TARO

Your heart only seems to weigh heavier, the more you continue to watch her in such a pitiful state. You could barely recognise this version of her. She was usually collected and strict about how she portrayed herself externally—hair always kept neatly in a tight bun, clothes always straightened, like she ironed them once more before exiting the house.

Yet, she was now weeping like there was no tomorrow, not a single care about how pitiful she looked right now lingering in her mind, as she wept. She was clearly in a state of grief, a state you refuse to admit being under.

Everything about the current situation makes you feel like denying reality.

Clawing at the long sleeves of your black blazer, you feel the fabric scrunch under your tight grasps. Your fingers itch to crawl under the fabric of the blazer, feeling the skin of your arms and give it a tight pinch—anything to prove that your mind is stuck in a vivid dream.

Yet, you don't do it. As much as there's a crippling desire for you to prove to yourself that you're stuck in a dream, fear seems accompanied by it. The lingering fear which constantly sticks around your mind, to remind you that you might be wrong about whatever you're trying to prove to yourself as well.

What are you going to do if all of it isn't a dream at all? That it's all part of a reality that you've been choosing to avoid and deny? You couldn't possibly find yourself bearing the heaviness and responsibility of those emotions that are starting to brew a storm within you.

For as long as you could, you'd want to deny your sister's death. It was something that came so suddenly, the narrative almost unreal to you when you had first heard it. In the middle of a planned attack of a noctorious villian, your pro-hero sister fought to the very end, sacrificing her life to capture the villian.

You've heard millions of news about such before, especially since you're a pro-hero yourself. You worked at UA as a teacher, teaching the hero course students. You're used to deaths, you're used to injuries and you're used to bleeding.

But when it came to your sister, none of it seemed to make sense. It suddenly felt like all the newscasters and the grim faces they had while announcing such news were simply speaking blasphemy. Blasphemy that the world wanted you to believe in, so that they could see your strong and happy mental state hit an emotional crash.

Even your mother had to be hired as part of the act. To test how far you can take it, until you start crashing emotionally—wrecking that positive image you've been giving to your students, so that you could let them know that it's important to keep smiling, even as you go through tough times being a hero.

Though, this was probably just the first stage of grief hitting you. The stage of denial, where you choose to not accept what is reality as it comes as a shock to you. 

You feel your phone buzz in your pocket, making you finally shift from your position. You hadn't realised your body had been so tense all along, causing your body to be so fixed in its previous position that it felt impossible to even move another inch.

Fishing your phone out of your pocket, you watch as the screen brightens up, a few notifications slightly starting to fill up the screen. It's so bright, in comparison to the whole mood here, was your first thought.

You can't help but scoff slightly as the thought comes to mind, the scoff sounding almost like one made out of disbelief. You could clearly tell those notifications were delivering messages sent out of concern, yet your head couldn't help but drift towards realising how the mood around you seemed so heavy.

Nothing about those concerning messages could capture your attention. You've already heard so many people pour words of condolence before you, that it almost seems like a norm to you. It no longer amuses you, or causes a warm fuzzy feeling to settle in your heart—the feeling people would often describe as being cared for.

Being cared for probably meant nothing to you right now. The only thing you hope for, was for your sister to come back to live. To prove to you herself that she was still alive, her body possibly buried among debris, waiting for the rescue team to find her and bring her out of the debris safely.

Feeling your phone buzz once more, this time on your hand, since you hadn't placed it back in your pocket, you finally decide to tap into the notifications. You watch the numbers slowly start to rise in each of your indidivual chat groups, before it finally hits a stop.

Principal Nezu: Hey yn, hope you're doing ok. Feel free to take leave of absence tomorrow.

The message immediately causes a bitter taste in your mouth. Instead of feeling touched, you watch as your fingers fly over the keyboard on your screen angrily.

You: I am fine. I'll be back in school tomorrow.

You can't help but feel a sense of rising anger. You haven't been able to find a single person who could prove it to you that this was all simply a dream. All along, they've only been saying words of condolences or making pitiful remarks, which only brought further evidence to your heart, that your sister was truly dead. 

It was starting to become something you could no longer deny.

Maybe you were the only one still stuck in this phase of denial, after all. Even your mother has came to acknowledge your sister's death—expressing her current grief through constant wailing and crying. 

In comparison, here you were, still waiting for someone to give you anything that your mind could take up immediately as evidence that your sister is still alive. Or maybe the sound of an alarm ringing, to signify that you've been stuck in a dream all this while and you're now just waking up.

However, each time you hear something closest to an alarm ringing, it's just your phone vibrating with constant flow of notifications. People continuously sending you their condolences, their texts starting to seem more like the universe's sign of begging you to stop denying the truth.

If there was one thing all the years of teaching has brought you so far, it was coming to understand that the act of rebellion among your students, is a natural psychological reaction.

Right now, you tell yourself that it's not denial you're facing. It's only the natural psychological reaction coming into play. You're rebelling against the universe trying to tell you the truth. 

You don't grief. Not anymore. Especially since you are a pro-hero, you're more used to deaths and loss than anyone else possible. Your sister's death can't be that hard to accept for you, your mind is simply acting out of rebellion.

You returned back to teaching the next day, just as how you had conveyed in your message to Principal Nezu. Initially, you had expected yourself to regulate your emotions better once you came back to UA. After all, you would meet the sorrowful experession your mother held on her face less. You also wouldn't hear whispers of sympathy around you, from the people who visited your sister's funeral. Possibly, this would mean you wouldn't feel the need to be constantly grieving over your sister's death, right?

Yet, as soon as your gaze greeted the crowd gathering within the school, you felt your hopes waver. You slowly find yourself surrounded by gazes of sympathy once more. Forcing a small smile on your face, you braced all the small remarks of condolences or looks of pity your colleagues and students gave you in the hallway. 

Why did you even initially hope for things to seem normal in UA? Your sister was a known pro-hero, so long as her death was announced on the news, anyone would know—especially those who were closest to you. Of course, the looks and words of sympathy would follow you, everywhere you go.

At least, until the news of your sister's death finally stopped becoming the talk of the town. Until then, you have to bear through all the soft words of condolences and looks of pity, all while pretending there wasn't a reason for you to grief.

The walk towards the teacher's office, seemed to be an aggrevatingly longer walk, compared to usual. Especially when you had to stop once in a while, force the corners of your lips to tug up slightly, as you meet the gaze of students and teachers you've seen before. All their eyes almost seem to shine with the same expression—the slight crease in their eyebrows, a gaze that tries to look beyond the smile you place on your face, with the intention to connect with the emotions you're hiding in your heart, and their eyes speaking indirectly words like, "you can share your pain with me" or "it's okay to not be okay."

You had to hold back your tongue from blurting out the words that lingered at the back of your mind. Words that would sound hurtful, but fulfill your innate desires, which was to shut down all the stares and comments they've been giving you. If you were to simply unleash all those negative words and emotions now, you knew the stares of sympathy would only get worse.

After all, that would just go to prove further how you were truly not doing fine at all. That everyone around you had accurately assumed how you were truly feeling, further validating their gaze of sympathy and the small "thoughtful" comments they made. Which would simply cause all the efforts you've made, in keeping a false smile and forming a bold face, to go to waste.

As you walk towards your table, you passby Aizawa, who was tucked comfortably in his sleeping bag on the floor, close to the two of your tables. Usually, you would've made sure to land your steps harder as you pass him by—your heels echoing a loud click sound against the floor—just to playfully wake him up.

It was a habit you adopted, initially with no intention to wake him up. When you first started your journey as a teacher in UA, you were extremely excited to work alongside other pro-heroes like you. You had entered the office, carrying so much energy, that it reflected in your steps.

Hence, as you walked past Aizawa, it had woken him up. He didn't make much fuss out of it, only asking you to keep your energy to minimal so that you would avoid awakening him from his beauty sleep. Slowly, along the way, your apologetic nature simply changed into playful tease. Especially as you grew to realise Aizawa had this grumpy, stoic and unbothered nature, you wished to break him from.

However, as much as you wanted to pretend everything was normal today, you couldn't bring yourself to carry out your usual playful antics. In fact, you found yourself wishing you had swapped positions with Aizawa, so that you could be the one snuggled in his sleeping bag—ignoring and paying no attention to the possible sympathy you had to continue bearing through for the rest of today.

As soon as you settled down at your desk, you feel your gaze trail towards a stack of paper placed on your desk. It was what you had left out on your table, a few days ago, meant to be a clear reminder that you had to finish up what remained of marking your student's assignments.

You were usually quick when it came to marking and giving your student's feedback, especially since your favourite part about becoming a teacher was helping your students grow, with your needed guidance. Hence, you always made sure to return your student's work with timely feedback, before they could forget what they had done previously. 

Back then, you were probably anciticipating for you to get the marking done before today. Except, who knew your sister's funeral would've kept you entertained, unable to return to school and continue your teaching duties—at least, until today. 

Reaching to take one of the student's assignments from that pile, you can't help but release a small reluctant sigh. Usually, the writing wouldn't have bothered you, no matter how scrawled and messy they seemed. So long as the students gave their best in completing the assignment, you found no reason to complain about what they've done.

After all, they weren't learning and graduating to become heroes who competed to see who would have the neatest handwriting. The most that they would ever touch a pen again, especially if they were planning to focus more on being a pro-hero known in the country, was when they had to autograph for their fans. There was no reason for you to nitpick about something silly like this.

Yet, today, the scrawly words on the paper seemed to bother you. You could feel your annoyance rising slightly, causing your eyebrows to scunch together as you clutch your pen tightly in your hands. 

Lifting your pen, you were about to make a nasty remark about how the handwriting could be better written—exactly as you've complained about it in your head—before you held back. As fast as you had picked up the pen from a pen holder sitting on your desk, you dropped it just as quickly. 

Your emotions were clearly running wild now, especially after dealing with the unnecessary greetings you've met with along the hallway. It wouldn't be professional nor fair for the students, if you were to mark their papers right now, when you weren't feeling your best.

The pen makes a small click as it lands on your table, from the small height distance you had dropped it from, the sound reverbrating across the teacher's office. With most teachers currently out and busy handling their morning classes, you were now left to your own peace and quiet in the office—something you can't help but feel a sense of grattitude about currently.

Although, you would usually be more chattier, running out of the office to talk with other teachers or staff when you had no work left to do, you couldn't help but feel dread towards social interactions today. If socially interacting meant having to meet more of those expressions you've seen in the morning, you would rather be kept to yourself than finding someone to run your mouth loose to.

Returning the student's assignment back to the pile, you decide to lean back against your chair instead, closing your eyes as you try to release whatever negative emotions that have been building up within you.

However, as time slowly ticks by, you start to realise that the more you tried to push away your negative emotions, the more a persistent sense of unease starts to fill your heart. You could feel your thoughts starting to spiral once again, causing your emotions to rise once more—especially as the negative thoughts start to spill in.

Immediately, you flutter open your eyes, straightening your back as your hands instantly move to grab something from your table. Anything that could keep yourself occupied, before your emotions went out of your control once more. Anything to stop your head from spiralling down to different negative thoughts that would fill your mind, causing a tight feeling to spread across your chest.

Your hands drift towards the stack of papers once more, except this time you decide to busy yourself by tidying it. Your hands try to tuck every loose and exposed corner neatly behind the sheet of paper before it, making sure the stack lines up into an organised and neat pile.

Staring at the neat stack of papers before you, you tried to tuck away the feelings of unease you've been holding onto since morning, just like how you've done it with the loose edges of the papers, this morning. You haven't been able to start on marking your student's assignments, due to the constant emotions that flooded your mind, as soon as you attempted to do so.

If not for the fact that you were constantly trying to busy your hands with something new to re-arrange—be it how the pens were left in your pen holder, the polaroids you had stuck onto the wall of your desk, or just back to the neat stack you've been rearranging again and again since morning—you would've cussed yourself out for how unprofessional you were behaving.

In your earlier lesson, you found yourself apologising more to your students, then actually teaching them the content you had prepared in your lesson plan. Thankfully, your students seemed to pay no mind to how absent-minded and unprofessional you were behaving. However, you can't help but feel your perfectionist side silently nag at the mistakes you've made.

Enough to cause you to re-arrange the same stack of papers you were supposed to be done marking today for the eighthtime. It was to the point, there seemed to be nothing you could pick out about what wasn't perfect about this stack of paper. There wasn't even a single corner poking out, or a small folded or crumpled edge. 

Yet, you were still scrutinising it, like the stack would mess itself up in the next second, if you took your gaze off it for a split moment. You just couldn't dismiss the feeling that continued to settle in your heart, that there was something about this stack which was still leaving you unsatisfied. Except, you couldn't place a finger on it.

"How long are you going to stare at that stack?"

A voice suddenly perks up beside you, causing you to jolt slightly. Your gaze instantly shifts to your side, tracing the origin of the voice, only to realise Aizawa was now peering at you. His black hair was left unkempt, trailing down the sides of his face in an unruly manner, just like any other usual day. 

Instinctively, you find your gaze instantly shifting to meet his eyes—looking for any trace that seemed to look at you pitifully, like you were a stray kitten which needed saving. Except, you couldn't find any of that in his eyes. Other than the red veins which were lining around his black iris, letting you know his eyes were dry once again.

Instead of answering his question, you avoid responding to it, by shooting him with another question instead. 

"Did one of your students attempt to misuse their quirk again, that your eyes are now dry once more?"

Perhaps, it was the natural force of habit you developed, your tone seemed to return back to it's usual tease, despite the weight that was silently weighing down on your heart. A small smile quips up across your lips subconsciously as well, it's sole purpose behind existing seeming to be to mock Aizawa. 

"I simply forgot to bring my eye drops."

You pause, a small scoff leaving your lips as you lean back against your chair. Lifting a slight brow at Aizawa, you can't help but wonder how someone like him could even forget to bring his eye drops. For someone who gets dry eyes easily, a setback from his quirk, you would've assumed eye drops was something he carried around with him. Almost like a communication device.

"I have eye drops."

You finally said, shifting to lean forward as you pull open one of the compartments in your desk drawer. As soon as you opened it, both of you were overwhelmed with the sight of almost every single possible essential squashed into one tiny drawer.

You weren't usually one to organise or tidy the things around you, unless they urgently called for it. Hence, all the storage spaces that were out of sight usually, would be stuffed to the brim with the stuff you occasionally just toss inside. Apparently, this drawer of yours was of no exception. It was filled to the brim, with different items overlapping one another messily. It was a clear sign that no one bothered to go through the contents and organise it, for quite a long time.

It took you a while to shuffle through all the items, before you pulled out a small bottle of eye drops. You make sure to check the label briefly, making sure it was not over it's date of usage, before passing it to Aizawa.

"That drawer…does not seem to give me any sense of assurance that this eye drops of yours, are safe to use."

He mentions, a slight tone of doubt clear in his voice, although he was clearly reaching out to take the eye drops from your generously outstretched hand. 

"Did you perhaps mean to say, thank you?"

You respond back, shooting him a quick glance—something teethering close to a warning that seemed to threaten him to be gracious towards your act of generosity, or else you would take back your eye drops forcefully. This causes your words to reach him effectively, a wry smile starting to spread across his face, as he mumbles slightly.

"…Thanks."

His tone sounded almost incoherent as the words left his lips, but you weren't in the mood to push for more. You place a quick smile on your face, the attempt almost half-hearted, as it resembled nothing close to a smile. Then, you give him a brief nod, before shifting your gaze towards your messy drawer compartment which you haven't closed back.

Perhaps, today would be a good time to organise it. Especially since organising would be the only way to keep your mind from spewing up nonsensical thoughts. You think silently, pursing your lips subconsciously as you thought hard.

"Do you…perhaps want some help?"

Suddenly, you feel your head turn towards his direction once more, watching as he fixes his eyes on your messy cabinet. His offer to help you in arranging your drawer caught you slightly by surprise, albeit said awkwardly. 

Perhaps, it was because you had never expected Aizawa to ever offer you his assistance or support in anything. You knew Aizawa to be a colleague to never poke his nose into anyone's business, even if he was close to that certain person.

He was the type to remain unbothered in the face of anything, so long as it didn't involve him or affect him in any manner. So now, as he offered you his assistance in cleaning one of your messiest drawers, that was him doing things out of his norm.

"Do you have an ulterior motive, or something?"

You respond, the words spilling out of your lips faster than you can take them back. You know anyone would have accepted his assistance kindly, especially since it was such a rare opportunity. Plus, it wasn't like you were in the right state of mind to be handling anything on your own right now. Unless, you want to be sorting out this same drawer all the way until the end of your work hours.

Yet, you can't help the pegging feeling of wanting to tease this rare slip of his warmer side. Maybe it was just your innate desire of wanting to see someone else get all awkward and share the wish of being swallowed up by a mysterious hole forming from the ground, acting up. 

Especially, after all the tight spots others have been forcing you into—triggering all sort of emotions within you with those unnecessary sympathy. Your flight or fight instincts have been on high alert since morning, you can't help but put others on the edge, just as you are being now.

"I'm just offering you help, where you seem to need help in."

He says in response, the awkwardness that was spelt over his face previously suddenly retracting from his facial expression. It was now replaced by a slight lifted brow and lips that are pressed tightly together, almost as if he was resisting another set of words from coming out of his mouth. Somehow, that seemed to tug at your heartstrings slightly, leaving you the pain of a feeling resembling guilt.

You pause, your shoulders dropping slightly as you let your gaze drift towards your messy cabinet once more. Slowly, you pull out a handful of items from your drawers, passing them to Aizawa without exchanging a single word with him. A simple gesture that showed you were open to his help, your actions speaking what words couldn't convey.

Something about the guilt that was still simmering in the depths of your heart made it impossible for you to figure what words you could say to Aizawa. Anything that would make up for what you should've left unsaid, replacing them with something grateful.

"Clearing out this drawer might declutter my mind."

You start instead, placing the other items you were removing from your drawer onto your desk, forming a new pile beside the papers you have neatly arranged.

You half-expect him to say something else, something in response to your words. Perhaps, even ask what you're trying to declutter off your mind—since everyone is so obsessed with how you're doing recently. Yet, only silence falls between the both of you.

Usually, you would have hated such silence. You were always eager to fill empty spaces between conversations, afraid the silence would only turn conversations awkward. Yet, there was something comforting in a silence like this. 

A silence that doesn't expect anything too much from you. A silence that fills your heart with warmth, like quiet understanding was shared between the both of you. This was the only time you found yourself wishing for the silence to last longer, knowing that no words could compare or fill the soft comfort this silence brought to you.

Before you know it, your once messy drawer was now completely cleared out. The items were now scattered across both you and Aizawa's desks, almost taking up every empty space and corner available on both your desks. You could tell from the slight fold between Aizawa's brows that the clutter on his table was irritating him slightly, yet he made no attempt in mentioning it.

His actions didn't seem to rush you into finding a way to arrange and organise all the items on his desk, back into your drawer. Rather, he turned to you instead and started, his voice soft and steady.

"Clearing out is simply the first step. You need to learn what to let go and dispose of now, or else the drawer will simply clutter itself up once again."

You pause, your gaze running through the items scattered on your table. They ranged from little things that didn't seem to matter as much, to items that held a dear place in your heart. 

For instance, there was a box of paper clips. It was something that didn't seem like much, but still worthy of keeping. You sometimes found yourself needing them but they weren't essential enough that you had it constantly on your desk. 

Then, there was a korean gimimbap magnet keychain which was still in its wrapper—the same condition since your student has gifted you, albeit a little dusty. To others, it seems utterly useless. You barely even use magnets nowadays, and you weren't the one who made the trip to Korea that the souvenir was a sentimental memory you couldn't throw away.

Yet, to you, it was something you absolutely couldn't just toss into the bin without a second glance. It was a gift one of your most problematic students, whom just graduated recently, had given you. Something that caught you by so much surpise, it became absolutely memorable.

To throw it is like throwing that memory of him passing you the keychain, his eyes glassy as he smiled at you. How could you afford to throw away something like that, without hesitation, a memory so precious? It contained something you knew you couldn't rewind to witness once more.

"What if you can't find things to throw away?"

You responded, your voice sounding more vulnerable than you had expected. Somehow, as that question left your lips, it felt like you were no longer just asking for the sake of clearing your drawer. Rather, it felt like you were talking about yourself then—your messy feelings which left unorganised in your heart.

As though sensing the vulnerability in your voice, he seemed to place more thought into his next couple of words. A small pause fell between the two of you, the short quietness placing a slight pressure in your chest—discomfort slowly building up within you. For a moment, you wondered if you should take back your question, regret about letting vulnerability slip, piling up within you gradually.

Yet, before you could shake your head and pretend nothing has happened, his words cut through the silence, breaking the discomfort forming within you temporarily.

"We can always start by identifying what clearly is unnecessary and should be disposed of. For instance,"

He lifted up a plastic jar of chewable gummies, holding it up enough for you to see the label and spot the expiration date printed on it. It was definitely long expired, the date printed was a date from ages ago. The bottle could nearly be considered ancient.

"This bottle. Long expired. You can't eat long expired gummies, can you?"

You pause, a sheepish smile forming across your face as your gaze meets the plastic jar. Reaching out to take hold of the chewable gummies from him, you respond back, your tone soft—almost embrassed,

"I searched Google and it said I could eat expired gummies…So I was planning to keep them for longer and maybe finish them."

Gazing up to meet Aizawa's slight eye lift, he simply gestures your hand—which now held the long expired gummies—to the bin which sat close to both your tables. It was a shared bin which the two of you used to dispose items in the office, something that you established on your own.

You had brought a black basket, filled with a plastic bag, one day to the office, calling it your own personal trash can. The original trash bin in the office had been placed too far from your desk, making it inconvenient to throw trash. Hence, you had decided to establish your own personal bin.

However, as time passed, you came to realise you barely threw any trash—which probably explains your hoarder tendencies and why your drawer now needed an organisation. Hence, you decided to expand your generosity towards Aizawa as well, placing the bin between the both of us.

Now, turning your attention back towards the expired gummies—which you reluctantly loosened your grip over, dropping the jar into the bin. You could hear it land with a soft thud, before Aizawa passes you the next item.

"Sometimes, you'll keep thinking there's a need to keep everything to yourself, that it is unnecessary to let it out now. However, the longer you keep it, it won't become any more productive."

His next few sentences, speaks to you, making you perk up. Slowly, as you take the next item which he had sourced out for you to throw away—a tied up, half used packet of instant noodle seasoning—you start wondering if the both of you were actually still talking about organisation, or it has silently became something else.

Yet, from the expression on Aizawa's face, it was hard to tell that he was silently hinting towards what you were thinking of. He wore no expression that spoke sympathy, or a look that many of those had been giving you. The look of hoping to understand what you were struggling with internally.

Instead, his expressions were just like the same. He almost looks disinterested in the fact that the two of you were stuck trying to organise your drawer. Clearly, he wouldn't have any interest in finding out about your feelings or your struggles after losing your sister either.

Hence, you made no attempt to respond to his words, simply taking the instant noodle seasoning packet from him wordlessly. Neither did he make any further attempt to prompt you to reply, seeming to respect the space the two of you held.

For a moment, the atmosphere remained in this manner. Him passing you new items that were clearly redundant, while you tossed them into the bin one by one. Each time, as you watched the items fill up the bin, somehow it seemed to lift the stones weighing down your heart—slowly, but gradually.

At some point, you could feel your gaze flickering towards Aizawa, a small smile passing your lips, as you notice how genuine he seemed at helping you. You felt your heart soften, almost as if you were ready to face your feelings honestly.

Perhaps, telling at least one person wouldn't hurt. People often say that it's the most easiest way to get over certain emotions is to open up and tell someone. If identifying unnecessary items isn't as hard as you've thought, perhaps it would be the same for those unexplainable thoughts that've been weighing within your heart.

That feeling lasted for a while, making you almost ready to open up. You found yourself parting open your lips, almost ready to unload a part of your emotions to Aizawa. Until, a stubborn wall appeared before you once more.

You found your desire stopping dead in their tracks, as your gaze paused to look at something new Aizawa had handed to you. It was the korean gimimbap keychain that you were thinking about previously. The one that was gifted to you by your most problematic student.

You knew that to anyone, that would've been the most useless thing to remain kept in your drawer. You weren't going to use a keychain anytime soon, after all you weren't planning to hang it on anywhere. You weren't going to use it as a magnet either, you didn't use magnetic surfaces often.

Yet, your heart seemed to harden towards Aizawa once again as you watch him push the object towards your hands once more. Slowly, your mind tells you a new thought, replacing the once hopeful consideration you had.

He wouldn't understand you anyway. Why bother telling it to someone as apathetic as him? The once vulnerable words slowly faded from your lips, as a new sentence took over, your tone having a slight edge as you spoke,

"That item is dear to me. You can't just throw it out like that."

For a moment, you expected Aizawa to argue about it with you, listing down to every possible reason why this keychain wouldn't cause you any harm if you threw it. After all, he seemed like the oddly logical and convincing type. The type that would explain things into great detail, just to convince you that his opinion is logical and reasonable, and why yours is stubborn.

Yet, you found your eyes slowly widening in surprise, as he simply drops the keychain into your drawer. None of his facial muscles seemed to move in a way that made you think he was silently judging your opinion, even if he may have perhaps felt differently earlier.

Perhaps skeptical, wondering if you were simply dreaming about this exact scenario in your head right now, you can't help but ask audibly,

"You— You aren't going to question me? Why I refused to throw the keychain?"

The question sounds almost stupid coming from your lips, it's almost as if you were asking the obvious. Yet, your amusement holds you back from attempting to take it back.

"I'm sure you have your own reasons for not wanting to throw it away."

You could feel a lump slowly forming at the back of your throat, as you hear his words. Blinking furiously for a second, determined to not let your eyes turn watery, you turn your face away from him.

If it were not for the fact that you were with Aizawa right now, you would've made a run for the toilet immediately. But because it was Aizawa, you felt assured enough that he wouldn't pry into this moment of vulnerability of yours, even if you made the low effort attempt of turning your face away.

After all, as much as he was going out of his way to help organise your drawer today, you were certain that didn't mean he would attempt to overstep his boundaries and dig into where you're vulnerable at. Though, a part of you can't help but wonder why he would go out of his way to show this bit of kindness towards you.

"If you're not ready to let go of whatever that is, I don't have the right to force you into doing so."

He continues, almost as if he didn't realise how much impact his words held over your tearducts. You could feel the back of your nose prickling, a sharp pressure building up against your eyes once more. Immediately, you force yourself to let out a few short and awkward laughs—something you always did, whenever you were at your final straw in attempting to not cry.

"You're terrible at reading someone's emotions, are you?"

You respond finally, after laughing for a bit—enough to make Aizawa turn and look at you, one of his brows slightly lifted. This expression, you could tell, was definitely a look of judgement. Something you had expected him to give you earlier on, yet he only showed it to you now.

You don't wait for Aizawa to even give you a response, before he could even open his mouth to speak—perhaps ask you what you were trying to say—you continue on, your words falling out of your lips like a train speeding off the tracks.

"If you're trying to make me cry, you can stop now, because I am on the verge of tears at any moment. It's almost impressive, because I haven't been able to shed a single tear since that day—"

You pause, taking a sharp breath, your gaze meeting Aizawa's eyes once. You take a final look of his facial expressions, taking in the slow realisation that is now dawning across his face, before the details turn blurry from your teary vision.

"But yet, your words are enough to make my heart feel lighter. I feel comforted enough to cry before you."

For once, you find yourself relieved and thankful for the quiet office atmosphere. How no one was sitting in the office with you right now, except for Aizawa. Although, he seemed to have made no motion in attempting to comfort you since your last sentence, a small smile of relief still passes your lips.

For a moment, you don't mind that it's just Aizawa—whom you've always viewed as stoic and boring, one of the worst people to hold a lengthy conversation with—sitting here with you, while tears trickle down your cheeks.

Your heart feels miraculously lighter, as though all the tears had brought a part of your pain along with them as they flowed out of you. But before you could dismiss everything—your crying, the words you had just spoken, and this miraculous feeling—by pretending nothing happened, Aizawa broke the silence.

"It's not a miracle that my words bring you relief. I was simply doing what someone could've done for me years ago."

There was a certain level of heaviness that seemed to be carried along with his words, making your heart drop slightly. You could feel your eyes widening slightly, as you lift your head to look at him.

As much as you felt the urge to ask him questions, to understand more about what he was saying, every part of you held back from doing so. Instead, you replaced those questions with silence that gave him the choice to either speak, or simply leave his words as it was.

To your relief, or not, he seemed to have chosen the first option. Slowly, you could hear the way he took a small breath beside you, before he continued,

"Death…It's not rare in the kind of environment we work for… But, I understand you enough, to know what you might want to hear. And since a part of me silently wished someone had forced me to do this previously, I would hear you out if there's anything you want to talk about."

His tone sounded heavy, just like before, but there was now a slight hint of something you couldn't quite name. Something that no longer sank your heart simply. It was the kind of tone that filled you with a slight rush of warmth. The kind that made you feel like perhaps, you weren't as alone as you thought you were.

"You would hear me out, you say?"

You start, your tone warm and bubbly as you grin at him. It's been a while since you've carried such lightness and warmth in the words you spoke. The kind of lightness that you didn't have to force out, in order to maintain it exactly as it was. 

Maybe that was why people often said that it was better to share your burdens with someone else, especially someone else who is willing to listen and understand you. There's some sort of sweetness that can be felt behind shared grief.

"Just— Don't bother me too much."

Aizawa replies, his gaze turning towards you. Although there was a hint of obvious resignation in his voice, that it even reflected in the tired gaze of his eyes, you can't help but notice the slight tug on the corners of his lips. That small hint of emotion that betrayed everything that he was attempting to do, to keep up his slightly unbothered facade.

masterlist | taglist

tagged: @riykya

If not for the fact that he had worn this exact suit to Touya's funeral, maybe he would've forgotten when was the last time he had taken it out of the closet. It's edges remained uncrinkled, completely straightened, a sign that it has been left untouched until now.

Unbuttoning the white blouse, Shoto slipped it onto his broad shoulders, the cold fabric brushing against his skin lightly. Staring into the mirror in his bathroom, his fingers shifted to adjust the collar. It clearly appeared like a good fit, yet somehow the fabric seemed to faintly squeeze against his neck—it felt suffocating to be in a suit like this.

It's only the illusion of your brain. Shoto thought to himself, tucking his arms into the dark coloured blazer next. There seemed to be white specks of dust lining the edges of the blazer, but not that it mattered as much to Shoto. There wasn't anyone who would nitpick about him not using a lint roller to clean his blazer anymore. Neither would there be anyone who would be observant enough to care about what was attaching itself to his blazer either.

A slight buzz causes Shoto's attention to be brought from his reflection in the bathroom mirror, to his phone which sat on his bedside table. The screen was lighted up, with the phone slightly vibrating—a sign that someone was calling him.

Walking over calmly, with no hurry in his steps, he reached over to his phone. There was only two reasons his phone would be vibrating this early in the morning. One, it was the dispatch system alerting him about a criminal who could be so considerate to make heroes start work as early into the morning. Two, it was simply his mother calling in to check up on him.

It has been become a habit of Shoto's for him and his mother to exchange conversations, whether through the phone or via letters, even after she had been discharged from the hospital. Part of the reason was to ease the worries Shoto's mother would have about him. It was natural for a mother to worry about her son, especially when they no longer lived together and the only few times she could see him was either through the screen, or during family reunions. Another part of the reason was so that Shoto could be updated on how the rest of his family members were doing.

However, this time, the screen showed something completely different. It wasn't either of the two possibilities he had expected. Rather, it was an unknown caller ID.

Scrunching up his eyebrows in confusion, Shoto swiped to pick up the call. Although it was probably advisable for him to not pick up unknown numbers, especially since it could place a threat, it was odd to leave it hanging as well. Placing his phone speaker close to his ear as he spoke up,

"Hello? Shoto Todoroki here. How may I help you?"

The other line seemed to remain silent for a second, before he finally picked up faint breathing on the other end—a sign that there was someone on the line and they had heard him.

"Oh, Shoto…It's me, Yn's father…"

Shoto could feel his body stiffen for a moment, his gaze shifting slightly to the clock on his bedside table. He let his gaze pause on the date reflected on the digital clock for a brief moment, almost as if he was expecting a different digit to be reflected on it.

"Yn's father, I see. May I ask what's the matter?"

His voice finally breaks the silence. He forces his gaze away from the digital clock, turning to meet the light rays of sunshine peeking their way into his room through the slight gaps of his blinds. They were reflecting a light shadow across his tatami floor.

"Is it possible for you to pick us up…? Me and Yn's mother got a little lost…trying to find our way to the venue…"

Shoto was about to part open his lips, ready to give a response to your father, until his next set of words poured in through the speaker.

"I'm sorry, son… You know we don't really have anyone else to rely on…"

Instantly, the words vanish from his lips. Instead, Shoto finds himself swallowing slightly—not out of nervousness, but rather, slight detachment.

That was something that had slipped out of your parents' lips often. Especially, while the two of you were still together. After all, back then, everything seemed so promising—promise rings worn on both your fingers, your father and Shoto had been silently drafting up proposal ideas behind your back for a month straight…the marriage was practically in sight.

It had already became a natural habit for them, to call him their son. Yet, it also showed their lingering attachment towards both your relationship—something that Shoto and you had already let go of, yet they're still holding onto the end of that broken thread subconsciously.

Shoto knows he can't blame your parents. However, he can't help but feel disconnected every time your parents address him so endearingly—like he was still part of your family.

This was even more particularly so, because of today's event. It was your wedding. You were getting wedded to someone else, someone who was clearly the opposite of Shoto.

Someone who wasn't a pro-hero, so that they could help you balance out with house chores and whatever gaps you couldn't fill as you busied yourself with pro-hero duties. Back then, you had always thought that since you and Shoto were both pro-heroes, your relationship would've worked out better than any other. After all, you were both in the same job scope, it was easier to understand what each other couldn't commit to and fill each other's gaps.

But that was what both you and Shoto had miscalulated about. Since the both of you worked in the same scope, it meant both of you were busy around the same time. Every time a dispatch call came in, the two of you had to immediately abandon whatever you were working on, for the sake of the world. Even if it meant putting aside the steak you were halfway cooking.

By the time the two of you returned back to the kitchen, you were too tired to even fumble for your cooking apron and resume the half-cooked steak you were making. But if Shoto took over that responsibility, you would claim to feel too guilty, since it was a mess you started. You were a strong believer of finishing what you had started.

Hence, you'd end up tiredly cooking what remains of dinner and sitting down to enjoy dinner with Shoto. Except, every dinner conversation would've went back to evaluating the villians both of you had just dealt with, making none of it feel like a warm and heartfelt dinner.

Of course, that was not the only miscalculations the both of you realised y'all had made. There were many others that you discovered along the way, which made the initial affection and warmth in your relationship turn cold. With that, you had long tossed the thread which strung the both of you together away, ready to move on. If you were to hear your parents call Shoto in such an endearing manner, Shoto can't imagine the disappointment you'd feel inside.

You were never one to make rash decisions after all. You probably contemplated over this wedding a million times. Maybe, you even stressed over making it a perfect event, to the point you barely slept the night before. If you were to hear about your parents still living in the events of the past, it would simply sound like you had made a decision no one was supporting you in. To you, that was the worst nightmare. It was almost equivalent to already failing, even when the outcome hasn't been completed.

"Of course, I don't mind."

Shoto resorts to saying, his tone remaining polite and gentle—something that he found himself using whenever he was addressing older locals in the neighbourhood while patrolling. 

The call soon ended with him and your parents exchanging a few pleasantries. Shoto vaguely remembers them thanking him profusely, perhaps calling him 'son' more than once in those sentences, but truthfully he had started disassociating from the phone call since the moment your parents had addressed him endearingly.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting. He should've expected to hear something like this, even after a long time. After all, your parents had called him out of anyone else. Even as a last resort, he should've seen it coming.

As much as you and Shoto had broken up on good terms, to the point you had invited him to your wedding, it wasn't like the both of you could be close once again like there was nothing that had went down between the both of you. If that was possible, you would've long asked for Shoto to be part of your wedding preparations. His calm and collected mind would've soothed your easily anxious one, either way.

If anything, the both of you had simply regained friend status. Nothing more, nothing less. Sometimes, you'd even only seem to address Shoto like a fellow hero colleague. The once chirpy voice you bore as you called him by his first name was long gone, replaced by the simple professional voice you used in work settings. Alongside with his last name, Todoroki.

That spited Shoto sometimes, in a way that he couldn't quite understand. He liked to reason with his heart that it was because Shoto was your hero name. Didn't it seem more professional to call him by his hero name during work settings, instead of his family name?

Pulling up to the intersection your parents had stated they were lost at, Shoto unlocked his car doors as soon as he spotted your parents heading up to his car through the rearview window. They wore such huge smiles on their faces, just as he had remembered them to have.

If there was one thing he couldn't forget about your parents, it was how they always wore a smile on their face, no matter the situation. It was even more vividly so, considering that he had remembered the day both of you broke the news to your parents, they were still smiling—or at least, attempting to do so. Maybe it was your parents' way of making situations lighter. 

The only thing that seemed to have changed about your parents, was the wrinkles on their face seemed to have multipled. Others would've called it a tell-tale sign of aging, but you perhaps would've just called them smile lines. It was your way of keeping your parents' laments about growing old minimal and making them less worried about growing older in age.

Maybe, it was also your way of reassuring yourself that time passing by quickly was only an illusion of the mind. You had always seemed to hate the idea of your parents growing old and potentially leaving you, either ways. Shoto used to have thought it was because you feared being left alone, until he realised you were capable of doing fine alone too.

Maybe he was the one that wasn't functioning well alone. Even if he thought it would've been all okay. After all, even before meeting you, he was living alone without his family.

But he could tell the difference between him then and him now was stark. Even his mother could possibly pick it up, which may have been the reason why her calling had became more frequent. He had been silently avoiding meeting his mother in person, knowing she would easily pick up on emotional cues like this, yet she could still tell something was amiss through a simple phone call.

Before he had met you, while he was living alone, he could still find ways to keep himself occupied—learning to make his own bowls and utensils to enjoy soba with. But now, he had simply found it hard to stay focused on one activity himself. Sometimes, he would be glancing over at his phone screen more than three times, in less than a minute. It was almost as if he was simply anticipating a dispatch call, anything to keep him moving on his feet.

Though, Shoto has been trying to convince himself he has been improving. Swallowing once more, Shoto glanced up towards his rearview mirror once more, adjusting his blouse collar again. It still felt like it was sitting uncomfortably around his neck, the illusion not fading away, even when his mind has been kept occupied with multiple thoughts racing through his head since your parents' call.

Yet, that inevitable feeling seemed to continue. It's almost as if it was trying to nudge him to realise something. Maybe something like a sign for him to get a new suit, even if he barely wore any suits.

Just as his fingers left his collar, his car door finally swung open, revealing your parents as they slid themselves into the back passenger seat. Upon a closer look, Shoto seemed to have an expression, almost wry, behind their smiles. It was something he had failed to notice earlier from a distance through his rearview mirror.

"Thank you once again, Shoto."

Your mother spoke up, breaking the silence which was only filled with the sounds of shuffling as they shifted into the passenger seat. Your mother's voice was still as warm and sweet as Shoto remembered it to be. It almost felt as though nothing much has changed, until his gaze shifted towards his phone once again.

On his calendar widget, the reminder remained—Yn's wedding. That reminder was enough for the small instinctive smile to twist slightly on his lips. At that moment, Shoto suddenly felt a tinge of guilt for thinking nothing has changed, making him swallow back his response and settle for a brief nod at your parents instead.

"We've been feeling oddly nervous recently. Maybe, that's why we lost our way…anxiety must've muddled our brains…"

Your father later spoke up, the wry smile slowly turning into a bashful one on his face. His cheeks were slightly flushed, the shade close to the pale redness resembling the skin of an apple.

"No worries. It's normal for such a grand event like this to be nerve wrecking for the both of you."

That was the simple response Shoto settled on, fixing his gaze back on the road ahead as he drove out of the intersection, back into the main road. A part of him expected either one of your parents to immediately add on to his words, after all they had always been incredibly chatty whenever he was around—or at least that was what you claimed before.

Your parents particularly loved talking to him. Every time he joined your family dinners, you had claimed that the dinner table would get significantly chattier—with your parents constantly showering Shoto with questions or random stories.

Yet, the car seemed to fall silent after Shoto's words. Your parents seemed to have nothing to add on, or if they did, they were somehow holding back from breaking the silence once more. 

This silence continued on for the rest of the journey, with the GPS occasionally chiming in with turn-by-turn guidances. Initially, Shoto found it odd. He knew that he wasn't alone on the car ride, yet the silence seemed to make it feel that way. But slowly, he found himself getting accustomed to the silence. It seemed to settle his mind with slight peace, without the pressure of having to entertain your parents' words. 

Before he knew it, he was soon arriving at the destination. He could see the figure and shape of the venue you had chosen slowly coming into view from his car windshield. 

It was a beautiful white cathedral. The only thing that contrasted itself from the white architecture, was the colourful stained glass windows which showed various imageries. The venue looked just as you had described your dream wedding venue to be like. 

You had always wanted your wedding to be in cathedral with colourful stained glass windows, even if you weren't religious. It was because you had claimed that if light was to be streaming in through the window, while you exchanged your vows, the photo would turn out extremely beautiful.

It would illuminate a magical gradient of colour into your photos, standing out much more compared to the boring stream of white or orange light streaming in through the windows, as couples exchanged their vows. It was a boring and repetitive sight in wedding photographs to you.

As Shoto was about to turn slightly, ready to inform them that he was soon arriving at the destination, your mother finally broke the silence once more. The words came out of her lips at a speed that nearly made them undecipherable, almost as if she could no longer hold back her words.

"Have you talked to Yn before this wedding at all, Shoto?"

Upon hearing her question, Shoto could feel his wandering thoughts come to a momentary pause. He could only part open his lips a few times, only to realise no coherent words were going to fall out of them, before closing it once more.

"I mean— I figured Yn might consult you for certain things about her wedding. She always could've used an extra set of helping hands… You know how she can get… always worrying her head to the point she barely gets anything done…" 

Your mother continued, seeing that Shoto wasn't responding to her question. Maybe a part of the elaboration was to quickly patch up the misunderstandings that could've been stirred up, based on how she had asked Shoto that question. But, it barely made any difference—to Shoto, at least.

"I'm sure her groom filled in that need of hers, in that aspect."

He finally responds, his words sounding more colder than he had wanted it to be. If there wasn't any tension between Shoto and your parents, he may have built up a wall of tension with your parents now. Especially with how detached his tone seemed to have sounded, almost like it was a topic he didn't want to talk about.

"Ah— Right…"

Your mother immediately responded back, her tone sounding slightly apologetic. The silence that sat between all of you within the car now seemed to have become uncomfortable once more. The effort it had taken for Shoto to get accustomed to the awkward silence, had now became futile—with a simple question, which seemed to rub him off in the slightest wrong way.

Thankfully, the remaining time Shoto had to spend with your parents on the car didn't last much longer, for he had soon parked at a parking space near the venue. 

Once Shoto stepped out of the car, he moved to open the door for your parents. An action that he used to do for your parents—hoping to continually earn their favour and respect—has now became a mere action out of politeness and consideration. In return, Shoto received a simple nod of gratitude from your father and a wry smile that seemed to have crawled its way back onto your mother's lips again.

Closing the door behind your parents, Shoto watched as they walked towards the wedding venue, their backs turned towards him. The small smile he had been unconsciously holding across his lips finally drops, before he tore his gaze away from your parents' disappearing figure towards the cathedral.

He hadn't realised this before while driving, but he found this exact cathedral rather familiar. Pausing close to the steps leading up to the main entrance, Shoto's eyes drifted towards a bush that was filled with peonies. 

"Those are my favourite flowers. When I plan my wedding, I hope that I can decorate the hall with small bouquets of peonies."

Your voice suddenly echoed in his head. For a moment, he had thought you were right next to him, speaking with a warm smile on your lips. But as he turned to search for your figure, it only brought him back to reality—that he was standing before the steps leading up to your wedding venue.

Then, he remembered when you had said those exact words which he had came to his mind. It was during both your patrol duties, where the two of you were working together for. 

If he remembered correctly, it was this exact cathedral that the both of you had walked by that started the conversation of your dream wedding. Shoto remembered the gaze you bore as you spoke then, eyes brimming with pure elation, to the point it seemed like it was reflecting a sky full of stars.

As Shoto recalls your expression and tone, he couldn't help but feel a small smile tug at the corners of his lips. A thought that was similar to what he had spoken aloud to you then, in response to your words, came to his mind—you seemed like a little kid describing their favourite toys.

Now, you were doing exactly what you had dreamed of. Shoto didn't even have to step into the wedding hall to imagine how the venue looked like. He knew that if you somehow found a way to hold your wedding at the exact cathedral you wanted, him stepping into the hall and realising it was decorated by different bundles of peonies wouldn't be too far off from reality either.

You would somehow always find a way to make things go according to your plan, even when you would panic halfway through the procedure. He had no doubt that you'd nail all the details about your dream wedding, exactly down to even the smallest things you had talked about, hoping they'd come alive someday.

If anything, Shoto would only worry whether if by the end of your wedding, would you truly be satisfied and happy with the outcome? He had seen the amount of times you pulled off a plan, exactly as you had imagined it to turn out, but at the end of it all you could go on insisting something was missing from it all.

You were never one who was easily pleased. If you truly were that easy to please, perhaps the both of you would've never broken up. After all, to Shoto there never seemed to be anything deeply wrong about the both of your relationship.

It was only that somedays didn't work out as well as others. The time y'all spent was easily cut short, especially since both of you were pro-heros. On certain date nights outside, you'd run into fans who want both you and Shoto's autographs and pictures. But other than that, the both of you functioned like how any other couple would. 

Yet, that was enough problems for you to find dissatisfaction in the relationship both of you shared. You had claimed you were too tired to constantly pretend those days were nothing, or that two pro-heros couldn't make things work, and even how the both of you were too busy for one another.

Initially, Shoto tried to brush away those complaints of yours, seeing them as in-the-moment frustrations that you wanted to get off your head. However, along the way, he realised that it was because you had made up your mind on something—that you could no longer imagine a future with him inside it. 

Cheers started erupting from the crowd, pulling Shoto away from his thoughts once more. He was now sitted on those wooden benches, commonly seen in a cathedral, among the people you and your groom had invited to the wedding. 

He was witnessing your wedding ceremony spin into action, and he could only hope for himself to stop reflecting back on past memories. After all, as he watched you walk down the aisle, with a bright smile that seemed to cover half of your face, he could tell whatever happened between you and him were simply events of the past.

You were now anticipating towards a new found future with the groom who stood before you, waiting for you with a similar look of joy. There wasn't even a look of doubt on your face, as the both of you exchanged vows, in comparison to the expression you wore on your face everytime you confronted him with new frustrations regarding both your relationship.

"Congratulations on your wedding, Yn."

Shoto found himself mumbling, the words spilling out of his lips as a smile slowly forming across his face. As the words left his mouth, the feeling of the collar of his blouse tightly squeezing his neck seemed to fade away gradually as well.

It was only then, Shoto realised that perhaps all along, his unresolved emotions towards the ending of you and his relationship had been silently suffocating him all along. 

While, it was disappointing to know he couldn't be the groom who stood by your side to form that joy on your face, that responsibility to make you happy no longer lied on him. 

Someone new, that you now call love, will fill those shoes for him. To accomplish whatever new dream you behold, that would make your eyes sparkle like a million stars, together with you. To love you in a way that would make you the happiest wife possible. And to form new and memorable memories with you, memories that you never forget to smile when thinking back upon.

All while, Shoto starts to learn how to love you, in a different way. Even if it was in a manner that his past self would never imagine was possible.

a/n: my first mha fic!! yay!! (pls cut me some slack if I wrote ooc...) divider quotes from your favourite flowers by MICO (because this fic was lowk inspired by it) I actually didn't expect this fic to be 4k ish words long but some writing monster took over my brain and I just KEPT writing (sorry shoto I didn't mean to write 4k words about your suffering...)

tags: @riykya

Even if your job wasn't hard, it was too boring to stay constantly cooped in the mini bookstore that you helped out yet. The only time things got interesting was when regulars visited the store, filling the place with loud cheerful chatters. Other than that, you would usually busy yourself with a book in the bookstore.

Your manager had warned you not to read the books for sale, saying it would make the books no longer in their fresh and new condition, but you still did either way. After all, there was nothing much to do when there wasn't anyone in the store. The only other thing you could do was gaze out to the streets of Xianzhou, watching passerbys.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps shuffling towards your table jolted you out of your thoughts. Lifting your head, you are greeted by the sight of a strange yet intriguing man getting closer to your table.

He seemed to carry this distinguished aura with him. From the steps he took to even his appearance, he was definitely no commoner. After all, you hadn't seen a single person from Xianzhou who bore such long blonde hair and stunning emerald eyes. Even without that huge coffin he carried on his back, he would have stood out among the crowd.

He places a hand on the surface of the table you were sitted gently, causing your breath to catch slightly in your throat. For a moment, you could feel your heart skip a beat, as though he had placed a hand over yours instead of the table.

God. Why are you getting so nervous over the thought of him getting closer? You wondered silently, swallowing as you tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Very carefully, you lifted your gaze to meet his, only to quickly look away before you could take another good look at his emerald green eyes.

"Sorry to bother you. Is this seat occupied?"

He suddenly spoke up, the gentle notes of his voice causing your heart to stutter once again. There was an unmistakable formal mannerism in his choice of words, something that seemed to suit his appearance a lot more than you had expected.

"No—! You can have it!"

You quickly perked up, before he could possibly change his mind—if he was even considering to. For who knows what reason, you also shift your teacup further to your side of the table, even though it wouldn't bother him at all.

Anyone who was observing your movements would definitely be able to pick up how nervous you were behaving. From the way you slowly lifted up your teacup, taking small awkward sips from it, before placing it back down. Even the way you constantly reached up to push strands of hair behind your ear, although they were barely obstructing your view. 

You were being way too nervous. All because a strange yet captivating man was sitting right across you, minding his own business.

Maybe you could make small talk. Anything to distract yourself from being conscious about your actions or behaviour before him. You thought silently, before clearing your throat—just once, in hopes of getting his attention.

Fortunately, it was a success. You watch as he lifted his head from gazing at the menu, his eyes immediately laid on yours. Before your brain could blank out from the way he was looking at you, the words spilled out of your mouth, nearly overlapping one another.

"Do you usually drink tea?"

Your question seemed to cause him to blink slightly, a small look of confusion spelt across his facial features. Your heart was once again throbbing with anxiety, making the thoughts in your head swirl. 

You might've screwed up. That was the stupidest question you could ask a stranger you just met at a tea shop, just because they were sitting opposite you on the same table. He didn't even seem merely interested in holding a conversation with you. 

Yet, you just had to bother him with the stupidest question one could ask.

"I mean-"

You start, trying to recollect your composure and urge the thoughts in your head to stop swirling. You had to find a way to further explain yourself now, so that you wouldn't look like a complete fool in front of him.

However, before you could even start, you heard a small laugh escape his lips. The swirling mess in your head paused temporarily, as you lift your head to look at him. He had one hand capped over his mouth, his fingers slightly covering the slight tilt of his lips. Yet, you could still spy the small lifted corner of his mouth that peeked out from behind his hand.

"Would you like to recommend me something to drink from here?"

He asked shortly, his eyebrows slightly lifted as he gazed at you. You could feel relief fill you, the cloud of panic that had formed in your head before starting to clear up. He had saved you from that awkward interaction!

"Ah yes! I would!"

You respond immediately, a smile immediately brought to your face at his suggestion. You let yourself scoot closer to where he was sitting, so that you could share a menu with him, before you continued happily,

"Do you usually prefer a stronger taste profile for your tea? Or a more mild one?"

He seemed to consider your question seriously for a moment, causing you to smile slightly. You stared fondly at him for a moment, watching as his brows creased slightly in concentration, before he finally spoke up,

"A milder one."

You clap your hands together, as soon as you heard his words. An excited grin replaced the small smile you had previously, causing him to lift his eyebrows slightly in mild curiosity. You probably looked silly right now, though you couldn't care less. Not when the realisation that he shared a similar tea preference as you was making it impossible for you to contain your joy.

"Oh that's great! I prefer my teas that way too! You're in luck, because I have amazing tea recommendations when it comes to milder teas."

You boast slightly, flipping through the menu excitedly. You had each page of the menu memorised, due to how frequent you had visited this tea shop. After all, it was close to the bookshop you worked at, making it the place you would go during breaks or after shifts.

Pointing to an image of a teacup filled to the brim with a light yellow liquid on the top left of the menu, you continue excitedly,

"This is one of the classic mild teas everyone has probably had a taste of before. It's the chinese green tea. If you're looking for a soft and mellow taste, this would be good."

Before he could even take a better glance at what you were pointing at, you quickly point at another image of a similar teacup, but this time filled to the brim with a different liquid. It seemed to have a darker shade of yellow, close to brown. 

"This is another classic option for customers here too. It's the oolong tea. A lot of people enjoy the slightly sweet taste it gives off. Plus, it's easier to taste it's fragrance."

As soon as you finish your sentence, you lift your head to look at him once again. The corners of your mouth remained lifted as you watch him study the menu before the both of you. He seemed to be considering the two options you had given him deeply, his eyes darting between the two visuals with careful consideration in his gaze.

A part of you almost audibly whispered the admiration you had towards how seriously he seemed to treat simple things like this. Thankfully, you held your tongue back in time, as you look away slightly in embarrassment. You let your gaze drift off to other customers in the teashop, watching silently as they enjoy their tea.

"I think I'll get the chinese green tea."

He said finally, after a beat of silence, causing you to turn your head back to immediately meet his gaze. You feel your eyes blink once in surprise, not expecting him to be looking at you as he made his choice. You had expected him to be still looking at the menu, or maybe in the middle of lifting his head slowly to gaze back at you.

But not already looking at you.

Before you could get yourself lost in his gaze once again, you shoot your hand up immediately into the air—high enough to catch the attention of any waiter who worked in the teashop.

Soon enough, the sound of heels could be heard heading straight towards your table. 

"How can I help you, miss?"

The waitress starts. It was a foxian, who seemed to be in her middle 20s. This wasn't the first time you had seen her before. She had worked here for quite a while, always wearing the same attire and small polite smile whenever she served her customers. It was a smile that you learnt to realise was professional, not something that truly reflected her feelings.

You had learnt this before when you seen her arguing with the manager of the teashop, possibly complaining and comparing her pay rate with other waiters in the teashop. Yet, the moment she was called on by another customer, she managed to switch the frown and annoyed crease between her brows into a polite smile.

That switch up caused slight shivers to be sent down your spine. In that moment, you prayed that she would get that pay raise she had been fighting for as well. After all, someone this professional had to be deserving of a good salary.

"Could I get a cup of chinese green tea, please?"

You start, returning her polite smile with a smile of yours. It was something you often did, out of courtesy—or maybe even something trained out from your mother. As a child raised in the chinese household, you were taught since young to return the same amount of politeness a waiter gave you.

Which meant that if the waiter treated you rudely, it wouldn't be expected of you to remain friendly as well. Though, you never had the guts to be rude to a waiter, especially since these were the people who were preparing the food you would consume.

"Of course. I'll get it for you soon."

The waitress responds back, the smile remaining on her face, at least until she turned her back on you. You catch yourself imagining the smile on her lips dropping to a straight emotionless expression, as she walked to the back of the kitchen. Even if you couldn't quite tell what emotion she was making on her face, your imagination seemed to fill in the blanks for you—causing you to stifle a small laugh.

The small shake in your shoulders from your stifled laughter seemed to cause the blonde stranger's gaze to shift slightly towards you, possibly out of curiosity. For a moment, you find yourself holding your breath—almost subconsciously, as you catch his gaze once more.

"Sorry— I come here pretty often and believe it or not, that waitress changes her facial expressions really quickly."

You start, gesturing towards the waitress that had long disappeared into the back of the kitchen. Unknowingly, a small smile forms across your lips as you watch his gaze follow the gesture of your hand. There was a slight glint of curiosity which seemed to follow his stare, making you feel the need to elaborate further.

"The last time I came here, she was arguing at the back with the manager. Though, in the next second, I caught her smiling and attending to a customer professionally."

In response to your words, he simply gave you a small nod. You watch, slightly disappointed at his lack of response, as the faint glimmer of curiosity seemed to have faded from his gaze. Perhaps his queries were answered. Or maybe, he wasn't even interested to hear about your elaboration in the first place. You had probably given him extraneous details he wasn't asking for. 

You could feel the initial anticipation you had within you—the hopes of wanting to further knowing him and him actually being interested in you—slowly losing strength. Initially, you had held out hope that he was open to conversing with you. After all, the initiatives he took thus far seemed to say so.

He had allowed you to recommend a cup of tea. He had chose to sit at your table, out of all tables. Yet, right now, you were starting to second guess if you were simply holding out too much hope for a stranger.

A stranger you barely knew, but found interest in. After all, who wouldn't? He had such beautiful long blonde hair—one that would've caught any locals attention from afar. It was the kind that glimmered under the afternoon sun, almost similar to the breathtaking sight of sunlight reflecting against the lake surfaces. 

But, he was also a stranger that probably held out his reservations towards you. The deafening silence that was starting to build up between the both of you, was starting to make this realisation even clearer to you. Even the proximity you shared with him from sitting next to him, wasn't making anything better. Whoever had once said that intimacy closes the distance between two people had probably lied.

Finishing the last drop of your tea, you start thinking of a polite way to excuse yourself from this table. It was better to take your leave now, then to continue bearing through the awkward silence—a silence that you thought you could break.

After all, maybe he wanted you to leave this table soon as well. He probably only shared a table with you, simply because it was nearest to the shop entrance. Or maybe, it was just the first one he had laid eyes on.

Nothing too special.

Just as you have parted open your lips to speak, with the perfect excuse on the tip of your tongue now, he suddenly spoke up. For a moment, you wondered if your ears were playing tricks on you. Something made up from the final pieces of hope you were holding out in your heart.

There was no mistaking it though. It was his voice. A gentle and calm voice, paired with an eloquent way of speaking. 

"Sorry, if you don't mind, could I treat that wound you have on your hand?"

As his words register in your head, you take a slow pause, your gaze drifting from his face to the wound that was on your hand. It was a small paper cut wound, one that you had accidentally inflicted upon yourself just now, during work.

It was also the wound that had made you decide to take a quick tea break, hoping to relieve your brain from constantly being overwhelmed by different thoughts. After all, if not for the fact that your brain was distracted, you wouldn't have quickly slid your hand across the book edges, causing the paper to cut your hand. 

"It doesn't seem like you disinfected the wound yet."

It was just as he had said, you hadn't disinfected the wound yet. You had thought it was a simple minor cut, even though it hurts, it was probably minor enough to be ignored. Yet, even such a minor cut caught his attention.

"I didn't think it was necessary."

You responded simply, a lingering tone of stubborness in your voice, as you held out your hand for him. You can't help but tense up slightly, as you feel his fingers wrap gently around your wrist. Even his touch resembled the way he carried himself—gentle, calm and dignified. 

He was basically the opposite of you. You were clearly jittery and careless, considering you got yourself a paper cut by accident, in the first place. Even right now, as he drew his face close to your wound to inspect it closer, your heartbeat can't help but fall into an obvious mess. It was hard to remain unflustered when you could feel his soft and warm breath slightly brushing against the skin of your hand each time he exhaled.

"This might hurt slightly."

He says softly, before whipping out a tube of ointment. Slowly, he squeezed a little of the ointment onto your wound, before spreading it gently across your skin with his index finger. 

You could feel a slight sting against your wound as the ointment came into contact with your wound. Yet, your desire to not be seen weak towards pain in front of him, caused you to simply grit your teeth silently and hold back from wincing.

Even still, you could feel his touch on your wound soften slightly, as though he could sense the slight pain you were holding back from showing. Looking away, you had hoped to hide the small wave of heat that was hitting your cheeks from his gaze. You can't deny it, his small act of consideration and attention to detail, was enough to make your heart stutter once more. 

With your unwounded hand cupping one side of your cheek, you decide to turn back towards him. As you turn around, he had just finished applying anointment to your wound. Keeping a gentle, but firm grasp on your wrist still, he pulled out a clean linen cloth next. 

Carefully, he gently lifts your hand, measuring the amount of cloth needed to properly dress your wound. He tears off a small piece of the cloth, before finally spreading the remaining underneath your palm and laying your hand back down. 

"I'll dress your wound next. You can leave the dressing on for not more than a few hours."

He says, removing his grasps around your wrist as he takes the small piece of cloth that he had just torn. Before you could even wrap your head around what he was doing, he held the torn piece of cloth over your empty tea cup and started pouring his cup of chinese green tea over it, until the cloth was soaked with chinese green tea. 

The realisation dawned on you, as he finally laid the soaked piece of cloth over your wound, before finally dressing your wound. He was making a tea dressing for your wound. 

This probably made him being an outworldly stranger more obvious to you, especially since using tea to dress wounds wasn't a common method among medical practioners in the Xianzhou Luofu. While, it was definitely a recognised method for dressing wounds, the use of tea leaves was more commonly used for food than medical purposes.

"If you don't mind me asking, where do you come from?"

The question spills out of your lips, before you can stop yourself. For a moment, you watch as his movements come to still. He seems to freeze, albeit for a quick second, before he finishes the final touches on treating your wound. If you blinked in that second, perhaps you wouldn't even have noticed his stillness.

"That's not something you should concern yourself with. After all, this is probably the last time you'll ever meet me."

He finally responds, pulling his hand away from your wrist as he meets your gaze. His gaze seemed to lack warmth in them, in comparison to his touch against your wound previously. If it wasn't clear enough before that he had no intention of closing the distance between the two of you previously, his gaze now spoke what was unsaid.

With that, he straightened his back and started packing up his items. You could tell he wasn't expecting you to give him a response, especially since he was so adamant about drawing a line between the both of you. You were nothing more than a stranger with a wound he wanted to treat.

"If you don't mind, I'll be taking my leave now."

With that, he stood up, taking with him everything but the cup of tea you had recommended to him. Also the cup of tea he had used, perhaps, solely for the purpose of treating your wound.

If he had left you simply with that sentence, you probably would've not made your next move. Yet, before he turns to leave, he meets your gaze—just one more time—and starts,

"You can finish my cup of tea, if you like. I made sure to leave it in a condition that is still safe to consume."

Blinking slightly, you drop your gaze towards his cup of tea. Perhaps, this could be just your wishful thinking, but he had asked for your recommendation, so that the cup of tea he had left was something you still enjoyed. Perhaps, it was just your wishful thinking, but he hadn't dipped the torn piece of cloth into his cup of tea, just so that you could still drink it.

What a waste. 

You thought, taking his cup of tea and downing the liquid in his cup in one gulp. 

What a waste. He didn't even get to taste good tea.

You thought, standing up as you walked briskly towards the counter. Quickly, you asked for a tin of chinese green tea leaves and bought it, before you could hesitate once more.

What a waste. He was so sure he would never meet you again, he had never intended to form any relations with you.

You thought, grabbing nothing with you but the tin of tea leaves you had just bought, as you ran after his disappearing figure. He had already walked quite a distance, towards the dock, while you were getting those tea leaves. 

But, in that moment, the thought of not being able to leave him one final gift, if this was truly your last time meeting him, overshadowed your fear of never being able to catch up to him. Your brain could barely process what you were doing, or where you were moving towards, as your legs kept moving to fulfill the only purpose that was on your mind now—to pass him the tea leaves, as a parting gift.

Finally, you had caught up to his figure. He had his back turned towards you before, yet the moment your footsteps slowed to a pause before him, he happened to turn and meet your gaze. It was probably the sound of your approaching footsteps that had instinctively made him turn to greet you.

Your breaths came out in heavy pants, your cheeks were slightly flushed—in this situation, you would have wanted to take a second to catch your breath before speaking. 

Yet, you didn't. 

Before you can hesitate once more, the words come spilling out of your lips and your hands stretch out to pass him the tin of tea leaves.

"Take this. You can take it as a parting gift. A form of thank you."

He seemed to be taken aback by your actions. You could tell. From the slightly widened eyes, his body stilling slightly before he finally took the tin from your hands. It was enough to tell you that he wasn't expecting you to run after him or gift him something in return.

Perhaps, it was more of a selfish move on your part than a gift filled with your gratitude. After all, there was no denying that a part of you wished that he would use those tea leaves remembering the encounter you both shared.

He smiles slightly, after a beat of silence. You definitely felt a wave of warmth fill your stomach as you watch the smile spread across his lips. You can't help but feel the corners of your lips tug up as well, returning his smile with another one of yours—one that was filled with more warmth and endearment than his.

"Thank you."

He says softly, nodding once in your direction before he turns and boards the starskiff that had just arrived by the dock. It was a simple word of thanksgiving, but you could tell there was a clear difference from the way he expressed it, compared to his words before.

The formality in his tone seemed to have disappeared. His voice had sounded a lot more warmer than you had remembered it to be. Because of this, even as you watched his starskiff disappear into a far distance, you found yourself leaving the dock with overflowing joy that you hadn't felt in a long time.

A certain amount of joy that was enough to make you feel that the mudanity you had been feeling from your regular schedule, didn't seem to matter as much anymore.

A/N ; yay we're finally done with this fic (it has been sitting in my drafts since 27 august 2025) so yes, I've been slowly updating it bit by bit until now LOLS (it's finally getting to meet public attention) lwk icl this might be a bad characterisation of luocha written purely on delusion & driven by the desire of having luocha surface back in hsr plot (im not accepting the fact that my guy is just reportedly thrown into prison...💔 #freeluocha) ANYWAYS hope y'all enjoyed this (if not, I'll just live laugh love...yay...!!)

tags: @riykya