He wasn't the one you remembered.

Griffith had betrayed you. Had betrayed Guts. He had betrayed everyone who had once been an ally to him. To think that he could cast you all aside so easily was...

Well...it hurt. Deeper than any knife could.

You didn't want to admit that he caused you pain, but that was just the way things were. At the end of the day, any human's soul was as fragile as the next, and for you to be so affected by his abandonment of what you thought he would always stay loyal to...was that not natural?

Guts tried to speak to you and comfort you. Casca did the same, but your appetite had dwindled and you would spend much of your time sitting on the ledge, taking up a window in whatever accommodation you were housed in at the time, staring at the moon and thinking about that fateful day that he had betrayed you.

You resented all that he had done, but there was no way of reprimanding him. You didn't even know if you would ever see him again.

Once he was gone, that seemed to be the end of it.

Until...

You were on your way back to the camp that had been set up. The deep, thick forest was barely punctuated by the light of the sunset, so it felt as if it were already the depths of night. At first you felt no fear, but the simple sound of a twig snapping nearby caused your nerves to turn taut.

Glancing around over your armored shoulder, you noticed that there was some kind of shadow shifting between the trees, not so distantly behind you.  

Your hand went to the hilt of your sword. There was a cold sweat growing on the back of your neck. The night hadn't quite arrived yet but you already felt so chilled. Somehow you could already predict who it was before he showed himself...and it still alarmed you anyway.

“...Griffith...”

He emerged from between the trees, softly, practically gliding into view. His body was almost entirely covered in sheets of metal, curved and shaped to fit his slender figure. This included his head, which was covered with a helmet, besides the sharp eyes that stared out at you from within.

At first he didn't say anything. Something about his presence though...it seemed utterly different. How you could tell as much, you weren't quite sure.

There was just an unsettling vibe to it all, and your hand didn't let up on holding that sword of yours. Even if he had once been a companion, he was now an enemy, right? You'd strike out if you had to.

Moonlight came almost as quickly as the sun retreated, and ripples of it traversed down through the dancing leaves to grace his tall figure. Not a word had been spoken yet, and so you decided to try and pursue some sort of conversation. Even just a simple answer would do so much to ease the pain and confusion that he had ultimately caused you to feel.

“...Why did you leave us? Why did you turn against us?”

No reply.

It was irritating. This was not the reunion you would have ever wanted. At the very least, it would be better if you could see his face, no?

While still cautious, you stepped forward, allowing the blade to slide back into the confines of its sheath again, choosing instead to reach out with your hands and clutch the helmet around his head.

Only then did he act at all. His own fingers shot up and curled around your wrists, tugging, urging you not to do it.

But you had to see him.

Were you afraid? Perhaps. You didn't know what you would see. You didn't know if you'd even see anything you recognized. It felt like enough time had passed that he might no longer be recognizable...

However, there was no use in denying the truth. It was better to face it while you finally had the chance to do so.

With one swift, defiant motion, you tugged the helmet off his head and cast it aside against the grass by your feet. Another sharper breeze whistled by and caused his pure white hair to flutter away from his face. Lavender eyes gazed down at you.

They had always been calm. But now they seemed too hollow. His expression was so placid he looked less like a living being, and more like a soulless porcelain doll. His lips may have carried the color of blood, but you really wondered if there was even an ounce of it still flowing through him.

No warmth. No life. He stood and breathed and blinked, but he didn't seem to even be so sentient anymore.

It was that gaze, wasn't it?

He was looking right through you.

“...Why did you come and see me...if you were just going to be like this?” you questioned sorrowfully, trying not to weep as your hands clasped his cheeks tentatively instead. Perhaps some small part of you wanted to pull his head from his shoulders too...but no...you simply touched him with grace, reluctance, and worry.

Sadness.

Why deny it? Seeing him like this...you couldn't help but feel it.

“Why do this to me? It's like torture...”

Your hands began to slip away, and you too. It seemed a far better option to leave him here, didn't it? What would you get out of him when he was in this strange vegetative state? Besides just a cold leer...

Yet as you were trying to retreat, his hand suddenly reached out and took yours again. Flinching, not expecting the action, you froze up a little and looked down at where you were now connected, before raising your eyes to meet his.

Those plush lips parted, and for once, however quietly, you heard his voice.

“...Come with me.”

...Go with him?

...Go where?

No...no you couldn't. You'd loved him once, there had even been a time when you would have thrown yourself into an early grave just to keep him safe. Times changed though. People did.

Here stood a man you could trust no longer. His touch was so alien to you now that you jerked away from it, stumbling back a few steps.

Better to let the trees swallow you up instead. Better to go back to the warm fire at camp, sit and eat with those who still truly cared for you.

Better to leave this stranger standing here, hand still extended like you'd never left at all.  

This wasn't the same Griffith anymore.

Perhaps...you were the one who ought to abandon him...

The final week of the mission arrived with the same deceptive calm as the rest of the suburb. White fences gleamed beneath the soft glow of porch lights, lawns carried the scent of fresh-cut grass, and Brenda still waved far too cheerfully from across the street, her endless casserole dishes a constant reminder of the strange life you’d been living. Yet beneath that postcard-perfect image, you could feel the weight of the end pressing down—each glance with Leon edged with the unspoken question: what happens after this?

HQ’s call came the night before extraction. Umbrella’s operatives had been neutralized, evidence secured, and your cover assignment officially ended. By morning, you’d hand back the house keys and return to being just two agents with badges and files—not rings and routines. You were supposed to feel relief, but instead the thought left you restless and hollow. The house was too quiet, as though it knew it was about to be stripped of the warmth it had borrowed. The rooms still carried traces of you both: laughter echoing faintly in the kitchen, the scent of burnt lasagna clinging like an inside joke, the low rumble of Leon’s laugh drifting through the living room.

Sleep eluded you. You sat up in bed, staring at the fake wedding photo still pinned to the fridge across the hall, the stiff smiles now softened in your memory. That’s when you heard it—Leon’s knock. Not sharp or professional, but soft, hesitant. He stepped inside, hair tousled, sweatpants and a plain shirt replacing his usual tactical edge. He looked less like the legendary agent whose name carried too much weight, and more like the man who had fallen asleep beside you during late-night surveillance shifts.

“You’re awake,” he murmured, voice thick with something unsaid.

“So are you.”

He lingered at the doorframe before crossing the room to sit on the edge of your bed. His eyes searched yours, as if trying to memorize every detail before it slipped away. Finally, he exhaled.

“I don’t want this to end.” His tone was steady, though you could hear the storm behind it. “Not the mission. Not… us.”

Your throat tightened. “Leon—”

“I know it sounds insane. We were supposed to fake a marriage. Maybe it started that way, but—” His hand brushed yours, thumb tracing small circles. “It stopped being fake a long time ago.”

The silence felt fragile, like glass holding a whole world inside. You laughed softly, nerves bubbling through the smile tugging at your lips. “Good. Because I was afraid I’d have to be the one to say it first.”

Relief washed over him so vividly it made your chest ache. He pressed his forehead against yours, and when he kissed you, it wasn’t hurried or stolen between mission briefings. It was slow, deliberate—every second steeped in the weight of everything you’d been holding back. The walls of the fake house didn’t matter. The neighbors didn’t matter. For once, it was just you and him.

Morning light crept through the blinds, gilding tangled sheets and warm skin. For the first time in weeks, the house didn’t feel like a set. It felt like home. Cheryl arrived promptly at nine with her clipboard and overenthusiastic smile, chirping about “the next lucky newlyweds” as you handed back the keys. You nodded politely, but when you slid into the car with Leon, you noticed the gold ring still on your finger. You started to remove it—then paused, seeing he hadn’t taken his off either. Neither of you spoke. You didn’t need to.

Back at HQ, bureaucracy took over. Debriefings, forms, endless reports. The mission reduced to black-and-white text, stripped of the color that had defined it for you both. Yet when Leon walked out beside you afterward, his hand brushed yours and didn’t retreat. In broad daylight, in front of colleagues and strangers alike, he didn’t let go. No cover. No neighbors. No charade. Just you.

Weeks later, life had shifted into a new rhythm. No surveillance gear humming in the background, no Brenda knocking at your door with questions about children. Instead, it was Leon’s jacket slung casually over your chair, his mug sitting beside yours in the sink, a playlist you’d made together filling the kitchen as you cooked—burning Brenda’s lasagna recipe spectacularly but laughing until you cried. On nights when nightmares clawed at you both, comfort came not from pretending to be married, but from knowing you truly weren’t alone.

One evening, Leon stood in your kitchen, sleeves rolled up, hair a mess, fixing the jammed drawer he had once silently repaired during the mission. You caught yourself smiling, realizing just how much had changed—and how much had stayed the same.

It wasn’t your typical sort of place.

The last time you had been in Silent Hill, you’d stayed at the hotel by the lake. Your memories of that time were still fuzzy and hazy, in a way where you struggled to pin down what had been real or not. But you certainly remembered that place…you had gone there when you were very young.

The whole town was different now. Almost entirely different in some ways. Sad and ruined and…scary.

Real, true monsters lurked outside, stalking haphazardly in their rubbery skin suits, spitting up bile and acid in jets against the already filthy, broken sidewalks. 

So the first opportunity for some rest, or something that at least came close to it, was a welcome one. A sleazy motel like this wouldn’t have usually been on your radar at all, but beggars really couldn’t be choosers when they ran the risk of being torn to shreds the very moment they stepped outside…

You weren’t alone though. As you stepped into the musty, abandoned room, bed still made, sheets still pressed, you felt his taller presence by your side, lingering near the door for a minute as he assessed the space.

“I don’t like the feeling here…we shouldn’t stay for long…”

James. He was the first person you had actually come across in hours of wandering this place. Usually, if you’d happened across such a tortured looking man on his own here, you’d have steered clear, leaving him to his business. But once again, with monsters around, you were left with fewer options.

Besides, he had protected you this far. He was better at staving off the enemies than you could ever hope to be, and at this stage you probably owed him your life. You hoped he wouldn’t ask anything of you though, particularly in a place like this.

However, when you looked at him, deliberately keeping his distance and just peering through the blinds now and then on the other side of the room, to check outside and see if there were still monsters around, you didn’t feel such a sense of danger. Maybe you were just being naïve but…he didn’t seem like a bad guy.

He just seemed lost, and sad. If you weren’t so baffled as to the real reason you had ended up here in the first place, you might have been sad too. Perhaps you had a reason to be. You only wished you knew for sure, you wished the fog in your mind would clear just as much as you wished it would dissipate from the ruined town that surrounded you.

He certainly had his own good reason though. His wife, already dead, had somehow sent him a letter. He had come here to find her, to find out the truth, ‘foolishly’ in some opinions, but ‘hopefully’ in yours. If monsters really existed (which they certainly seemed to, at this point), then was it really so far-fetched that ghosts could too?

“It’s okay, I won’t be long. I just needed to rest for a moment.” you told him, easing yourself onto the edge of the bed, feeling your fingertips brushing the thin layer of old dust that had settled atop the frayed, faded sheets. 

James looked up at you, with those sad green eyes that made him look so much like a little puppy dog that had been caught in a rain shower. Those same eyes flickered down to your ankle, where the throbbing sensation lingered, and where the purplish blue bruise had already begun to form.

“Is your ankle doing okay?” he asked you, and with a sheepish nod, you reached down to pull off your shoe. But as soon as your digits brushed the skin, you winced and inhaled sharply, not quite able to pull your shoe off without some serious effort. 

Hesitating momentarily, James then pulled away from the tattered wallpaper and approached you, crouching down so he was level with where you were sitting: “May I?” Eyes widening slightly, you nodded slowly again, and watched, feeling your heart pounding a little bit as he reached down and gently worked your shoe off, tugging your sock down. It made you cringe with pain again, gripping the sheets tightly. But you were mostly thinking about how hard your heart was hammering inside your ribcage.

Christ…he has a wife, for goodness’ sake…

You couldn’t help it though. As he examined your ankle, and helped you bring it up onto the mattress so you could prop it against a pillow and hopefully help the swelling go down, you were acutely aware of how this was a man who you were already quite attracted to.

Sure, maybe it was a desperation for any sort of human connection in this nightmare of a town that you felt like you could never leave. But perhaps too, it was genuine.

And, was it really such a sin? If Mary was really dead, then-

No. Don’t think like that, don’t disrespect her like that.

Anyway…he seemed to only really care about her. No use in getting your hopes up when it was already clear he had a woman he loved, and perhaps, a woman he would continue to love forever, regardless of whether she was really alive or not.

“We can stay here for a little bit, until the pain gets better. But I really don’t think we should stay too long.” James said, and walked back over to the window, peering through the blinds again with a narrowed gaze, “I wouldn’t put it past them to try and break in if they find out we’re here.”

And facing a bunch of those demons inside a cramped little motel room wouldn’t be ideal, he was certainly right to be anxious. Laying back against the pillows, you gave a hum of agreement. “I’m sure I’ll be fine. All I did was trip up a bit-” And almost plummet between two apartment buildings, mind you. “-I’ll be okay after a few minutes.”

You watched him, as he still seemed to be lingering quite deliberately at a distance from you. Now you were both grown adults, mature enough to understand that just because you had made a stop in a place like this, it didn’t mean it had to lead to anything. But James still seemed wary that he might frighten you into thinking that was something he wanted.

After all, neither of you really knew each other. You probably had plenty of reasons to be suspicious of him, and why he was really in this town. Hell, he somewhat wondered it himself. What was he really doing here?

It was funny though. You had already convinced yourself that James would never want anybody but his late wife, an assumption you’d understandably come to given his dedication to coming to this hellhole, trying to find a woman who was meant to be dead already, putting himself through a literal nightmare in the process. Yet, it wasn’t the case.

James was actually quite drawn to you himself. And while he didn’t want to push his luck in any regard, while he genuinely did want you to feel safe around him, he was just, well…very grateful for your company.

Of all the people he could have been shackled to, obliged to escort in a torturous place like this, it sure beat being stuck with someone like Angela or Eddie, by miles. He found them both to be pretty unpleasant, but you…you were anything but.

Sweet and shy and polite. Vulnerable in a way that made him want to make sure nothing bad could touch you. He’d certainly do his best to achieve that, for as long as you would allow him to be around you. Hopefully, until the end. Until he found what he came for.

…But. …That was just the thing…wasn’t it?

Until I find what I came for.

Mary. He knew he had to. Now that you were in the picture though, he worried that things had just become a lot more complicated.  Yet, as he stole a glance at you laying there on the bed, staring up wearily at the cracked plaster of the ceiling, he wondered if maybe that really mattered.

You had called it ‘hopeful’, his reasoning for coming here. You hadn’t treated him like an idiot.

But perhaps what he was truly ‘hopeful’ for...had changed, as soon as he met you.

“...James?” You sat up a touch, closing one eye with the effort to avoid hurting your foot more as you propped your torso on your elbows. After a moment of contemplation, you pet the spot on the bed beside you a couple of times, seeing the surprise spread on his face. “It’s alright if you want to take a rest too, I…I don’t mind. Maybe you should.”

…Maybe I should…

James felt torn about it. He sincerely wondered if he wasn’t making a huge mistake right now.

Yet, he also wondered, if maybe he wasn’t worrying too much.

He was so tired. The spot beside you felt more inviting than anything he could recall.

It’s fine. We’re not going to do anything. Not even in a place like this.

After convincing himself internally, he walked over and slipped his military jacket off his shoulders, in only his gray shirt beneath it. Hanging it on the back of one of the dust-laden chairs in the old room, he tentatively took his spot next to you.

You felt his weight pressing on the bed, pulling you ever so slightly towards him. He was bigger and stronger than you, but you didn’t feel afraid of him. Only afraid of, well, making him afraid.

Because I don’t want him to think I… …I mean it’s not like that would ever happen anyway…

…Right?

As the man laid back against the bedding, and took in the same unsavory view of the ceiling as you were, the two of you were in silence. 

Resting, but with so many unspoken words.

He could be such a demon.

You lingered at the side of the lounge, eyes welling up with fresh tears. Kuroo came waltzing into your apartment like he owned the place, and he might as well have. He'd already forced you to give him a spare key, and it wasn't as if you could impose a curfew on the guy. Heaven forbid...

“Hey sweetheart. Where were you today?” he sauntered up to you after making sure the front door was locked, one muscular arm looping around your back and pulling your frame right up against his. He stood lengthy, so your nose barely graced farther than the middle of his torso. His shirt smelled like fresh deodorant.  

“...I was at home.”

Hiding. From you.

“Yeah I noticed...” Kuroo pulled back enough to where you could see him looking down at you. Sharp, beady hazel pupils set in a handsome face. Those sly features he had were only a small part of what made him intimidating.

 What followed was the other reason. His hand abruptly grabbed your jaw, and you let out a yelp as he jerked your head to the side, grasping your hair with his other grip. He leaned down and in closely just so he could examine the skin around your collarbone, before inhaling deeply and sighing with relief.

“Good. Doesn't look like anyone was with you...doesn't smell like a stranger either. Or maybe it could be someone I know, I wouldn't put it past you.”

 He let go of your hair and your face, but only grabbed you by the elbow instead, forcing you to follow him through the admittedly comfy loft-style space.

“Screw me for caring about being cheated on, right?”

“But I never would cheat on you Kuroo!”

 Every time. Every day, every night, he did this. It was his nastiest habit, the fact that he would take one look at you and then things would turn into an interrogation. You knew why he did it though.

 He was trying to make it so you'd never leave him. These subtle little jabs of his were only steps he took towards making you more and more afraid. He disguised them as him just wanting to make sure you weren't cheating, but in reality, these were only steps towards one goal.

 Kuroo sought to hammer a simple fact into your head.  

“I'm stronger, faster and smarter than you. Don't try to mess with me. Don't ever leave me. Or else...”

 Or else...what, exactly? Well, he'd already made it clear. The Sword of Damocles that hung perpetually over your head, beyond what he might do to you, was the thought that he might hurt somebody you cared about. He knew that, and he used it to his advantage so that you might never leave his side.

 It worked. Kuroo had done so much to break you, that now his efforts lingered on in the form of your once confident self, reduced to a trembling figure, your once bubbly social life now nothing but the occasional text. You stayed home most of the time, too afraid to even go to school in case he caught you looking the wrong way at the wrong guy, and you knew he didn't mind that. He'd always come home and accuse you of being with someone while he was out anyway, but you knew he didn't believe that.

 The 'spare key' wasn't really a 'spare' after all. If he didn't want you coming out, then you had to stay. Locked up inside this gilded cage...

“Ahh...I know, I know.” Running a hand through his messy black hair, he glanced back at you again and smirked. He had already been busying himself with putting some rice in the cooker, and yet you were still standing there with sheer concern. He was just a mastermind at playing this game with you.

“Don't worry [Y/N]. I know you'd never try to leave me, I know you wouldn't. Isn't that right?”

 He came over again while dinner progressed by itself in the background, pulling you to him again and wrapping both arms tightly around you.

“You're so sweet...”

 All this because he wanted you to stay. Stick by him like you were superglued to the spot, stuck as a captive princess for this devilish guy.  

 It was easier to just obey.

 BZZT!

 Your phone went, and instinctively you looked around at where it sat upon the coffee table. Kuroo looked too though, and took you by the elbow again, hauling you over as he went to pick it up. You realized then just how bad this could be, and started to panic.

 What if one of my friends texted me accidentally!? I told them not to message me, but they might do it anyway! What'll he do if he sees that!? I should have hidden my phone somewhere--

 Palms sweating, you watched him read the screen with wide eyes. Of course he knew your password.

“...Heh.”

 A wry chuckle burst that bubble of taut tension.

“Cute. Your mom is just checking in on you.”

“Oh...” you started to smile, reaching up for the phone. That smile dropped as soon as he jerked it higher, grinning down at you malevolently.

“But...you don't have to answer, do you [Y/N]? Your mother should already know that you're completely fine as long as you're with me.”

 You watched with horror as he slid your only real source of communication with the outside world into his hoodie pocket, patting it a few times before leaning down and giving you a kiss on the forehead. It soon turned into something proper, as both hands clasped your cheeks and he thrust it upon your lips instead.

 Closing your eyes, you willed your tears back. There was no point in crying. No point in protesting. He held all of the cards here.   All you could do was remain.

They became painfully obvious.

The bandages. The plasters. The cuts. The bruises.

Even wearing that cream turtleneck hardly helped, because anyone who took so much as a second look could immediately tell. Yuuki Mishima didn't live happily. He didn't live freely. He lived under someone else's thumb.

And that thumb was steadily pressing down upon you as well...

Kamoshida must have thought he was the king, because he sure acted like one. Treating others how he pleased and taking what he wanted, while still maintaining a clever facade that made it seem like he was a noble, friendly guy.

You hated him. You knew what he was really like. What he did to the students who were too scared to speak up.

The males got beaten. You knew that much because of the state poor Mishima was in.

The girls got hounded. You knew that because of...Shiho.

Ann always visited her at the hospital, so at least she had that much comfort. Still...it was little condolence after what she had been through. You truly despised Kamoshida...and eventually you grew tired of seeing Mishima suffering on his own. Forced to endure in silence, terrified to the point where he wouldn't say a word about it. Others did ask, some did question, but he would always force a shaky smile and laugh it off with a “what are you talking about” sort of statement.

So you got yourself involved. Joined the volleyball team, even knowing who the coach was.

It took some time and cautiousness on your part, but eventually you witnessed something that proved what kind of man Kamoshida really was.

He kept Mishima back for 'practice' one day, and you wisely lingered around, suspicious of what he truly intended. You watched through a crack in the gym door, and witnessed it all. Kamoshida must have pounded that rubber volleyball against Mishima's face so many times it could have broken his nose.

You nearly intervened, but fear and apprehension seized both your arms, holding you back from opening that door.

And you resented yourself for it ever since.

Mishima didn't even know that you knew, so your invitation to get some ice cream together must have just seemed like a nice gesture. Really it was a subtle way for you to ask forgiveness. You wanted to bring him even a little joy, and it was on you.

He showed up late but you hardly cared. It was a sunny enough day so you waited outside the parlour for him, scanning the various options displayed on the banner outside. They were all so colourful and carefully crafted that they looked a little too good to eat.

“Ah, [Y/N]!”

A gentle voice called and you looked over, immediately breaking out in a warm smile when you saw Mishima approaching. He was jogging lightly your way, but stumbled the moment he reached you and quickly caught himself against the pole holding the banner up, knocking it a bit. “Whoops-!”

“Careful there.” you urged and reached out to steady his arm. You were shocked when you felt a flinch as soon as your fingers graced him, and instinctively jerked your hand back.

Mishima gave you a sheepish look.

“I...I'm sorry. I guess I didn't get enough sleep last night...”

He's still trying to hide it.

“Well, that's alright.” you shrugged it off and opened the door so you could both go inside. “After you.”

Really, you only ever had more confidence when you were around Mishima. He was far shyer than yourself so it helped, but put you in a room with Kamoshida and you'd be just as much of a quivering mess. You'd come to realize that as big of a hero as you wanted to be, you didn't have the courage to confront the man. Someone had to stop him though.

Someone...

As you sat down with Yuuki and thanked a passing waitress for the menus she handed you both, you opened yours up but peered over the top of it at him. He was busy studying his own copy so he didn't notice you looking.

You saw them. He was wearing another shirt with a high collar, always prepared. But it had slipped down and bunched up a bit around his neck, revealing an indigo welt on the side of it.

You could have crushed the menu in your hands. It sickened you. This boy was too kindly to deserve treatment like this. Did he really mess up so badly and so consistently that he deserved to get beaten like that?

No, of course not. The only reason he took so much damage was because Kamoshida enjoyed it. Mishima was a toy to him. Eventually he'd end up breaking him, just like he did with Shiho...

“...I'm...really not sure what to order...” Mishima admitted, actually looking embarrassed about it to some extent. Of course he didn't need to be, but you decided to help out by setting your own menu down and pointing to an icy looking vanilla and blueberry sundae.

“I'm thinking the 'Jack Frost', maybe you could have the same? Or if we get a big one we could share?”

That kind of came out without real intention. You were treating Mishima as a best friend, forgetting that he was still a guy. Though even a girl might feel shy about this sort of thing too. Regardless, he went totally pink in the cheeks.

“U-um...I mean if you want to share we can but...”

Ah...that would look a bit...

“No, we can just get separate ones!”

You saved the awkwardness, just. Mishima visibly squirmed in his seat a bit, almost as if he really did want to take you up on your original offer, but any chance passed as soon as you placed your order. He silently cursed his own relentless shyness. It only seemed to grow tenfold when he was around you, which was painful considering you were one of the few true friends he had. It left him paranoid, worrying that he'd slip up and send you running away.

Yet you didn't feel that way about him at all. If anything, you could kind of relate to what he was feeling. But those things went unsaid.

A lot of things went unsaid.

As you started eating you hoped that maybe Mishima would relax a bit and open up to you about what was going on. You had yourself convinced that your own hesitations would bleed away if he personally asked you for help. You'd feel so compelled to save him that you'd stop being scared, surely.

Perhaps that was just a fool's hope though. The conversations you had were as bland as this vanilla, deliberately skirting around anything potentially heavy. So desperately you wanted to question those newly applied plasters doubled up on his cheeks, even if you suspected you'd get an answer like “a cat scratched me”, but you only ended up discussing the weather, the current schoolwork you had, and other mindless things.

However...although at first you feared this wasn't helping Mishima at all, you began to notice something. His posture, steadily relaxing. A little bit of a smile coming to light on his lips. A calmness settling in those typically startled and weary eyes. The more you chatted about your favorite movies and books, the happier he seemed to become, until eventually you noticed an enthusiasm that surprised you.

“I really didn't expect the twist at the end! Who would have thought the murderer was a police detective the whole time?”

Mishima spoke eagerly now, on a roll. You sat back a little with surprise but just smiled wider, listening intently to every word he said. This was what you had been hoping for, yearning for. To see him actually experiencing some sort of joy...

“Hey Mishima, do you mind if I come sit next to you?” you requested suddenly, and he actually agreed to it, albeit with a scarlet flush building on his cheeks again.

“S-sure thing...”

“Thanks. It'll just make it easier for us to talk to each other.”

But really, it would make it a lot easier to bring up the topic of those marks without letting other people overhear. The place wasn't super busy but it didn't hurt to be cautious.

Sitting down on his side of the booth, you immediately felt the slight warmth emanating from his person, the delicate smell of shampoo that lingered on his body. Yet you also noticed those little quivers he had been trying to hide, and of course...those damn...

“...Bruises...”

You murmured the word, but watched him go still as stone as soon as you said it. Mishima slowly turned his head and looked at you with wide eyes. Clearing your throat, you reached for your half finished ice cream and slid it over, poking away at the chocolate base in the bottom of the glass with your long spoon.

“I know you probably don't want to talk about them...but I can't ignore them any longer, Mishima-” you turned your head and looked him straight in those nervously stricken eyes.

“Please tell me the truth. Kamoshida has been...hurting you too, hasn't he?”

Typically Mishima would have brushed it off and come up with some excuse, just like he did when anyone else asked. Yet something about your question was totally different. It made his blood run cold when he heard it.

'Too'?

“[Y/N]...d-did you...did he...?”

“Hurt me as well? I guess I phrased that badly...” you sighed and swirled your spoon around, listening to the subtle sound it made, the glass ringing like a distant bell. “He hasn't laid a hand on me yet, but whenever he looks at me...I know he wants to do something.”

Mishima swallowed thickly. His eyes focussed on your form. Your pretty face and body, the gentle way you carried yourself. How pure and sweet you were, how kind as to give him the time of day and actually bother to spend time with him like this. The thought of Kamoshida doing anything to you...that changed the whole ball game, so to speak.

His nails dug a little in the edge of the table, and he looked down with teeth grit behind his lips. Yet they parted when he spoke lowly:

“I-if he does anything to you...tell me...”

“Mishima...” you looked over sadly at the dark blue haired boy, straightening up and setting your spoon down. Your hand came out and gently touched his arm. “Don't worry about me, you're the one who needs help here. I can see what he does to you. I know you try to hide it, I know you try to make excuses, but I've seen the truth for myself.”

And so you told him about the time you saw him being beaten up. And you watched as he looked at you, his heart clearly heavy. It must have been such a burden for him to keep it a secret. Yet even though you knew now...it didn't actually feel so bad.

In fact, he almost felt relieved.

You looked at him so kindly he could have cried. When your hand reached down and took his own upon his lap, he didn't hesitate much before squeezing yours in return. Your touch was as gentle as your manner, and he realized something so clearly then.

He needn't have worried at all.

You wanted to know about what he was dealing with. You wanted to help.

“I should have done something earlier, and I'm sorry. I was too nervous then, I was scared...” you confessed, and lifted his hand up just so your other could wrap around his knuckle. You were doing this under the table so people had no reason to stare. “...But I want to do something about it. I want to stop him, so he won't hurt you or me, or Shiho, or anyone else again.”

Mishima wanted that too, he really did. And though he was just as worried about what might happen, your own summoned determination gave him a little bit of hope too.

“...Then...let's work hard to stop him together.”

Neither of you knew how you'd do it, but you nodded in response, and so too did he.

He also happened to notice something then, while you were looking at him. Something not nearly quite so serious, but still something that ought to be amended, and could be. This would be his first act of confidence. His favour to you...

You flinched a little, having gone off in thought after letting go of his hand, and suddenly feeling something touch your cheek just by the corner of your mouth. Mishima wiped away the fleck of ice cream with his thumb and brought his hand back to himself. You watched him stare at the remnant of dessert on his digit with eyes crossed and focused, figuring he'd just wipe it off somewhere, only to watch in shock as he cleaned it off his hand with a simple lick.

His touch alone had left you red but this left you flustered and spluttering. “M-Mishima-!!”

“Ah!” Immediately he was just as rose and bowing his head repeatedly, clasping his hands together. “A-ah I'm sorry, that was weird of me! I'm super sorry!”

Well, as 'super sorry' as he was, the problem wasn't that it had been weird. If anything it had been just what a...boyfriend might do. Could you imagine Mishima being your boyfriend? The thought left your heart positively pounding and you had to look away from his equally fumbling self.

Yet there was no hiding the smile on your lips, as you pondered a hopeful possibility.

Perhaps he was a lot more confident than you thought...

Perhaps this alliance of yours would lead to something more...

He was soft faced…

Eyes a gentle teal, skin like porcelain. Delicate and demure like a doll, almost feminine at first glance. Tokito.

When you first heard you’d be training with the Mist Hashira, you honestly weren’t worried. You felt no concern, figuring (naïvely) that he always carried the same attitude, and as such…would he not be tender with you?

What you didn’t expect was how his personality could do such a 180, that when he was a teacher, he wasn’t really Tokito anymore.

“In a real battle, you won’t just be getting bruises. You’ll be getting sliced and torn apart. You won’t just be aching the next day. You’ll be dead.”

His stern tone, so different from what you were used to, echoed in the training room, all ten of you standing to attention as he paced back and forth.

“At this rate, anyway. From what I can see, not one of you is prepared for a real fight.”

You were standing furthest at the end of all the others. Your stance was tense, and your head was low. You found it a little hard even just to look up at him whenever he passed by, as if meeting his gaze would somehow double down on your nerves.

“All of you, need improvement…”

His black-socked feet padded down the extent of the room until they had reached your position, and he stood before you, giving you a full view of just how that once sweet, sparkling gaze had shifted. Now it looked coldly focused.

“That includes you, [Y/N].”

The training session proceeded. Just as you now expected, he was ruthless with every contender. Each harsh smack of his wooden sword against flesh was enough to make you flinch, and as he worked his way down the line, picking out each person to spar, your sense of dread grew and grew.

He actually made some of them cry. You worried you’d do the same, and he’d think of you as a weakling from then on. Though perhaps it was fair to say he already did…

“[Y/N]. Your turn.”

Slowly raising your head, you met that chilly gaze again and swallowed nervously, before nodding and walking forward with stiff limbs. You positioned yourself before him, holding your own weapon before you, unable to hide how nervous you were.

He saw it. He saw the way you were quivering, trembling, but still, made no comment. He only signaled for the fight to begin.

The two of you circled around each other warily, staring at one another, though compared to his more serene, confident expression, you must have looked like some frazzled little field mouse. 

I have to prove myself!

A little too hastily, you attempted to strike him. However, with a sharp CLACK! he easily parried, then prepared his counter attack. The wooden sword cut through the air towards you with such smoothness it almost seemed like a real blade, and you squinted, freezing in place, bracing yourself for the pain that was surely coming-

…Yet it was only a gust.

A small puff of air, as Tokito deliberately stopped the sword from touching your neck mere millimeters away. Had he not, you’d have been sent crumbling to the ground.

Shaking, a bit bewildered, you opened your eyes and looked at him again. He may have stopped himself from hitting you, but that didn’t change how stern he still looked now. 

“So. [Y/N]. What do you think of your own performance?”

The rhetorical question he posed had you utterly on edge. You knew what the answer was. ‘Poor’. You already knew, it hadn’t been good enough. 

It hadn’t been good enough…

“Disappointing, overall. Tomorrow we’re going to have to up the ante I guess.” Tokito uttered in disappointment, and dismissed the group. Only, as you were filing out after the others, also about to leave, he put his arm out and stopped you.

“Not you, [Y/N].” he said, waving you back a few steps, “You and I need to do some extra training.”

Looking over at him sheepishly, a part of you wanted to plead with him not to do this. You could train on your own time, right? You’d had enough humiliation for one day. 

However, he wasn’t having it. And as you were guided to the center of the room, you soon had one of the swords thrust into your grip again, Tokito looking across at you expectantly.

“Now. We’re going to spar until you get this right.”

This time around, you didn’t try going for him first. That hadn’t worked out so well previously, after all. But he still came at you with a quick attack and you, again, couldn’t avoid it in time. Moments before the sword hit you though, you swore you saw a flash of worry in his eyes. But it was snuffed out as quickly as you were smacked, and you doubled over with pain, clutching your left side.

“...I know it hurts, [Y/N].” he uttered, “But it’s going to hurt far worse when it’s an actual weapon.”

“I-I know–” you grunted, a little tearfully, but pulled yourself together as best as you could and straightened up again. 

Every time you did this, every time you tried to face him head on, bravely, he would counter with a strike that left another welt or bruise on your body. Finally, it got to the point where he’d left you too winded to stand properly, and his frustration finally showed, his teeth grit as he tossed his sword aside and stepped right up to you.

“[Y/N]! Why even bother with Hashira training if you’re never going to get it right! It’s like you’re not listening to any of the advice I give you!”

You had still been doubled over, holding yourself while he snapped at you. But you slowly, a little wearily, raised your head and looked up at him, sniffing. Tears that you had been fighting hard to bite back earlier were now lingering around the edges of your eyes.

Tokito was startled. His stony, disgruntled expression wobbled into something more emotionally raw. The worry was back, and he was finding it hard to hide too.

“I’m sorry…I know I’m weak, and I’m useless. I know I should have never signed up for this! It’s just…” you winced, and gripped your side a little tighter, “...Demons killed my sister. If I can’t avenge her then there’s no point for me to keep on living…”

Hot, salty trickles streamed down your cheeks as you let out a little sob, shaking your head, “I don’t want to give up but…I know I…I know I can’t do this!”

There was a moment of tense silence between you two, a pregnant pause during which you were too afraid to look at him, too afraid to see that cold expression again. Yet, when you finally braved it, you were shocked by what you saw.

He was looking at you sadly. Guiltily. His visage was soft and tender once more, his ocean eyes wide and glimmering like they were on the verge of crying too.

And he finally spoke.

“[Y/N]...do you know why I’m trying so hard with you? Why I’m pushing you this much, why I’m being so serious about it?”

Gazing up at him, a little lost, you shook your head slowly and quietly. In return, his lips broke into a gentle smile, and his slender hand met your shoulder with a soft, comforting touch.

“It’s because I know how much that means to you. I know you don’t want to give up. For your sister’s sake…”

To your surprise, his hand slid up to your cheek, the pad of his thumb gently brushing away the tears upon it.

“But…you should also do it for your own sake. Prove it to yourself. You aren’t as weak as you think you are.”

As his hand smoothly pulled back again, it graced a few strands of your hair, tugging them gently and letting them slip between his fingers smoothly. You felt a heat in your cheeks, a tiny flush spreading there, covering the red marks and bruises that had been left.

“Do you…really think that?”

You asked him innocently. He smiled warmly.

“Yes, [Y/N]. I do.”