viv

instead you find a man who looks exhausted, who has ink on his fingers and a ledger tucked under his arm, who stands with the rigid posture of someone holding himself together through sheer will. there is still road dust on his coat, like he came straight from a meeting in the city without stopping to change.

after the short introduction you exchange, he immediately tells you of your charge and warns you that his sister has gone through seven governesses in two years.

mei xia is twelve years old and has not smiled in so long her brother can’t remember what it looks like. lord caleb tells you he doesn't know what he is doing wrong but everything is clearly wrong and he is failing her.

he says this last part quietly, shame coloring his features.

your predecessors all left. some in tears, some in fury, one simply vanished in the middle of the night, giving up her wages to escape.

no one wants to teach a child the county whispers about. she is disturbed, they say, unmanageable and possibly dangerous.

but you need this position desperately.

your father died eight months ago. 

the illness took him slowly, ate through what little money you had left on physicians who could do nothing. his friends, the ones who dined at your table when he was wealthy, vanished when the money did.

some of their sons appeared afterward, not even waiting for you to grieve properly, and made offers that had nothing to do with marriage. you chose being a governess in a household with a supposedly mad child over every one of those offers.

lord caleb does not send for a servant, he leads you to the schoolroom himself. he tells you a bit about the household and you notice the way his jaw tightens when he mentions his sister's name.

he loves her, that much is clear.

he is also terrified he is losing her.

mei is waiting in the schoolroom with her arms crossed and murder in her eyes.

she is small for a child of twelve and beautiful like her brother. her dress is expensive silk but wrinkled, like she dressed herself and no one dared correct her. her hair is pulled back severely. everything about her screams control except her eyes.

they are purple like her brother's, and where caleb's eyes hold despair and exhaustion, mei's are wild with grief and rage, and what you think is fear.

she doesn't acknowledge you nor does she look at her brother.

caleb introduces you anyway, his voice gentle. he tells mei he hopes she'll give you a chance. he knows things have been difficult but he needs her to try.

mei stares out the window as if he hasn't spoken at all.

you see the moment it breaks him, the way his shoulders curve inward just slightly, how he reaches toward her and then stops himself, hand falling uselessly to his side. he has done this before and he knows she won't accept his touch.

"i have to return to linkon tomorrow," he says quietly. "i'll write to you like always."

mei's jaw tightens but she says nothing.

caleb looks at you then, and you see the silent plea in his violet eyes.

save her, please, i don't know how but please try.

then he is gone.

you are left standing in the silent schoolroom with a child who won't look at you and a task that feels impossible.

your life as mei xia's governess begins.

she ignores you for five days straight.

she doesn't touch the books you set out, respond to your questions, nor eat the meals brought to the schoolroom unless you leave the room entirely.

you don't force her. 

you just show up every morning, sit at the desk. read aloud from whatever book you brought. talk to her even when she pretends you don't exist.

on the sixth day, you find her trying to pick the lock on the schoolroom door that leads towards the gardens with a hairpin.

you don't scold her, instead you sit on the floor beside the door and pull out a hairpin of your own.

"the trick is to feel for the mechanism," you say quietly, demonstrating. "there, like that."

mei stares at you for the first time since you arrived, her brows furrowed.

you hand her a different pin and show her the angle. she tries again and the lock clicks open.

"why would you teach me that?" her voice is hoarse from disuse.

"because sometimes we need to know we can leave," you say. "even if we choose to stay."

she doesn't speak again for the rest of the day but the next morning she is sitting at the desk when you arrive. waiting.

you don't mention it and simply open the first book and begin to read aloud.

she still doesn't participate, but she listens.

it is a start.

the breakthrough comes three weeks later.

it is the anniversary of the accident, the day caleb and mei's parents died three years ago. 

you find mei in the garden at dawn, standing in front of two stone markers. she is still in her nightgown, barefoot in the frost-covered grass. she is not crying. she is just standing there, frozen, like if she doesn't move then time won't move either and she won't have to face another year without them.

you don't ask what she is doing, you simply walk up beside her and stand in the silence.

minutes pass and the sun rises higher, you can see your breath in the cold air.

"he promised he'd be here," mei says finally, her voice is small and broken. "caleb. he promised he'd come home for today, but there was a meeting in linkon he couldn't miss. he sent a letter instead."

she pulls a crumpled paper from her nightgown pocket.

"he's always somewhere else," mei continues, and now there is anger threading through the grief. "always at some warehouse or trading house or on some road between here and linkon. always writing letters instead of being here. mother and father died and he left me, he just left."

"he had to return to his business," you say gently.

"he didn't have to, he chose to." mei's hands are fists at her sides. "he could've stayed here for today, but he didn't want to. he didn't want to stay with me."

"that isn't true."

"then why does he keep leaving?" her voice breaks,"everyone leaves. mother and father died. caleb goes away for weeks and months. the governesses all run away. everyone leaves and i'm always alone."

your hear breaks at the devastation in her voice.

"i'm not going anywhere," you tell her.

"you will," mei says flatly, and she sounds so much older than twelve. "everyone does."

"i have nowhere else to go," you say, and it is honest enough that mei turns to look at you fully. "i have no family, no home, and no prospects. this position is all i have so no, i'm not leaving. you're stuck with me."

"you promise?" she asks, and you see the hope and fear in her eyes.

you know you should not make promises you cannot guarantee, but this child needs something to hold onto.

"i promise."

mei's face crumples. 

she throws herself into your arms and sobs. you sink to your knees in the frost-covered grass and hold her while she cries for her parents, for her absent brother, for the loneliness that has been eating her alive for three years.

when the sobs finally subside into hiccups, mei pulls back just enough to look at you.

"i miss them," she whispers. "i miss them so much and no one will let me talk about them. the servants get sad. caleb gets this look on his face like i'm hurting him. everyone wants me to stop being sad but i can't. i can't."

"then don't," you say simply. "be sad. be angry. feel whatever you need to feel. i'll sit with you through all of it."

mei stares at you like you have said something revolutionary.

"really?"

"really."

she hugs you again, tighter this time. and when you both finally go back inside, her small hand is clutching yours like a lifeline.

after that, everything changes.

mei talks to you now. 

about her parents and her lessons and the book she is reading and everything and nothing. she does her work, eats her meals, and laughs sometimes, a sound so unexpected that the first time you hear it you nearly drop the book you're holding.

the household staff notice.

mrs. jiang, the housekeeper, starts bringing tea to the schoolroom without being asked, the expensive kind from the earl's private stock, with small cakes she claims are "leftovers from the kitchen that would just go to waste."

liam, the butler, stops you in the corridor one morning.

"the young miss seems much improved," he tells you. "the staff are grateful, miss. it has been difficult, seeing her suffer so."

you don't know what to say to that so you tell him that you are just the governess and you are just doing your job.

but liam smiles, small and genuine. 

"you are good for her and for this household. we're glad you stayed."

annie, one of the younger maids, is more direct. she appears in the schoolroom one afternoon with fresh flowers for the desk.

"from the garden," she says cheerfully. "mrs. jiang said you might like them. we all think you're lovely, miss. the way you are with little miss mei. she adores you, anyone can see it."

you start to understand that you have been accepted here, absorbed into this household and the knowledge makes your chest feel warm and tight at the same time.

these people care about mei, and because you care about mei, they care about you.

it is the closest thing to family you have had since your father died.

caleb returns home six weeks later.

you are in the garden with mei, working on botany lessons, when you hear the commotion. servants rushing toward the front of the estate. mei's head snaps up.

"caleb," she breathes, and then she is running.

you follow more slowly, not wanting to intrude on their reunion, but when you round the corner to the front drive you stop.

caleb xia is stepping down from his carriage, still in his city clothes, tired from the road. and mei has launched herself at him with such force that he staggers backward, laughing as he catches her.

laughing.

you have never heard him laugh before. it transforms his entire face, makes him look younger, less burdened. he is swinging mei around like she weighs nothing, and she is giggling, and for a moment they are just a brother and a sister who have missed each other desperately.

when caleb sets mei down, his hands on her shoulders, you see him look at her. taking in the color in her cheeks, the light in her eyes, the fact that she is smiling at him.

"you look well," he says, and his voice is rough with emotion.

"i'm well," mei replies,"i have been doing my lessons and reading and…" she stops, turns as though looking for someone until her eyes land on you, standing half-hidden by the garden hedge. "come here, miss."

you should not, this is a family moment, but mei is gesturing insistently and now caleb is looking at you too.

you walk forward on unsteady legs.

caleb's eyes find yours and you find yourself breathless at what's in them. he is looking at you like you have given him back something precious beyond measure.

"my lord," you say quietly, dropping into a curtsy. "welcome home."

"you did this," it isn't a question. "you brought her back."

"i did nothing, mei did the work herself."

"she did the work because you gave her a reason to." a pause. "i don't know how to thank you."

"you don't need to thank me. this is my position, my duty."

"it's more than that," he says quietly. "and we both know it."

you are acutely aware of mei watching you both with bright, curious eyes.

you step back to create a proper distance.

"i should return to the schoolroom, i need to prepare for tomorrow's lessons."

you flee before he can respond.

behind you, you hear mei's voice, excited and chattering, telling her brother everything she's learned in the past six weeks. and underneath it, barely audible, you hear caleb's response.

"tell me about her, what is she like?"

you keep walking, but you hear mei's answer anyway.

"she's wonderful and the best person in the whole world. i love her."

and caleb's soft reply. 

"i can see why."

caleb stays for four days before returning to linkon.

four days during which he finds reasons to visit the schoolroom that have nothing to do with checking on mei's progress.

the first time, he brings a book from his library. a natural history text with beautiful illustrations that he thought might be useful for lessons. he stays for an hour, sitting in the corner while you teach, watching with an intensity that makes your hands unsteady when you turn the pages.

the second time, he arrives during mei's drawing lesson. she is sketching the garden from the window. caleb stands behind her chair, offering gentle advice, his hand covering hers to show her how to angle the pencil for shading. then he moves to where you are sitting, correcting arithmetic problems from yesterday.

"may i?" he asks quietly, gesturing to the empty chair beside you.

you nod because you can't trust your voice.

he sits close enough that you can smell the soap he uses, close enough that when he leans over to look at mei's work, his shoulder brushes yours.

"she's improved remarkably," he murmurs. "in everything. her penmanship, her mathematics, even her watercolors. how did you do it?"

"i did nothing. i simply gave her time and patience."

"the others didn't."

"then they were foolish." you keep your eyes on the papers in front of you. "miss mei is brilliant, she just needed someone to see it."

"you see her," caleb says. "really see her. not the grief or the anger or the difficulty. just her."

you do look at him then, it is a mistake.

he is watching you with an expression that is far too open, far too warm. 

"someone needed to," you say quietly.

"i should have been the one to…" he stops. his jaw tightens. "i failed her. left her alone in this house with her grief and expected her to simply carry on."

"you did what you thought was right. you had duties and responsibilities."

"i had a sister who needed me more than any business in linkon did."

the pain in his voice makes you brave enough to do something reckless. you reach out and touch his hand where it rests on the table, just briefly, barely a touch at all.

"you're here now," you say. "that's what matters."

his hand turns under yours, catching your fingers for just a moment. his thumb brushes over your knuckles once—so gentle it might be accidental, except for the way his breath catches.

then mei calls out asking for help with her drawing and you both spring apart.

the third visit, he comes after dinner when mei is already asleep.

you are in the schoolroom, preparing lessons for the next week. you don't hear him approach until he speaks from the doorway.

"you work too hard."

you startle, nearly knocking over the inkwell. 

"my lord. i didn't hear you."

"caleb," he says, stepping into the room. "please. when it's just us, just caleb."

"that wouldn't be appropriate."

"nothing about this is appropriate." he gestures vaguely between you. "and yet."

you don't ask what he means by this, you're not certain you want to know.

"mei's asleep?" he asks.

"yes. she asked about you before bed. she wanted to know when you'd come home again."

guilt crosses his face.

"i return to linkon tomorrow and be gone for at least three weeks."

"she'll miss you."

"will she?" the question isn't rhetorical, he genuinely seems uncertain.

"desperately. she counts the days between your letters. she has every single one you've ever sent her in a box under her bed."

caleb's eyes close briefly. 

"i didn't know that."

"she loves you. she's just afraid you won't come back, like your parents didn't come back."

"i always come back."

"but she doesn't know that, every time you leave, she's terrified it's the last time."

caleb sinks into one of the chairs, suddenly looking exhausted. there is ink on his fingers from the correspondence he was writing in his study.

"tell me what to do," he says quietly. "how do i fix this?"

you set down your pen, move to sit in the chair across from him.

"write to her more, not just the formal letters about trade and your hopes that she is well. write about small things. what you ate for breakfast, the book you're reading. the terrible joke one of your clerks told, let her see that you're alive and real, not just words on a page."

"i can do that."

"and when you come home, spend time with her. do not just check that she's doing her lessons, play games with her, walk with her in the garden. let her see that you want to be here with her."

"i do want to be here." his eyes find yours. "more than you know."

there is weight in those words that has nothing to do with mei.

"you should tell her that," you say, though your voice comes out softer than you intended.

"i'm not good at this, at talking about feelings. our father was a reserved man. i was taught to be stoic and controlled. i don't know how to be anything else."

"mei doesn't need you to be perfect, she just needs you to be her brother."

"and what do you need?"

the question catches you off guard. 

"my lord..."

"caleb."

"i don't understand what you're asking."

"do you like it here? at xia estate? are you happy?"

happy. 

what a strange word. 

you have not thought about happiness in months since before your father died, since before the creditors came, and since before you had to choose between this position and the alternatives that made your skin crawl.

but here, in this schoolroom, with mei's laughter during lessons and the household staff's kindness and this man…

"yes," you admit, your voice small. "i'm happy here."

caleb’s expression softens. 

"good. that's…good."

silence falls, comfortable but charged with something neither of you will name.

"i should go," caleb says finally, though he doesn't move. "let you finish your work."

"yes. you should."

neither of you moves.

"she speaks about you constantly," caleb says quietly. "in her letters. every single one. miss did this, she said that, she's so clever and kind. i thought perhaps she was exaggerating because she's been through so many governesses and desperately wants one to stay."

"i can see that now." he stands slowly. "when i'm away, at my desk in linkon, worrying about her, it helps to know you're here and that she isn't alone."

"she'll never be alone. i promised her that."

"and do you keep your promises?"

always. 

"yes."

"good." caleb moves toward the door but stops. "thank you for being here, for caring about her. for…"

he stops, his eyes search your face like he's trying to memorize it.

"for everything," he finishes quietly.

then he is gone.

you sit in the empty schoolroom for a long time after, staring at the papers in front of you without seeing them.

you are in so much trouble.

caleb leaves the next morning.

mei cries when she says goodbye but not the violent, desperate sobs from before. these are quieter tears, sad but not hopeless.

"you will write?" she asks, clinging to his coat.

"every week, i promise." 

"and you'll come home for the harvest festival?"

"yes. in two months."

"that's forever."

"it will pass quickly."

mei pulls back. looks up at him with those too-knowing eyes that children sometimes have.

"do you like her?" she asks.

caleb goes very still. 

"of course i like her. she's an excellent governess."

"no. i mean do you like her. the way papa liked mama."

you are standing far enough away to give them privacy but close enough to hear every word, your face burns.

"mei…"

"because i think you do. you look at her the way papa used to look at mama, like she's the most important person in the room."

"that's not…i don't…" caleb seems at a loss and then he sighs. he kneels down so he is eye level with his sister. "even if i did, it wouldn't matter. she's your governess and i'm an earl. there are rules about these things."

"rules are stupid."

"perhaps, but they exist regardless."

mei considers this with the seriousness of a twelve-year-old who has decided adults are irrational.

"if there were no rules, would you marry her?"

you don't breathe and try to pretend that your attention is elsewhere, but you feel caleb’s gaze on you.

"yes," he says quietly. "i would."

then he stands, kisses mei's forehead, and walks to his carriage.

he doesn't look back as it pulls away.

but you feel the weight of that confession for days afterward.

⚜ a/n: this was originally a very convoluted mix of jane eyre x atonement but i decided to just remove most of the heavy angst and just stick with a simpler plot. i'm sorry if my writing is a bit off, i'm suffering from a really bad case of writer's block. i wish i would get over it soon because there's so so much stuff that i need to finish (warlord sylus, let the light in, spring song, not to mention the caleb fics i planned for june, and the rest of the arranged marriage fics😭). but i'm really grateful for all all the love, patience, and support from you guys.

➵ yes, there will be a final part to this, i plan to post it around the third week of june, hopefully.

⚜ taglist: @seraphineash, @loreleis-world, @kingraspberry12-blog, @tinuvieloflemuria (for permanent tags, please send an ask so i can keep track)

➵ likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated. love you all and thank you so much for reading!💜

and whether they are blind to your feelings, consumed in their quest to reunite with mc, or simply incapable of truly seeing you, they’ll never choose you.

still, you remain, tethered to their side through every heartbreak.

but when you find out your cycle of reincarnation is finally ending, you keep it to yourself. is it selfish? perhaps. but your heart is weary, your love is stretched thin, and you know that if your devotion was never returned before, it never will be.

so when you finally slip away—cradled in their arms during a mission, surrendering your soul to the ocean at a seamoon ceremony, or resting among a field of datura flowers—they mourn you. of course they do. tears will fill their eyes as they whisper your name into the silence.

but some part of them knows you’ll come back.

you always do.

they’re certain you’ll return just as you always have, and that soon enough you’ll be smiling beside them again, teasing them like nothings changed.

you always return as yourself—changed in small ways, perhaps, but still marked by the beauty spot beneath your eye or the gentle brown of your gaze.

your face may shift with each timeline, but the faint scar along your arm from protecting him from wanderers or the wound over your heart always remains.

it’s all a quiet testament of your love.

so when the next cycle comes, and they cannot find you in a scattered crowd of villagers, when they don’t sense your presence in a university hallway, when they wait for you to find them in a game of hide and seek on a playground—the one right next to your father’s house—or amongst the last remaining lemurians who reside in verona, they begin to question it.

they start to wonder.

where were you? what’s taking you so long to come back to them?

where is the one who knows them best? the girl who shares every memory, who understands their purpose, who feels their pain more deeply than anyone else?

simply put—

where are you?

but the truth is painfully simple.

you are not here.

not anymore.

your soul is finally at peace, and alongside it, your love.

or maybe, somewhere in the world, you still exist.

maybe you grew up wrapped in the warmth of a loving family. maybe you still remember the warnings of hunters past and steer clear of those forbidden no hunt zones.

maybe you attend college, or perhaps you open a flower shop in a city where no one knows your name.

maybe every night you dream of a life you have never lived, with a man whose face you have never seen.

maybe you are sitting right beside them, by the sea or on a park bench, laughing at a joke you just told, while he absentmindedly takes your hand in his.

and maybe when you wake with tears drying on your cheeks, you’re confused, unable to understand what it all means.

but dreams fade the longer you remain awake, and slowly, you return to your life.

you feed your cat. you take out the trash. you spend a tuesday afternoon tackling a week's worth of laundry.

you live through mundane, ordinary moments.

you meet up with old colleagues for brunch, talking to your mother on the phone while waiting for the next train. you reply to the messages of a man you matched with online and let him take you out for a drink or two, thanking him at the end of the night for the fun you had.

the next day, you pass by a mural painted by a well-known artist from whitesand bay, leaving you so awestruck that you take a quick snapshot to post on your moments page before continuing on your way.

you arrive at akso hospital, stepping into the lobby to find the rest of your family sitting anxiously for news of your niece’s birth. you sit beside them, praying for the time to pass more quickly, absentmindedly reading the framed research credits of a 28-year-old cardiac surgeon hanging on the wall nearby.

and when you return home that night, head stuck in the clouds, swiping at the hundreds of photos you took of your sister's baby girl, someone stops you in the street.

their eyes—sky blue, violet-gold, or cotton-candy—search your face with overwhelming relief, haunted by a grief that feels centuries old.

“i’m so glad i found you again,” they’ll whisper as their arms wrap around you, the embrace tight enough to keep you from pulling away so easily, but gentle enough not to steal your breath.

“i missed you so much. where have you been?”

you freeze, fear rooting you into place as a voice inside urges you to fight, to punch, to kick, to scream—anything to break free from the arms of someone you don’t know.

you tense, and they feel it immediately. they notice your stillness, your lack of recognition, and finally, they let you go, albeit slowly.

their hands settle gently against your shoulders, smiling with a softness you have never seen directed to you, and they ask again:

“where have you been?”

you force yourself backward, taking three deliberate steps to create space between you, your left hand already searching your purse for anything to defend yourself with.

and with quiet uncertainty, you ask:

Hell no. Not when he can practically smell which perfume you picked today---is that vanilla?

"This must be a lot," you laugh, leaning back in your chair and the whiff of your scent vanishes. He fights to prevent his face from falling too much. "This is your first group project in college, right? Maybe we can take things slower."

He doesn't like when you say things like that. Actually, some strange part of him does, but it also hurts his pride to think that you see him as some sort of blubbering baby chick who's just learning to flap his wings for the first time. Admittedly, he does feel like a fish out of water in college (who doesn't?), but he doesn't like you knowing that.

What he does like though, is that you seem more comfortable around him. Though he's not sure if it's his age or simply because of his personality. He really hopes it's the latter.

He quickly finds out that his predictions were right---having a crush is bothersome. All he can think about is you. Your cheeky grin when he needs your help, the way his hands dwarf yours when they're beside one another, the way your lips purse when you're focused...he almost feels a bit creepy with the things that he notices. What's worse is that he looks forward to class, which means he's truly too far gone.

But Caleb adapts quickly. He decides that in the first year, he will ask you out. He must. He's never had trouble with this sort of thing in the past (girls usually tended to flock to him for some odd reason), so this shouldn't be so hard, should it? Surely.

This convinces nobody--not even himself.

The first time he tries to confess to you fails because he chickens. He suggests getting ice cream to celebrate submitting your project, insisting that it's his treat. It kinda feels like a date. He hopes it's a date. But when you're standing to leave after a while, he doesn't stop you, just staring at you wave cheerfully goodbye. He's frozen, fully aware that this might be a perfect time, but his thoughts simply won't run. He waves back blankly, wondering if it might be better to just die right there.

The second time is when he shows you his room for the first time to study together after finding no seats were available at the library. A blessing this exam season turned out to be. The comfortable silence as your pencil scratches against your notebook is more distracting than it ought to be, because it's so quiet that he can hear your breath. He slowly reaches out to tap your shoulder, insisting to himself that now is the time like a prayer meant for nobody but himself. Of course, your phone rings, and he jumps back like a kicked puppy, humiliated while you remain blissfully unaware.

The third time, you get interrupted by your friends.

The fourth time, he falls deathly ill and can't make it to hang out (though he only cancels after you threaten to block him if he doesn't stay home).

The fifth time, you mishear him and completely misinterpret what he said.

By the sixth time, he's starting to wonder if the universe hates him. The year is about to end now, and you're spending your last day on campus beside him, reminiscing about the year. He tries to focus on what you're saying while also engraving the image of you into his mind, though an ugly, festering thought begins to flicker in the back of his mind. He could tell you now. He could, and maybe you'd be surprised.

But would you like him back? I mean, considering you've known him for nearly a year now, if you found him attractive, wouldn't you have shown signs of liking him too? He tries to think hard about whether he's ever made you nervous or flustered, but all he can see is that painfully adorable grin that's getting ready to make fun of him somehow. Never shy. Never taken aback by him.

He moves his head to the side, nails digging indents into the meat of his palms. Of course you don't see him that way. To you, he's just some floundering freshman who you happened to take in because of a group project assignment out of sheer luck. To you, he's just a friend you managed to squeeze in because he's been so persistent. He hopes you see him as less as a burden and more of as a friend, at least, and that thought in itself makes him want to curl up in a hole and die. Have you ever seen him that way? Can you every see him that way?

The answer lingering on his tongue makes his nails dig deeper.

His eyes flicker to your hands perched aside one another, your pinkies just centimeters away from touching, and his chest clenches. What a joke. He's been right all along. He curses these damn feelings, and this damn school, and this damn predicament that has him wanting to get on his knees while also smashing his lips against yours.

"Caleb?"

He stops, turning to look at you. His eyes widen just the slightest when he sees your bashful expression, like you've just broken something and don't want to tell him. You scratch anxiously at the back of your neck, and it makes his throat bob.

He thinks it's so damn cute.

"Wanna go out with me some time?"

Romeo Lucci

Romeo was furious. The plan had gone awry from the start, all thanks to Taiga and his inability to follow simple instructions that didn’t match his whim. Now Romeo was stuck in a closet, wearing far too many layers. Sweat beaded on his neck, and he tried his best not to wrinkle his pricy clothes. Easier said than done, since he was sharing the space with you, of all people. 

You, with your pretty eyes and sweet smell. It made him angrier, he was sure your incompetence was partly to blame for this undignified position he found himself in with you. 

“Stop moving around! You’re getting my jacket wrinkled.” 

You didn’t even know he was capable of whispering until now, although it was a whispered yell. Technicality. 

“Don’t wear your overpriced junk on missions, then,” you shot back. You could feel his livid stare better than you could see it. 

“Quality suits are not overpriced! You Philistines don’t know anything about-“ 

You had found several ways to shut him up by now. Slamming the door in his face, muting his messages, saying something so completely unhinged he didn’t know where to begin. Your proximity left you with an untested method you gladly seized. Your lips were on his, halting his words in their tracks. When he didn’t push you away, you pulled him in by his tie, noticing he angled his head to deepen the kiss. When you parted, he stood there in silent wonder, sluggishly realizing that you successfully shut him up again. 

“Damn you, BB.” 

Ritsu Shinjo

Safety measures, scenarios and statistics ran through Ritsu’s mind while he focused on anything but your proximity. He escorted you to the locker like a gentleman, clearly stating that you were both entering the enclosed space voluntarily to avoid injury, and he was not liable for any such injuries sustained once you were inside. 

Yet, he kept getting distracted any time you shifted. Brushing against his legs and chest. He did his best not to touch you, but that was impossible under the circumstances. He was ready to shift in case the locker opened, to use his stigma to protect you. He moved closer to whisper for you to shift to the back so he could protect you, but you turned your head at the same time and your lips brushed against each other’s. He jolted back as if you shocked him. He glanced at your lips, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. 

“Apologies,” he whispered. He gently shifted you so his back faced the door, but the mood had already shifted between you. He kept his hands on your shoulder and waist, where they had rested to guide you. You shared a lingering look with him, each gauging your embarrassment and the possibility that you liked it. You moved first, pulling his tie and angling your lips toward his.