#yeshens

so.

perhaps he didn't actually get sprained during practice, and perhaps he doesn't need taichi to give him a ride on his bicycle, as demonstrated by the way he waits for him after his club and impatiently taps his foot. “and you can’t be too bothered if you’re willing to put up with me,” he counters between dropping the act and playing coy, an expression that shifts from surprise at being caught to a smile that reaches his eyes. “and, anyway, isn’t mashimacchi becoming a doctor someday?” which in kise-speak means, you can’t possibly talk to your patients like that, but more importantly, don’t talk to me like this!

he opts, however, for a more hands-on course correction.

“hey, ferdie, ” dorothea begins, hastening to explain her presence before he has a chance to probe, “ i couldn’t sleep, and when i saw you out here, i was thinking… we never quite got around to having those pastries you made, did we? ” she hesitates for a beat before proceeding to pull out a plate of biscuits from behind her back that are, at the very least, innocuous looking, “ i hope it’s not too forward of me, but i, well, made some biscuits earlier. would you like to try one? ” she waits for his reaction — dorothea knows her reputation for cooking isn’t the greatest, after all, so rejection wouldn’t come as a surprise to her. she feels bad, testing him like this, which… explains why her resolve crumbles soon enough, breaking character as shyness melts into humor manifested in upturned lips, “ i’m just kidding. i got these from the cafeteria ; they’re safe to eat. ”

another pause, as if she’s dancing to a tune only she can hear, her every breath following its rise and fall.

and then,

“ hey, ferdie? if we survive this war… will you make them for me again? ”

   The consistent curve of his back, slumped forward to closely watch the tip of his lance as it hit the whetstone, had started to weigh him down altogether. The campfire had reduced to a barely-lively couple of flares, and he started to suspect the strain from squinting had started to bring forth a headache. Perhaps Dorothea had noticed that too, or, less optimistically, her presence had been entirely coincidental. Ferdinand knew which option he was inclined towards, if only to soothe that same war-weary fatigue he could recognize in her as well. He straightened then, and found himself interrupted just as he was about to return her greeting in kind.

   At the mention of their past, his grip on the whetstone faltered just so: like with most emotions, Ferdinand had never worn surprise with subtlety. 

   “...Correct. Sharing them over tea had been my intention all along, but… after you left, my appetite trailed off behind you. Fortunately, Bernadetta seemed to appreciate my generosity after I offered them to her.” His smile was fond for many reasons, and before it could turn into something more curious, Dorothea managed to startle his pulse into quickening with a single, simple reveal, which wasn’t actually that simple to him. “You made these? For me alone? Ah, no, forgive my presumption, I was merely...” Stating his wishful thinking aloud? he couldn’t say that, either. Ferdinand felt the same liquid warmth that spread over his chest reach his face, and he thanked the heavens the lighting was poor. “...Er, regardless! As I am deeply touched by your thoughtfulness, I shall repay you by way of—! Huh?”

   All at once, his body temperature runs cold, and his frantic display of gratitude is quieted into shock. Huh? 

   “O-oh, it was... a joke... yes, I should have known. They do seem rather familiar, now that I look at them closely.” Despite the great wave of disappointment washing at his feet, he chuckled, mostly at himself. “I’m grateful, nonetheless,” a brief pause of his own, voice crystalline, maybe the slightest bit cheeky, “You were thinking of me, after all.”

   She was quiet, and he let her. Silence was a luxury they could hardly afford, unless they seeked it late into the night or early at dawn. Besides Dorothea, however, the quiet was nothing short of meditation. When she next spoke, he turned his body to face her. In that moment, a particularly resilient flame made the bonfire crackle, persevering still. 

   He had pondered that future often. It was best he thought of it through idealization if he hoped to keep a semblance of faith amidst the setbacks they had endured, and one aspect of his plans kept him obstinate: life after the war, or rather, home, beyond any material representation. In other words, Dorothea. It’s what he envisioned, at the very least, when he thought of the notion. His heart wouldn’t settle, but he willed himself to safekeep those aspirations. Until the war ended, that is.

‘   huh, but ——    ’   her feeble protest dies quietly as he distracts her with his restlessness.   it was so like him to get worked up about things like this that the small smile that slips past her guard goes unchecked.   this was ... nice.   

she unfolds her slowly, peeking to see if tooru was watching;  he was.   what a strange feeling to have someone so intensely interested in anything about her.   it makes her gaze falls back to the fortune cheeks no longer flushed from the cold alone.   

sue-kichi.   

a future blessing ... now that was vague.   and also one step below his in terms of luck.   not like she was expecting anything different, even with tooru around.   her luck had always been a rather pathetic thing — to the point of her stopping this tradition all together at some point but when he asked her to come to the shrine together it was impossible to say no.   the two slips of paper stare back at her as if promising to make the coming year interesting for them both.

        ❝   no,   ❞   is his immediate answer, though ferdinand evidently thinks it’s all good and well to continue prattling on, and felix finds himself rolling his eyes, tilting his head back, gazing at the sky above. fighting isn’t all he has interest in doing ——— there are a number of other things, but they are all secondary, tertiary, et cetera to fighting. he wishes to improve himself and better himself such that he will be a scourge upon the battlefield and, thus, prevent unnecessary losses, to become strong enough to / well. it’s neither here nor there. to TRULY IMPROVE UPON YOURSELF time, dedication, and effort must be put towards it. and, if felix has taken that to an extreme, then who does that possibly impact? who can that feasibly harm? he hardly knows how to do anything without the full force of his efforts ( and how considerable that is when taken into account, how powerful the sheer force of his determination ) and training falls underneath that category / and maybe even taken beyond.

        so why does ferdinand von aegir care so damn much about what he does in his free time? as if felix has free time to spare.

        the proposal of TEA is enough to make felix’s eyebrow raise in disbelief, and he watches as ferdinand all but physically dismisses the idea as preposterous, which it very well is. felix can barely stand meals in the presence of other people, let alone tea time which comes with the expectation of even more conversation. and fireworks? the suggestion seems so very random that felix simply stares at a point just over ferdinand’s shoulder for a moment / before the other key part of that sentence occurs to him : NEW YEARS. he hadn’t even known, time makes fools of them all, wary and unaware and passing eternally.

        ( here, a faded half—ruined memory : a gloved hand clasped in another’s, warm furs cloaking him, the voice of his dear brother humming in his ear, the laughter of darling mother ringing, the merriment of dread father carrying. and for the boy? the boy with a whole heart, un—frostbitten and tender like a mother’s kiss on your forehead? he looks to the night sky, eyes wide and luminous beneath the bursting of lights and he thinks / pretty, pretty like ——— )

        his jaw works and half of him, or more perhaps, compulsively wants to deny the request. winter’s chill rests on his tongue and his gaze flits over ferdinand’s face for a moment, there and gone again. the offer is genuine, borderline earnest, and it sits strangely in his chest. intrusive and unwelcome and unwieldy.   ❝   fine. i’ll go,   ❞   like drawing icicles from his chest, reluctant but still yet giving, a slight wrinkle to his nose, as if the proceedings are repulsive when he, himself, is saying yes.   ❝   if you don’t talk when we spar. and don’t bother me,   ❞   always have to make your terms crystal clear, huh, fraldarius?

he means to stand his ground by way of complaining somehow, but tooru's exposed phone steals his attention— that is, a small little detail lacking. "where's the phone charm i gifted you?!" his voice is almost hindered by the massive pout his face is holding. this will be something to bring up in future bouts of dramatics, kise makes the mental note. "i can't believe my manager gave you her contact," he groans, pinching tooru's cheek as a reprimand for giving in her request, most certainly to spite him, and lets it go. "she hasn't tried scouting you too, has she? oikawacchi doesn't have a single modeling bone in his body."

(…did you want me to be? kise huffs, but otherwise deems tooru's questions beneath his notice.)

unprompted.   ♡  * always accepting !  @yeshens.

for once, kise luxuriates in the absence of everything. or, rather, the absence of the usual: practice was suspended, his phone is eerily quiet, the string of admirers haven’t found him— hm. scratch that last one, he thinks, stabbing the strawberry milk carton with a straw, the movement almost staggered by tooru’s arm sneaking around his form. 

he hums, “oikawacchi, have you been keeping track of my schedule—” and the amused, teasing overtone sizzles just like that. his expression falls, as he knows tooru wanted it to, and the effect is no different than sucking on a honeyed lemon, the sweetness a pretense for the sourness. well, no matter, kise scoffs inwardly, he’ll get his payback soon enough— he just hopes tooru is as good of a receiver as he is a setter. amidst the pouting, kise stumbles, wondering why in the world his body is complying so easily in the face of all that disrespect… as if those rushes of indignation weren’t a thrill he sought from ruffling other people's feathers. truly, a taste of one’s medicine sucked, but in a fun way.