voice cracks before you can stop it.

and from the other side of the door, your brother stays still. unmoved.

and locked inside.

you take a slow breath and sit down on the front steps, hands trembling in your lap. you’re not mad. not at him. never at him. he’s a kid. and kids get angry when they feel left behind.

but that doesn’t make the guilt settle any easier.

across the yard, haruka and his friends watch from his porch, confusion slowly blooming into concern.

“…did she just get locked out?” ren says, blinking.

“wasn’t that her little brother?” hayato asks, leaning forward slightly.

“wait— yeah,” umemiya mutters. “that was definitely a kid.”

they watch you sit down, head bowed, hands rubbing circles into your thighs like you’re trying to calm down without letting yourself fall apart.

haruka’s eyes narrow.

something feels off.

you don’t look annoyed. you don’t look like a bratty older sister who missed a pickup.

you look… wrecked.

but still quiet. still calm. still holding it all in.

“is she crying?” hayato whispers.

haruka stands up.

“what are you doing?” ren asks.

“checking,” he says shortly.

“dude—”

“just stay here.”

he crosses the short stretch of grass between the houses. your driveway’s cracked near the edge and your truck door is still open. he steps around it carefully, slowly, like approaching something he’s not sure he has permission to see.

you don’t notice him at first.

you’re too focused on the door.

your voice is barely audible now, speaking through the crack in the frame.

“i made pancakes this morning. your favorite. remember?”

nothing.

you add, quieter, “they got cold before you even came down…”

haruka stops a few feet behind you.

he could leave.

he should.

but he doesn’t.

“…hey,” he says finally, voice low.

you startle, head snapping around. your eyes are puffy. not from crying — not yet — but from holding it in too long.

you quickly wipe your hands on your jeans and stand up.

“sorry,” you say, like you’ve done something wrong. “i’ll move the truck. i didn’t mean to block anything—”

“no— it’s not that,” he says, shaking his head. “we just… saw him lock you out. are you okay?”

you pause.

and it’s the way he asks — not casual. not nosy. genuinely unsure if you’re alright — that makes your throat tighten again.

“i forgot to pick him up,” you admit. “just once.”

haruka frowns. “because of that meeting?”

you nod.

“your parents really bailed on it that hard?”

you blink.

and there it is again — the assumption. the disconnect.

you open your mouth. close it again. and for some reason, this time, you don’t correct him.

you just say, “they’ve been gone a long time.”

haruka stares at you.

and slowly… something starts to click.

you give him a faint smile, exhausted but still holding steady.

“but it’s okay. he’ll let me in when he cools off. he’s just scared. he’s been through worse.”

you look back at the door.

“he’s still just a kid.”

haruka stays quiet.

for the first time, he’s not sure what to say.

but he doesn’t leave.

he just sits down on the step beside you.

you’ve been sitting on the steps with haruka in awkward silence for all of three minutes when you finally hear the click of the lock turn from inside.

you both look up — just in time to see the door crack open a few inches.

your little brother’s face appears through the gap, eyes narrowed with the righteous fury only an 8-year-old with abandonment issues and a juice box can muster.

“oh,” he says flatly. “now you wanna come in?”

you blink. “you locked me out.”

“because you left me.”

“i had a whole government official in here, kai.”

“you said you’d be there at three.”

“it was 3:32, kai—”

“you forgot me. completely. i walked home like an orphaned Victorian child.”

you throw your hands up. “kai, it’s literally a ten-minute walk.”

“in the sun!”

“you live in southern japan!”

he opens the door wider and steps out, arms flailing as he paces like he’s rehearsing courtroom testimony. “it was traumatizing. i had to use the crosswalk alone. i made eye contact with a stray cat and everything!”

“you’re being so dramatic.”

“my safety is not dramatic, y/n!”

you march up to the door and try to nudge past him, but he spins and blocks the entrance with his whole 60-pound body like a tiny, furious bouncer.

“kai—”

“nuh-uh! what if i’d been kidnapped while walking home, huh?”

“you memorized my license plate to track me down when you were six, you’d have escaped in five minutes.”

“still would’ve been a kidnapping. trauma. headlines. you’d be the sister who surfed through her brother’s abduction.”

“you little gremlin—”

you lunge for the handle, but he SLAMS it shut and re-locks it.

“you did not just— kai!!”

you jiggle the doorknob aggressively. then kick the bottom of the door with the heel of your sandal like it owes you money. “open this door right now!”

“nah,” he says through the wood.

from across the lawn, haruka’s friends are straight-up gathered at this point.

ren’s got a whole bag of chips out. “this is better than TV.”

“she just drop-kicked the doorknob,” umemiya whispers. “that’s commitment.”

“she really climbed a roof last week to wax her surfboard,” hayato adds. “this is nothing.”

haruka… is staring. not judging. just— watching. very, very intently.

you try the window next.

kai shrieks from inside. “don’t you dare come in through my window again!”

“i paid the rent, kid! i can climb the window!”

“this is breaking and entering!”

“it’s my name on the lease!”

“you’re unstable!!”

“you locked me out because i was a couple minutes late!”

the front door bursts open again suddenly and kai points at you like he’s in a soap opera. “you can come in after you apologize for emotional neglect and potential heatstroke.”

you pause. blink.

and without hesitation, you say, “nope.”

then you pivot toward the side of the house and start hauling yourself onto the trash bin to boost yourself up.

“she’s doing it,” hayato breathes.

“she’s actually gonna break in.”

haruka sighs and finally gets up, brushing crumbs off his lap.

“do we… stop her?” ren asks, almost hopeful.

haruka shakes his head. “she’s gonna make it in through the back window in like two minutes.”

“how do you know?”

“because she’s done this before,” haruka says, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “you can just tell.”

THUD.

CRASH.

“KAI, I SWEAR TO GOD—”

“DON’T SWEAR IN FRONT OF MINORS!”

“YOU’RE THE MINOR!!”

SLAM.

the front door rattles in its frame from inside.

haruka just stands there on the lawn, arms crossed, staring blankly at your house as the noise continues. behind him, his friends are frozen mid-snack, wide-eyed and completely invested.

“…was that a chair?” ren asks, head tilting.

“sounded like a chair,” hayato nods, chewing slowly.

BANG.

“STOP RUNNING!”

“YOU’RE NOT FAST ENOUGH!”

“STOP THROWING STUFF!”

“YOU DON’T RESPECT MY BOUNDARIES!”

haruka winces as another loud thud shakes the thin wall nearest the window. a picture frame slides down in the windowpane, slightly crooked now.

“okay,” umemiya mutters. “so… they’re fine?”

“yeah,” ren says, nodding. “this is sibling bonding. peak stuff.”

haruka raises an eyebrow. “this is a domestic WWE match.”

then a new sound joins the chaos.

a vacuum cleaner?

“is she vacuuming?” hayato asks.

“in rage?”

the sound revs louder, and they all flinch.

“KAI, GET OFF THE COUCH OR SO HELP ME—”

“IT’S A FREE COUNTRY!”

“GET OFF THE—” FWOMP. “GAH—!”

there’s a beat of silence.

“…i think she got tackled,” ren whispers.

haruka’s jaw tightens like he’s debating whether to intervene or just let natural consequences run their course.

a window flies open upstairs.

kai’s head pops out, hair messy, face flushed red. “CALL CHILD PROTECTIVE SERVICES!!”

“THEY WERE JUST HERE!” your voice screams from somewhere behind him.

“DO A RECALL VISIT!”

kai disappears again.

“should we call someone?” hayato mumbles.

“like who? the fire department? a priest?” umemiya mutters.

haruka, still watching the house, just exhales slowly through his nose. “…she got back in through the laundry room window. she always leaves it unlocked.”

they all turn to him.

ren squints. “how do you know that?”

haruka shrugs, looking away. “i just… pay attention.”

the vacuum dies.

kai yells, “YOU CAN’T BRIBE ME WITH FISH STICKS THIS TIME!”

you yell back, “THEY’RE HOMEMADE! YOU LOVE THEM!”

“NOT WHEN THEY’RE MADE OUT OF GUILT!”

SLAM.

from somewhere in the back of the house, a closet door creaks and immediately slams again, like something—or someone—got shoved inside.

the boys freeze.

“…i think she just locked him in the laundry room,” hayato whispers.

“yep,” ren says. “iconic.”

haruka rubs the back of his neck. “…she’s kinda insane.”

but there’s no judgment in his voice.

just… something else.

interest.

a little worry.

a little awe.

he watches the house like it’s still rattling. like the yelling, the footsteps, the chaos are all part of this strange rhythm you and your brother move in — wild, messy, impossible to predict.

but… alive.

he doesn’t even realize he’s smiling a little until ren nudges him.

“you good, man?”

haruka doesn’t look away.

“…yeah,” he mutters. “i think i am.”

the front door creaks open a few inches.

kai’s voice immediately barrels down the hallway from somewhere in the back:

“YOU’RE VIOLATING HUMAN RIGHTS!!”

you sigh, leaning halfway out the door, one hand braced on the frame and the other holding what might be… a fish stick.

your hair’s a mess. your shirt is backwards. your right sock is missing entirely. and there’s a suspicious smudge of peanut butter on your cheek.

haruka and his friends just stare.

“hey,” you say casually, like nothing is on fire inside your home. “thanks for… y’know. checking. but i got it under control.”

“YOU DO NOT GOT IT UNDER CONTROL!!”

you raise your voice slightly. “kai, i told you to reflect on your behavior in the laundry room!”

“YOU SHOVED ME IN HERE!”

“i nudged you with the door, don’t be dramatic.”

you glance back at the guys, unfazed.

“really,” you say with a crooked smile. “i’m good. nothing to worry about.”

there’s a loud BANG followed by a flurry of knocking and a voice that shrieks:

“I’M GONNA START SINGING THE SAILOR MOON THEME SONG AT FULL VOLUME—”

you groan and pinch the bridge of your nose.

“…he means it. i gotta go.”

you start to shut the door—then pause.

“thanks, though. really.”

you give a tiny, exhausted smile.

haruka’s eyes catch on it.

“anytime,” he says quietly.

you shut the door just as kai belts from the depths of the laundry room, “FIGHTING EVIL BY MOONLIGHT—”

SLAM.

the door shuts again.

silence falls across the yard.

ren breaks it with a low whistle. “…yep. she’s hot.”

“also terrifying,” hayato adds.

“that’s what makes her hot,” ren shrugs.

haruka doesn’t say anything.

he just keeps looking at the door.

₍^. .^₎⟆

the hum of the box fan in the corner mixes with the occasional creak of the old house settling as night sinks in fully around you. the lights are dimmed. the dishes are finally washed. the chaos is—mercifully—over.

you’re lying on your back on the couch, one arm draped over your eyes.

kai is curled up at the other end, blanket tangled around him, feet way too close to your ribs.

neither of you has spoken in a few minutes.

just the soft whir of the fan.

and then—

“…i was really mad at you today.”

you pull your arm off your eyes, glancing down at him.

“i know,” you say quietly. “and you had every right to be.”

he doesn’t look at you. just fidgets with a loose thread on the blanket.

“i waited at the gate for, like, twenty minutes. thought maybe you were pranking me or something. then i figured you forgot.”

your chest tightens.

you reach over and brush a bit of hair off his forehead. “i’m really sorry, kai. i didn’t forget you… not on purpose. things got crazy with the visit, and i—”

“i know,” he mumbles, still not looking at you. “i get it. you’ve got a lot.”

you’re quiet for a second, hand still resting gently against his head.

then: “i hate that you ever have to feel like i’m not here for you. you’re the only thing in the world that matters to me. more than surfing, more than anything else.”

kai shrugs a little, in that very kai way of pretending he’s okay when he’s only mostly okay.

“…you still made fish sticks,” he says.

you huff a soft laugh. “my peace offering.”

“they were kinda dry.”

“rude.”

a long pause.

kai pulls the blanket tighter around himself, snuggling closer to your side without saying it.

“…who were those guys outside?”

you blink.

“what?”

“the ones you said thanks to. i saw them through the window. they were just standing there like… a whole audience.”

you exhale, smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “they’re just some guys from the neighborhood. haruka and his friends.”

he turns his head to squint at you suspiciously. “haruka. that’s the guy with the hair like he lost a fight with a motorcycle helmet?”

“i—what?” you laugh. “no, his hair is just like that!”

“you like him?”

“okay,” you say quickly, brushing his hair back again, “someone is clearly overtired. time for bed.”

“so that’s a yes.”

“kai.”

“you so like him.”

“kai, bed.”

“you’re blushing.”

“that’s the overhead light reflecting off my stress.”

“you are! you like that helmet-haired punk—”

you toss a pillow at him.

he yelps, then starts giggling as you haul him up off the couch and steer him toward his room, still swatting at him with the pillow.

the moment is loud, silly, chaotic again—just a little.

but as you tuck him in and smooth the blanket over his shoulders, there’s a quietness between you again. this one’s soft, warm. safe.

you press a kiss to his forehead before flipping off the light.

“goodnight, punk.”

“night, surf witch.”

you grin.

and for the first time all day—

the house finally feels still.

the streets have long quieted down. the usual buzz of scooters and stray cars has faded into nothing but the distant hum of crickets and the occasional bark of a dog two blocks away. most of the house is dark except for the soft glow from haruka’s bedroom window.

he’s sitting on the edge of his bed, a towel still draped over his shoulders from his late shower, hair slightly damp. his phone is buzzing softly in his lap — a message from ren, a meme from hayato, something ridiculous about surfing with blindfolds — but he’s not looking at it.

instead, his gaze drifts toward his window.

his blinds are tilted just enough to see a sliver of the night sky, the faint outline of your small house a few rooftops over. no lights on now. all quiet. just like his.

and yet… he knows yours probably wasn’t quiet until just recently.

he can still hear kai yelling about sailor moon. still see you leaning half out the door, smudged with exhaustion, holding a cold fish stick like it was some kind of peace treaty. still see the way you smiled — tired, but real — and thanked them before closing yourself back into the mess you never once complained about.

his jaw tightens slightly.

you didn’t mention your parents.

he notices that now.

not once.

and no one answered the door today except you.

you cooked. you cleaned. you handled the DCFS meeting. you locked your brother in the laundry room and somehow also comforted him all in the same three-hour span.

haruka scrubs a hand over his face and leans back onto his mattress, staring at the ceiling.

you’re carrying it all.

and no one seems to realize it — except maybe him.

ren’s voice drifts back in his mind from earlier:

“she’s hot.”

“also terrifying.”

“that’s what makes her hot.”

haruka had laughed with them, sure. but that’s not what stuck with him.

what stuck was how fast you switched between chaos and calm. how you fought with your brother and still kissed his forehead goodnight. how you opened the door when you didn’t have to and reassured them all like you’d done this a hundred times before.

what stuck was how tired you looked.

how no one had asked if you were okay.

he rolls over, pulling the towel off his neck and tossing it aside.

the house is still. the night is deep.

but sleep doesn’t come easy.

not when someone two rooftops over is carrying a world no one else sees.

₍^. .^₎⟆

your keys jingle against your thigh as you lock the truck door behind you, hoodie sleeves pulled low and one flip-flop slightly crooked as you shuffle into the small corner store down the street.

the sun’s barely risen — pale blue light stretching across the sky, too early for most sane people to be awake.

but you have exactly twenty-seven minutes to grab groceries, get back, pack a half-decent lunch for kai, and make sure he’s not wearing his shirt inside out again before school.

you head straight for the eggs.

your list is in your head:

bread

eggs

juice

one semi-edible snack kai won’t throw at you out of protest

your brain’s still foggy, but your legs know the route.

you turn the corner into the breakfast aisle—

—and nearly crash straight into someone.

“oh—sorry—!”

you both freeze.

your hand is halfway to a carton of eggs.

haruka sakura is standing exactly two feet in front of you, equally frozen, holding… instant miso soup and a small bag of rice.

he blinks.

you blink.

“…you’re up early,” you mumble.

he looks down at his basket like he just remembered it’s there. “…yeah. couldn’t sleep.”

there’s a pause.

his hair is a mess — worse than usual, if that’s even possible. he’s wearing a plain black shirt, basketball shorts, and socks with his slides like he walked straight out the door with zero intention of being perceived.

you, meanwhile, are wearing your older brother’s faded hoodie and shorts, and your hair is doing something gravity-defying on one side of your head.

“you live near here?” he asks, trying to sound casual.

you raise a brow. “haruka, i literally opened the door and threw a fish stick at you yesterday.”

“right. yeah. forgot.”

he clears his throat.

you reach past him slowly, grab your eggs. “did you though?”

“not really.”

he watches you tuck the carton under your arm, eyes flicking over your sleepy face.

“…so, uh,” he says after a second, shifting his weight, “everything okay? after yesterday?”

you pause halfway toward the bread aisle. your voice stays quiet.

“yeah. it’s fine.”

he doesn’t push. just nods, even though he clearly doesn’t believe you.

you grab a loaf and a small bottle of juice.

kai’s snack gets reduced to a mini chocolate milk.

and haruka’s still next to you somehow.

the walk to the checkout is awkward. two baskets. two people. one very noticeable silence.

you hand over your cash. he swipes his card. you both step out into the morning haze together, bags swinging by your sides.

“so…” he says.

you glance at him.

he hesitates, “you’re not going surfing today?”

“not yet. groceries first. i’ve got a little brother to feed, remember?”

he nods, his eyes flicking toward your truck parked nearby.

“…you’re kind of impressive,” he says suddenly.

you blink.

“what?”

“just—” he shrugs, looking down at the ground. “you do a lot. and it’s… cool. or whatever.”

you stare at him.

and then—maybe it’s the early hour, maybe it’s the fact that he looks like he wandered out of a high school sleepover, but you laugh softly.

“thanks, helmet-head.”

his lips twitch. “you remembered.”

“you’re hard to forget.”

you say it without thinking. then your eyes widen slightly.

he raises an eyebrow, smirk tugging at his mouth.

you grab your keys. “i gotta go. kai’s probably boiling hot dogs without water again.”

he chuckles. “good luck.”

you hesitate at your truck door.

“hey,” you say.

he looks up.

“…thanks. for yesterday. and this morning. you didn’t have to check in.”

he shrugs. “i wanted to.”

another pause. neither of you moves.

then you slide into the truck, engine purring to life.

you wave once through the window.

haruka watches you drive away, grocery bag hanging loosely at his side.

he doesn’t stop smiling the whole walk home.

you barely make it through the front door before kai’s voice hits you like a brick.

“who was that?”

you freeze halfway into the kitchen, grocery bags rustling in your grip. “…who was who?”

kai’s sitting at the table, cereal bowl half full and milk dripping down the side like he poured it with his eyes closed. he’s in yesterday’s hoodie and socks that don’t match. classic.

he lifts an eyebrow, mouth full. “the guy.”

“…what guy.”

“the guy you were talking to outside. tall. moody. looked like he hates joy.”

you roll your eyes and dump the bread onto the counter. “you mean haruka? he just happened to be at the store.”

kai leans forward dramatically, spoon in mid-air. “haruka, huh?”

“don’t start.”

“too late.”

you groan, grabbing the eggs and sliding them into the fridge. “he’s just a neighbor. his friends came over yesterday. you remember — you threw a hot pocket at me while they were outside.”

“you locked me in the laundry room.”

“you locked me out of the house.”

“semantics.”

you glare at him. he grins, obnoxiously smug, then takes another massive bite of cereal like he’s won a war.

“he cute though,” he mumbles around the spoon.

“you’re nine.”

“not for me, dummy. for you.”

“i hate you.”

“liar. you love me and you’re blushing.”

you freeze by the sink. “i am not.”

kai’s already on his feet, making dramatic kissy faces, holding his spoon like a microphone. “hi i’m haruka, i surf but i also secretly care about people and your big sister’s kinda my type—”

you chuck a bagel at his head.

“OW—hey!”

“get ready for school or i’m feeding you uncooked oatmeal.”

“that’s child abuse!”

“that’s sibling justice.”

he darts off, cackling like a maniac, and you let yourself lean against the counter with a breathy laugh. a soft moment slips in — quiet, just for a second.

you don’t get a lot of those.

but today… today feels a little lighter.

₍^. .^₎⟆

the clock on your dashboard reads 3:47 p.m.

you grip the wheel tighter, half speeding down your neighborhood street, one hand reaching to unbuckle kai as you park slanted in front of the house. your foot barely hits the porch before you’re rattling in your keys, heart hammering with the weight of everything you still haven’t solved.

“you okay?” kai asks, trailing behind you with his backpack half-zipped and dragging.

“no,” you snap before you can soften it. “sorry. just—i got called in for a shift.”

he blinks. “right now?”

“starts at four. ends at one. i have twelve minutes to get you inside, figure out dinner, and pray someone with a soul agrees to babysit last-minute.”

you shove the door open, the inside of your house feeling way too small and suffocating today. the fan’s still broken. the kitchen smells like the egg sandwich kai tried to microwave yesterday. you don’t even have time to process the clutter.

kai drops his bag with a thud. “can’t i just stay here?”

“alone? till 1 a.m.?” you’re already pulling your phone out, fingers scrolling fast through every number you have. your voice is thin, tired. “you know i can’t let you do that.”

he kicks at a sneaker on the floor. “what about mr. han?”

“out of town.”

“ms. rhea?”

“has a toddler and told me never again after the applesauce incident.”

“yikes.”

your phone buzzes. a text from your manager:

You clock in at 3:59 or I write you up.

you breathe through your nose. “perfect. love that for me.”

kai’s quiet for a second, like he knows the stress is piling, maybe more than you’re willing to show.

then—

“…what about haruka?”

you blink. “what?”

he shrugs. “haruka. the neighbor dude. he’s chill. and tall. tall people are usually responsible.”

you stare at him. “that logic is so flawed it gave me a migraine.”

“he let you call him helmet-head and didn’t even threaten your life. he can’t be that bad.”

“kai.”

“he was literally nice to you at the grocery store this morning. you were smiling.”

you point a finger. “no i wasn’t.”

“yes you were.”

“you’re imagining things.”

“you got that soft, weird smile you do when you don’t want to like someone but kinda do.”

“i will leave you on the porch.”

he folds his arms. “you’re panicking. just ask. worst case, he says no and you leave me with a box of granola bars and pray for the best.”

you groan and flop down on the couch, hand covering your face.

it’s so dumb.

he’s a neighbor. you barely know him.

he probably doesn’t even like kids.

but it’s 3:53 p.m.

and you’re out of options.

“…fine.”

kai’s already grinning, smug as ever. “i’ll start packing the goldfish.”

you don’t even remember putting on your work shirt, let alone brushing your hair or changing into clean jeans. but somehow, by the time you’re standing in front of haruka’s door with kai at your side and your phone buzzing violently in your back pocket, you’re fully dressed in your restaurant uniform and totally emotionally unprepared for this moment.

kai nudges your arm. “you’re standing there like you’re gonna throw up.”

“i might.”

“you want me to knock?”

“don’t you dare.”

but it’s already too late — kai’s rapping his knuckles against the door before you can swat his hand away, and now you’re committed. too late to run. you’re officially the desperate neighbor with too much eyeliner and not enough backup plans.

the door opens with a smooth creak, and haruka’s standing there in a loose t-shirt and gray joggers, hair still damp from a recent shower. he blinks at you, expression unreadable as always.

“…yo.”

you awkwardly clear your throat. “uh. hi.”

he nods slightly. “hey.”

silence.

kai coughs.

you flinch. “so. um. this is going to sound insane and i fully understand if the answer is no and you slam the door in my face and never speak to me again—”

“you need something,” he says flatly.

“…yes.”

another silence. haruka glances at kai, who lifts his hand in a tiny wave. “yo.”

haruka looks back at you. “…what kind of something?”

“i got called into work. late shift. 4 p.m. to 1 a.m. i’ve already asked everyone i know — and i mean everyone — and no one can help me tonight and i know this is weird and so last-minute, but i just—”

you pause to breathe. “i need someone to watch kai. just for tonight.”

you’re waiting for the weird look. the laugh. the classic “are you serious?” rejection.

instead, haruka just scratches the back of his neck and mutters, “i mean… i guess i’m not doing anything.”

you blink. “wait—seriously?”

he shrugs. “it’s not a big deal. i’ve dealt with worse.”

“you literally don’t know anything about this child,” you deadpan, gesturing to kai, who is already halfway into haruka’s house like he owns the place.

“i like mario kart,” kai says helpfully.

“i have that,” haruka replies.

you’re staring. is this… actually happening?

“…you’re sure? i mean—you don’t have to—”

“go clock in,” he says, nodding toward the street. “you’re already late.”

your jaw practically unhinges. “how did you—?”

“your phone hasn’t stopped vibrating since you got here.”

you yank it out of your pocket. Clock. In. Now. from your manager. again.

“oh my god.”

“go,” haruka says again, quieter this time. “we’ll be fine.”

kai flashes you a thumbs-up from haruka’s couch, already surrounded by snacks he probably didn’t ask permission for.

you hesitate one second longer, heart pounding.

“…thank you,” you whisper.

haruka gives you one small nod — the kind that almost feels like a promise.

and you run.

haruka barely had time to close the door before kai was already sprawled across his floor, unzipping his backpack like he owned the place.

“what’re we doing first?” kai asked, kicking off his shoes. “video games? snacks? do you own a trampoline?”

haruka blinked. “…no.”

“weak.”

he pulled his phone out and sent one quick message:

yo. come over. emergency babysitting operation. bring food.

it only took two minutes before replies rolled in.

omw. sounds chaotic.

do you even like kids??

tell him i’m bringing mario party.

by 4:30, his house had transformed into the most questionable version of a babysitting setup known to man.

arata showed up first with his switch. shou and hayate followed, carrying takeout boxes, an unhealthy amount of soda, and zero adult supervision energy. kai was instantly in his element.

“so… your neighbor just left you with him?” arata asked under his breath while kai screamed at a blue shell on-screen.

“yep.”

“and you said yes?”

“wasn’t gonna let her panic like that,” haruka muttered, eyeing the open window like maybe some of his chill had just blown out of it. “kid seems smart.”

“he’s nine and said we have no culture because we didn’t know which pokémon card got banned from tournaments.”

“…okay, he’s not wrong.”

they rotated through mario party, uno, and some chaotic made-up obstacle course game that involved running between furniture and yelling “BOMB DEFUSED!” every time kai made it across the hallway.

haruka had never known what babysitting really meant until kai stood on his kitchen counter shouting, “TOUCH THE CEILING OR YOU DIE!”

still, it was… weirdly nice.

by the time 8:00 p.m. rolled around, there were soda cans on the table, blankets all over the couch, and three of haruka’s friends debating whether baby shark had a legitimate storyline.

then kai perked up, like the world’s most unpredictable goblin-child.

“can we go to the beach?”

four heads turned.

haruka blinked. “now?”

“yeah. just for a little. please?”

“is this legal?” shou asked.

“are you gonna tattle?” kai grinned.

“fair point.”

“your sister would kill me if you drowned,” haruka muttered, standing to stretch. “ten minutes. no swimming. deal?”

kai practically launched himself out of his seat. “deal!”

haruka exchanged a long, exhausted glance with his friends, who all shrugged with various degrees of amusement.

“let’s go before i regret this,” haruka sighed.

and with that, five boys and one determined child made their way to the shore — the moon starting to rise, the tide low, and the kind of peaceful chaos that only happens when you say yes to something you didn’t expect.

the beach at night was quiet in that magical, movie-scene kind of way. the waves rolled in soft and even, the sky overhead still deep blue and just starting to sprinkle with stars. the boys didn’t go far — just past the dunes and down the sand where the water kissed their sneakers.

kai took off ahead, stick in hand, poking at seaweed and yelling “WORM!” every time something even slightly moved.

haruka trailed behind him, hands in his pockets, yawning into his hoodie sleeve. he hadn’t expected to spend his night like this. definitely hadn’t expected to be holding a half-empty juice pouch kai handed him earlier with the phrase “just finish it, it’s good.”

his friends were a few feet back, skipping stones and quietly arguing about whether or not jellyfish could survive in cold water.

and kai?

kai was just watching him now. like really watching him.

“…what?”

“you like my sister?”

haruka froze mid-step.

“…what?”

“you like my sister?” kai repeated with way too much confidence for someone missing both front teeth. “you always look at her funny. not in a bad way. just in a ‘you think she’s cool but you don’t know how to talk about it’ way.”

haruka blinked. “do you do this to everyone?”

“only people who think she’s pretty.”

haruka kicked a pebble into the surf, suddenly very interested in the moon’s reflection. “…she’s cool.”

“that’s not a no.”

“that’s none of your business.”

kai gave a satisfied hum, skipping a rock with surprising accuracy for a child whose socks never matched.

“you know, she works really hard,” he said after a moment. “she always thinks no one sees it, but i do.”

haruka glanced sideways.

“i see it too.”

“she’s gonna cry if you say that.”

“good. maybe she needs to.”

another silence.

“i won’t tell her you said that,” kai added like a promise, which made haruka’s ears turn pink.

“…thanks.”

kai looked back at the water.

“hey,” he said suddenly. “if you do like her, you gotta help her sometimes. even if she doesn’t ask.”

haruka’s brows drew together.

“that’s kinda random.”

“not really,” kai said, shrugging. “i just think she’s too used to doing everything alone.”

and somehow… that part hit harder than all the teasing.

haruka looked back out at the ocean, at the way the tide rolled in and out without asking for help. quiet. constant. like her.

“…i’ll remember that.”

kai smiled, big and toothless. “cool.”

behind them, the others called out something about heading back. kai took off running again, stick in hand, yelling about wanting to beat arata in another round of uno.

haruka stood there a second longer.

just breathing in the salt air.

and thinking about how it already felt like he was in over his head.

₍^. .^₎⟆

it was nearing 1:30 a.m. by the time you turned the key in the lock.

the house was dark, the porch light still flickering from its loose bulb — the kind of thing you meant to fix three weeks ago but kept forgetting about. you sighed as you stepped inside, toes instinctively careful not to squeak against the floorboards that always gave you away.

you had expected silence.

you didn’t expect the soft thrum of a muted tv screen or the warm, lopsided mess of bodies piled in your living room like a makeshift sleepover camp.

kai was curled up on one end of the couch, half-buried in what looked like haruka’s hoodie, drooling peacefully with one sock missing and a handful of goldfish crackers clutched in his tiny fist.

two of haruka’s friends were passed out on the floor — one face-down with a controller still in hand, the other tangled in a throw pillow like it had wronged him in a past life. another had taken up half your bean bag chair, snoring quietly under a backpack.

and haruka?

he was sitting slouched against the wall just beneath your window, legs stretched out, head tilted slightly, already halfway to sleep.

the sight of them all — exhausted and still here — softened something heavy in your chest.

no one moved.

not even when you tiptoed to the closet and pulled out every blanket you could find. you didn’t wake anyone. didn’t even say a word.

you just started covering them, one by one. tucking a blanket over your brother’s small frame. draping another gently across haruka’s knees, careful not to disturb him. pausing, just for a second, when you noticed how peaceful he looked in the low light.

like the waves you chased each morning — calm, even if only for now.

you didn’t linger long. just whispered a soft “thanks” into the space between you and them, too quiet to be heard but loud enough in your heart.

and then you padded back toward your room, the weight of the day catching up with you — exhaustion in your bones, but something lighter in your chest.

for the first time in a long time… you didn’t feel alone in this.

₍^. .^₎⟆

the smell of toast and instant coffee filled the kitchen — not gourmet, but warm. familiar.

you were half asleep, still in a t-shirt too big for you and socks that didn’t match, elbow propped against the counter as you stirred sugar into your mug. the early sun spilled through the small window above the sink, golden and slow, turning everything soft. you hadn’t expected anyone else to be up yet.

but then you heard him.

a yawn, the creak of your old wooden chair shifting slightly.

haruka.

he was sitting at your tiny kitchen table, half awake, hoodie slipping off one shoulder, hair sticking up a little. he blinked at you once, twice, like even he wasn’t sure how he got there.

“…morning,” you mumbled, handing him the coffee you’d already poured — just how he took it. somehow, you remembered.

“…thanks,” he said, voice low and scratchy from sleep. he took it like it meant more than he wanted to admit.

you leaned against the counter again, sipping your own mug, letting the silence stretch between you — not awkward, just there. like the space between waves.

“sorry for crashing your place,” he said eventually, thumb brushing against the side of the warm ceramic. “wasn’t really the plan.”

“it’s alright,” you replied. “kai had fun.”

“he’s kind of cool,” haruka said, and that made you smile a little.

he glanced up, eyes finding yours for a second too long. like he wanted to say something else. ask something, maybe. instead, he just said, “you looked tired last night.”

“i was.”

“…you okay now?”

you paused.

there was something in the way he asked. not nosy. not casual. just… genuine.

“not really,” you said honestly. “but i’m managing.”

haruka nodded once, eyes still on you.

“if you need help…” he started, voice almost a whisper.

“i know.”

and that was it.

simple. raw. unfinished.

but enough.

then — chaos.

a loud thud down the hall, followed by the unmistakable patter of socks skidding across wood. kai barreled into the kitchen with all the force of a small, determined hurricane.

“haruka!” he yelled, crumbs already on his cheek. “can you come over after school?! she’s working another night shift and i’m gonna be soooo bored and your friends are cool and i want to try beating arata at uno again!!”

before either of you could respond, the rest of haruka’s friends came shuffling in behind him — one stretching, one with bedhead, one holding your last granola bar with absolutely no shame.

haruka blinked, mildly stunned.

you raised a brow. “your fan club’s here early.”

“not my fault,” he muttered into his mug, clearly flustered but doing his best to pretend he wasn’t.

kai looked between the two of you with a knowing squint.

“soooo… is that a yes?”

haruka glanced at you, and for once, you didn’t feel the need to answer for yourself.

“yeah,” he said, setting down his coffee. “i’ll be here.”

kai fist-pumped like he just won the lottery.

and behind him, his friends started arguing about who got the good controller.

you just exhaled a laugh, half-exasperated, half-relieved.

₍^. .^₎⟆

[9:43 PM] haruka:

yo.

just making sure you’re still alive in there.

[9:44 PM] haruka:

kai beat me at uno again. 100% cheated. thought you should know.

also he made us watch that weird shark movie you said he loved. the cgi was… traumatizing.

[9:46 PM] haruka:

anyway.

i know tonight sucks.

but you’re doing a lot.

a lot of good.

even if you feel like you’re drowning half the time.

[9:46 PM] haruka:

…surf joke not intended but i guess it fits.

[9:47 PM] haruka:

kai’s knocked out on the couch again btw.

i’ll stick around til you’re back.

[9:47 PM] haruka:

text me if you want me to bring you something on break. or just rant. or exist quietly in your inbox. i’m good at that.

₍^. .^₎⟆

the house was dark when you pulled up — again. porch light still flickering. your key still sticking in the lock. the same kind of tired still sitting deep in your shoulders, maybe even deeper in your chest.

you stepped inside carefully, grocery store sneakers squeaking just a little too loud on the wood.

but this time… you weren’t greeted by silence.

a soft glow from the living room tv danced across the walls. low volume. some old cartoon kai liked, probably something he’d made haruka suffer through twice.

kai was knocked out cold on the couch again, limbs sprawled out like a starfish, his blanket kicked off halfway. you stepped closer and carefully tugged it back over his shoulders.

and then you noticed him.

haruka was still there.

curled up on the far end of the couch, hoodie pulled over his head, but not asleep. his eyes opened the second you shifted the front door shut behind you.

he sat up slowly, blinking at you.

“…you made it.”

“barely,” you whispered, dropping your keys into the dish by the door. “is he okay?”

“mmhm,” haruka nodded, glancing down at kai. “passed out after demanding three bedtime stories. i compromised with half of one.”

you smiled, something small but real. then you looked at him, really looked — and quietly stated, “you didn’t have to stay.”

haruka leaned back against the couch cushion, arms crossed loosely. “i know. just figured… you shouldn’t come home to an empty house. not tonight.”

you paused in the hallway, shoes half-kicked off, fingers brushing against the wall as you steadied yourself from more than just exhaustion.

“…thank you,” you said softly. “for being here.”

he shrugged once, like it wasn’t a big deal. like he hadn’t stayed up past midnight with a kid who wasn’t his responsibility and sent you a message that managed to hit deeper than most people had in years.

“you looked like you needed someone to show up.”

you stared at him for a moment.

then crossed the room and sat beside him, both of you looking ahead, watching the silent cartoon flicker.

“you hungry?” you asked eventually.

“kind of.”

“we’ve got half a box of cereal and an unopened bag of mini marshmallows.”

“gourmet,” he said with a quiet laugh.

you leaned your head against the back of the couch and closed your eyes for a second.

haruka didn’t say anything more.

but he didn’t leave, either.

and that meant everything.

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