shirking off his coat, he crosses the living area to the tiny corner, empty just this morning but now occupied by a humongous acoustic piano (okay, maybe it isn’t that big. knowing you, it could well have been a grand piano, so he should probably count his blessings). not even 24 hours since he’s last been in the house, and you’ve already placed your favourite vase on top of the new furniture, a little white doily draped across the surface. “our apartment’s tiny; heck, our doorway’s so narrow. how’d you even get this in?”

silence. so this is how you’re going to play, huh?

“jagi.”

“mm.”

“jagi.”

“mm-mhf!”

he relishes the little shriek that escapes you as he slips his arms around your waist, fingers grazing your sides with what is entirely evil intent. “let-let go, you monster-” you gripe, squirming as he attacks your sides with relentless fervour. “okay, okay, quit it!”

out of breath, your face flushed with barely-suppressed laughter, jungwon decides to himself that it’s a sight worth any amount of mysterious instrument appearances. “talk.”

you set the ladle in your hand down. “my cousin’s moving out. her new place has no space for it, so…”

“so you offered ours?”

he should’ve known you wouldn’t even have the decency to pretend to be at least a little sheepish. “you can play!”

“yeah, a decade ago.”

“who knows, maybe you’ll get better since it’s here now.” you counter, turning back to your stirring. it’s a diversion, and a silly one at that.

he’s not mad, he knows you can tell. “admit it. you just want to hear me play it, don’t you?”

“i did not say that-”

he chuckles into the crook of your neck, head on your shoulder as he watches you swirl the broth again. it’s as mixed as it’s ever going to be, but as you lean into him, he’s made aware of your desire to stand here in front of the stove for a little while longer. “wow, you must really like me.”

“we live together literally what is your point.”

his arms wrap around you tighter, the warmth of your skin passing through even the thick gloves he hasn’t bothered to peel off. “thanks for the gift, even if you’re not gonna tell me it’s one.”

your unintelligible mumbling sends him into another fit of laughter, but as he presses a soft kiss to your warm cheeks, you don’t seem to mind nearly as much.

“are you using me to defrost?”

“yup,” he huffs into your shoulder. “s’cold outside, and you’re my personal heater.”

“sap,” you tease, nudging him off. “go play with your new toy.”

“only if you’ll be my audience of one. i expect a standing ovation after i’ve delivered a flawless performance of ‘baa baa black sheep’, yeah?”

“yeah, yeah, we get it. you’re an attention seeker.”

he grins, and he knows you can hear it. “only need yours.”

so when yang jungwon comes along, it’s like you are reminded of every notion of defense. at first, he reminds you of a sacrificial lamb, offered by those around him who tell him to “win her over, maybe it’ll remove the stick up her ass.” after all, he’s the golden boy, the perfect little student council head who’s got it all, never had to try his hand at something and not succeed. he has the disposition of a sweet cherub, rosy cheeks and twinkling eyes that know no evil - how can someone like him possibly know what it’s like to be irreparably ruined? it is with this that you resolve to lock down into the base of the shackles that define you, trap you, show him what resistance you have. you ignore him, prove to him that there is something he can fail at. that he cannot always win, and that lesson will begin with you.

why you? maybe it is because you see that innocent little girl in him, if only she had grown up oblivious to the depravity of your own flesh and blood. 

your undoing begins on the rooftop. he finds you one day, perched on top of the air conditioning vents as you eat your lunch. he sits by the base without his own. and he talks, as though you can actually hear him. he talks about fleeting things, like his student council projects or some silly joke his teacher told him. (something about a frog. you don’t laugh, but you find yourself returning to it for the rest of the day.) day by day, he inches closer until he’s shoulder to shoulder with you, eye to eye and heart to heart. although you’d much prefer he didn’t know that.

his smile disarms you, and with a kindness you come to know he did not learn from the world, he takes you apart. slowly, slowly, he reduces your walls to rubble by pushing his own debris apart, offering you each rotten part of his soul as though it is gold. and maybe in your mind’s eyes it really is unlike any treasure that has or will come into your possession. is it sick for you to find solace in another’s tainted memories?

sometimes he’ll just sit with you, as though the earbuds you have plugged in don’t even exist. he doesn’t even try to reach over the volume of your music. he’ll just gaze at the cloudy sky with you, says things he knows other people will never hear. because you can keep a secret, can’t you? (those words once haunted your nights until they spilled into the daylight, but somehow those same words out of his mouth don’t make your wrists ache the way they used to. and maybe you are a fool for it.)

the content of his confessions changes with each passing day. “my friends don’t really feel like friends.” or another: “it’s taking a lot more effort than it used to for me to wake up in the mornings.”

maybe he just wants to say things, without consequence or judgment or the expectations everyone else seems to assign to him. the sky is blue, the grass is green, yang jungwon has to be perfect - or so it appears. he makes it seem as though you are the only one privy to the existence of a less-than version of him. maybe in the beginning you didn’t believe that could possibly exist, but the indubitability of it all is starting to wear out.

and eventually you give him your ears. soon, the music stops playing, and you’re listening to him, muffled as it is. then it turns into one earbud down, and finally, one day, you’re hearing him with your own two ears, save for the crash of rain that pelts and stings your skin, dead eyes taking in the sight of yang jungwon’s red-rimmed ones. the sight of him, backed against the wall and into a corner by his own iniquity. he opens his mouth, and for the first time, he meets your gaze in a way that chills you. you have never seen that expression on him, never thought something so lifeless could come to possess him.

it is laughably ironic that it takes the unravelling of yang jungwon for him to receive you, undivided and entranced in a sick sort of way. like some sort of shattering mirrorball, captivating and haunting.

“want to hear the truth? i crave the attention. the excellence, the admiration, i wear myself to the bone because i’m addicted to the feeling of success, and anything apart from it leaves me hollow. i’m not quite whole, and i’m looking for something, someone i will never have nor want.” i knew, you reply. but you didn’t. you learn a lot from that one admission. that he is not the Mary you believed he was. that he is not pure white snow and ignorant bleating, rather, there is fresh hot blood spilled across the skin by his own knife - his own blood. he is the paradox of a sinner and a victim, just like you. and you find solace in that. and maybe the gravity of each of your sins is different, but sin is sin, no? he is as innocent as you are evil, and vice versa, mutatis mutandis. or any other word that will remind yourself of the evil that wars within your soul that reaches out to him. 

he flashes, turns, makes you want to keep looking at him as he puts one foot in front of the other towards you. “fair trade. your turn to make your confessions.” though this priest is as painfully human as you are, there’s something that just feels so…right, to take the plunge into shared self-denigration, face-to-face with a mirrored imperfection.  

the words drip like blood from your lips, a steady outpouring that is slow, yes, but one you cannot seem to stop. he has undone every last loose string you tried so hard to cut off, unravelled your web of lies and traps that distract from the centerpiece that is you, you. “love,” you say, before you can trap your own tongue. “love, and who should give it to me. i don’t know it, can’t understand it. i cannot love anyone who wants me, and yet-” 

you feel the words rapidly clot in your throat, like they are healing a gaping wound far too late. you stop, but he only nods, does not ask further. there is little left to say, when there is so much to be understood.

you speak in riddles, every subsequent exchange walking the line of falsehood and mystery, a lie or bait. after that day, he does not tell you any truth if it is not followed by the sardonic quirk of his lip. yang jungwon, like you, is well-versed in the dance around reality. and maybe it is denial that stops you. maybe it is the fact that he is so unwilling to show you any side of him that reminds you of the perfect boy you thought he was. and maybe it is the fact that you refuse to voluntarily soften your heart in a way that hurts, because it evades you as to why he could see the worst part of you, and still want more. it churns and turns your stomach inside out, and you begin to regurgitate the losses, all the missing pieces of the puzzle that seek to meet him halfway against your better judgment. you are out of control, drowning in waters more shallow than you have ever known, and yet the burn in your lungs is subsiding bit by bit.

so yes, he takes you apart. it’s gradual, as though he is trying to steal you piece by piece, shard by shard, and only when you are nearly there does he finally reveal his hand in full, bleeding and scarred, your fragmented existence in the heart of his palm.

one night. one night is all it takes, inebriated as the both of you are at someone’s party, somewhere or the other. it’s a coming-of-age party, the drinks flow and the glasses clink (because some high-schoolers are wealthy beyond comparison, and red plastic cups simply don’t cut it). but it doesn’t really matter that the house is big, nor that the music is soft and slow. all that you can think of is jungwon’s eyes on you. you, on the balcony’s railing, legs dangling as you beckon to him with a dazed grin. 

“first time i’ve seen you smile.”

“yeah, i have to be out of my own damn mind to give you any affection. and yet…” and yet he still comes back for more each time. it’s quiet out here, and he should be with his friends, drinking minimally and laughing abundantly. just like a good honours student would do. 

but he is not really a good person, however the rest of the world believes the facade. he is a masochist, and you are the carnal ache he’s looked for his whole life.

in other words, you are terrible for him; you are his lifeline. a paradox that should not be, but for him the burns blend into bliss. 

“it’s dangerous up there. you could fall right off.” a useless statement, because he sits right at your feet.

“and when has that stopped me?”  

he looks up and out, following your gaze to the sky above. in seoul city, the few stars you can see are dim like no other. no such grandeur of constellations and stories. “beautiful, aren’t they?”

“you can barely see them here. besides, they’re just big balls of gas.”

he snorts, head tilting to rest on your dangling shin. “a very you thing to say. but they remind me of you.”

“oh?” you slide down from the banister, sinking into the spot beside him. it is returning home. “how so?”

he’s silent for a while, as he usually is while he collects his thoughts. you know that sometimes, his headspace is a flurry of truth and lies, of the voices in his head and the voices seeking to silence the latter. you began to notice when he would pause for a second during his speeches, a sour look crossing his features for a split second when he stuttered, before he returned to the same cordial smile. but here, he does not need to pretend. here, by your side, there is no shame in not knowing what to say.

“distant, at first. but the warmth, though it’s lightyears away, still fills me up and keeps me wondering and waiting for a day i finally get a glimpse of you. beautiful in the most destructive of ways. rightly so, as they’re still ‘big balls of hot gas’ as you so nicely put it.”

his hot breath blooms across your cheek in the chilly night air, and it is at this moment that you realise how close he is - shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh. when did he get so close? it occurs to you that he knows. he’s learned to read your scowling face, your shaking hands, your trembling heart.

and yet for the first time in your life, the absence of distance does not scare you. maybe it’s because he and you unlearned the fear together, by taking apart each wall brick by brick, relishing the way the debris sliced your fingers and stung your palms. selfish sacrifice. selfless actions to serve yourself. ironic, but for you and jungwon it is just so fitting. 

two self-worshipping sinners, finding a glimpse of redemption in each other.

you can’t turn away, not when his gaze is transfixed upon you, as though you really are the night sky. “you’re not afraid of getting burnt.” it’s less of a question than it is a statement, because you already know the answer. and when you meet his eyes, those big brown eyes in which yearning swirls and simmers, you think you know his before he even says it. “neither are you.”

there’s an unspoken promise between you and him, the moonshine a witness to the wordless declaration. the bleeding truth hangs bated in the air as he surges forward, and he kisses you with an intensity that sears your soul. he is close, closer than you have let anyone come, and as you lace your hand with his, returning the same yearning, you know you will never feel this way apart from him. yang jungwon is your undoing, and you are his. the brush of his skin on yours does not repulse you, the way it used to for everyone else. he makes a pathetic, strangled sound against you as you sink your teeth into his bottom lip and pull. he is in love, yes, with the way you make him hurt. you can hear the blood rushing in your ears, a crashing storm at first, dulling to the river’s hasty flow, and finally the trickle of a stream. soothing, smooth. he is water that refreshes your parched soul, only to disappear and leave you thirsting for more.

when you finally pull away, you find that your free hand is splayed across his chest, his heart thrumming below your fingertips. alive, alive. the heat of his thumb running along your cheekbone, his steady panting that fills the midnight air, and the warmth of his legs now tangled with yours are reminders that he is truly alive with something else other than the desire for death.  

“are we in love?”

“maybe not. but i’m not so stupid as to believe i can live without you.”

you scoff. “sweet words for a sharp-minded boy.”

the firm press of his hand against yours is an assurance unlike any other. it is a covenant, and in your heart you hope the starless sky will bear witness to the bond of mind and flesh, of body and soul. maybe you will never forget your sins, and he not his own. what you need is not to erase the past, but live with the future. one step at a time, no matter how long it takes.

“on the contrary,” he muses. “sweet words for a sharp-tongued girl.”

A/N — so. it’s been a couple months of silence from me because of exams lmao sorry…whatever the case life is shitty. if you caught the references to SA i am so sorry. this entire fic was genuinely just a vent drabble disguised as fanfiction. if you relate to this i’m even more sorry, and you can please come to my dms and scold me for it/talk to me about it, either way just know you aren’t alone.

this was definitely not meant to be beautiful in any way, i’d say it’s more of a literary expression of trauma and how two people might possibly come together because of it. there’s a lot of religious symbolism, and there are motifs of bodily imagery and stars. it’s a little hard to catch but the subtext is that if their flesh is inadequate, they can transcend themselves by become a part of the universe. it’s a bit questionable and unlike anything i’ve ever done, so it’s definitely far from perfect. but still!

on a more lighthearted note, the frog joke exists! it’s very lame and my friend actually told me that joke, it’s basically about a frog who goes to a fortune teller and asks where he will meet his dream girl, and he’s told he will meet her in her biology class…yes you can probably infer the rest. yes now you can laugh.

So it is today that you rise with dark circles deep enough to startle the maids that come in, only to find you already milling about your room (it’s a wonder they haven’t spotted that knife hidden behind the vanity mirror). You hadn’t even known there would be maids catering to you, but you suppose you should’ve seen it coming. No noble lady lives without being waited on hand and foot in high society, not unless they’re from a house falling into ruin.

All the same, it feels odd as their rough hands glide across your bare skin, gently rubbing away any sleepiness with warm water.. It’s strange to think that had you not shown potential with the sword, this would have been your life - serving as Lady Yeji’s lady-in-waiting, her most trusted servant in a different way.

You hope the maids don’t notice how your hands are even more calloused than their own.

They clothe you in the palace’s finery, every layer of fabric even silkier than the last. Today, it’s a drape-sleeved tiered gown, dyed in the colours of the Hwangs’ flag - a rich mauve. The soft, loose fabric conceals the ripple of muscle in your arms, neckline exposing your collarbones. And of course, a glass violet woven into your hair. It cuts a poised, demure figure, something unachievable by your own means. But the swathes of fabric carry an uncomfortable burn every time they slide over your skin. A reminder that you are an inferior replacement in royalty’s garb.

Pressing your palm to the hidden garter around your thigh, you feel the faint outline of an envelope. A message, left by your door at the break of dawn. You’ve read it, but you can’t help the inkling of suspicion in the back of your mind. Imprinted on the seal is a pattern of forget-me-nots, a mark of a specific family — that of Kim Minji’s.

To be honest, she’s a good companion to have, if trust is what you’re looking for. Based on your intel, Minji’s a fairly gentle, fresh soul, new to the social world. Debuting fairly young, the girl's innocence is more or less intact, preserved by a loving family who doted on their eldest daughter. Of all the candidates, she must be the most naive. She’ll be a prime target of the other girls, no doubt. She’d be the easiest to send home.

At least she’s not inexperienced enough to approach you directly. She’s arranged to meet shortly before breakfast. Two left turns and a right, as per the instructions in the letter, and you’re face to face with the girl herself, reclining in an empty sitting room. Despite her furrowed brows and tense gaze, she exudes an innocent beauty that’s truly worthy of being a part of the crown prince’s entourage. No doubt, she would be his choice if a future queen of an empire needed to be an angel on earth.

As she spots you, her eyes light up, and she pats the seat next to her. Trying not to trip over her billowing teal-coloured skirt, you muster up your most polite smile, gingerly lowering yourself beside her. “Lady Minji, a pleasure. I believe we have not formally met just yet.”

She chuckles, a soft sound that blends perfectly with the pale morning sunlight filtering in through the windows. She is a breath of fresh air, youth incarnate. “It is wonderful to meet you, Lady Hwang. You are kind, to agree to meet me despite not knowing my intentions. I imagine you feared the worst. We are truly in cutthroat times.” Her expression turns solemn as she fiddles with the fingertips of her silk gloves. You imagine she must be nervous, her family undoubtedly warning her of the competition’s aptitude for scheming. “I am fully aware it’s a gamble to throw my lot in with you, but there is a kindness in you I am inclined to trust. Will you tell me I have misplaced my faith?”

The confession startles you. Kindness? You? Either you’ve played your role a little too well, or Kim Minji is seeing only what she wishes to. But this works well in your favour. Kim Minji is likely to be a court favourite, provided the crown prince is looking for true love. And if that is the case, Prince Jay will look upon her and her associated with favour and trust, a good combination that will serve you well in your mission.

“Well,” you muse, playing as though you have the upper hand like you see Yeji do. “Every gamble has its risks. Whether or not I am a worthy risk to take is your choice.”

She swallows. “Companionship. Protection. That is what I seek from you. You’re stronger than I ever will be, in both mind and body. Accept my offer, and the Kims and Hwangs will provide each other with aid whenever necessary.”

She says it so bravely that you almost feel sorry that such a young girl is propositioning you. But all is fair in war. “Lady Kim, what I want isn’t your support. Something much, much simpler will suffice.”

“A-and what would that be?”

You smirk. “Information, my lady.”

Sunghoon thinks he’s going to faint.

He’s never been good at wrapping wounds, much less his own. With the amount of blood he lost wrangling with the bandages that girl gave him, it’s no wonder he’s a little lightheaded. Still, the night is young.

As if trying to mock him, the first light of dawn peeks through the curtains.

Sighing, he rises from his slumped position against the door, stumbling into Jay’s office with more grace than he’d expected of himself. With the flickering light of the candle illuminating the darkened room, Jay’s sleeping figure is cast in an odd glow. Beneath his head is a stack of paperwork and a quill dangling from his fingertips, each stained with dark ink. He’s worked hard today. A miracle, really, that he didn’t get indigestion from that sorry excuse of a meal. The king has never been a very good dinner guest.

Sunghoon shrugs his coat off, draping it across a chair in the corner. He’s guessing it’s about six in the morning, with the dimmest sunlight bleeding through the thick curtains. Jay really hasn't moved since Sunghoon left him where he was to find their new ally.

The memory of the quick spar sends an ache through every muscle. She (was that shadowy figure even a she?) was stronger than he’d anticipated, each calculated movement both efficient and lethal. After that, it was clear to see how someone like her survived for so long as an assassin despite her existence being common knowledge in the line of work.

The fact that he’s even managed to walk out alive from an encounter with an assassin with a hundred percent success rate is a mercy on her part.

With a sigh, Sunghoon squeezes his liege’s shoulder. “Get up already, your harem awaits.”

Jay groans as he rouses, puffy eyes blinking rapidly as he shoves Sunghoon off. “They’re not my harem.”

“Is that all you’re concerned with, your royal highness? Other than the fact that you’ve got hundreds more tasks to complete, not to mention the backlog from yesterday, and the day before, last week, last year-”

“Oh, be quiet,” Jay scoffs, not unkindly as he fixes his collar. “How long more do I have before I have to sit through another meal with the candidates?”

Sunghoon checks his pocket watch, the other hand reaching over to flatten Jay’s unruly hair.

“What’s with the bandages?”

“Fell in the bath. To answer your earlier question, you have approximately two hours and forty-nine minutes. Breakfast will be served in the second dining room today. Their Majesties will not be joining us today.”

“Thank heavens. Last night was a nightmare. All those girls, tense to the point it hurt to even look at them. Did you see how Lady Shin barely touched her plate?”

“Never mind that, I have news for you.” Sunghoon leans in, certain he looks crazed with glee in Jay’s eyes. “I met a very interesting someone tonight - well, more like they found me.”

“Who-”

“Take a guess.”

Their eyes meet, and Sunghoon knows his dear friend understands the moment a conspiratorial glint enters Jay’s eyes. “Impossible,” he breathes out, rummaging around his drawers. “That quick?”

“Have a little more faith in your beloved courtier, won’t you?”

“Then our plans…”

“Are falling right into place. The right hand of the Hwangs is now a player in the game,” Sunghoon finishes. “The Hwangs have thrown their lot. Their stance is clear to us now. Their rebellion has begun.”

Jay chews his lip, deep in thought. “No, I do believe their rebellion has been years in the making. Possibly since the Hwang children lost the previous Duke and Duchess Hwang. No doubt, they’ve harboured a grudge against Father for years now.” He swallows, and Sunghoon can see the gears in his head turning. “The Hwangs are to be feared. And now that we’ve made contact with their assassin, the stakes are infinitely higher.”

“Not that we haven’t anticipated it.”

“Indeed, not that we haven’t. Any guesses on their identity?”

It’s here that Sunghoon freezes. On one hand, it would be wise to tell Jay to wait for the second meeting, or start investigating immediately. But the sting of his palm settles in, as if that girl’s reminding him of the alliance he swore to. True, he might end up working against her. The likelihood is there, especially if her mission turns out to actually be killing the king to-be. So why is he so reluctant to promise Jay anything?

“Not sure. We’ll have to see.”

Jay’s disappointment is evident. “Right then, we’ll work with what we have. Continue to communicate with her, we’ll find out what the Hwangs are planning.”

Right. Sunghoon shakes his head, shelving away his traitorous thoughts. Any plans the Hwangs’ assassin has could never overshadow the ones he’d made with Jay. Plans that have been years in the making, built upon trust like no other. No one can possibly distract him, much less an assassin.

There’s a moment of silence that falls between the two. Sunghoon, with all his heart, wants - no, needs - their plans to work. It’s a matter of life and death for the prince, no matter how selfish the outcomes might be. Jay cannot die at the hands of the Hwangs.

Because maybe, just maybe, this is his only shot at atonement.

a/n — guess who…ahahahahhhaa pookies i’m a mess this is a super short chapter but don’t mistake it for filler! because it isn’t /srs (no really) but ok i am really really sorry this came so late, next chapter’s already in the works! show some love for the girlies named throughout the story, they’re much lovelier than i depict them lololol

taglist (open!)

your friends come over, but their hands on your shoulders are icy even though it’s the middle of april. “how’d you do? it wasn’t as bad as i thought, but you never know with those teachers.”

“you first.” stalling for time, you force your lips into what has to be the most strained smile ever. miracle they don’t see through it. you pray they never will.

your friends rattle off a few scores. not stellar, but good enough. not a disaster, like you-

no, no. you can’t do this here. not now.

subtly you turn your paper over so they can’t see the score, grinning again. “that’s pretty good.” do they get the hint? maybe not, but eventually they move on to find someone else to bother. you thank god for that little mercy they’re giving you, at the very least.

unfair. unfair, unfair, unfair-

the bell rings, and the others start picking up their bags to leave. and if your friends try to drag you to the mall, you shrug and whip out some random worksheet that isn’t even due in the next week. or maybe you don’t. it’s hard to remember when you’re using up any energy you have left trying not to throw yourself out the window.

pretty soon it’s just a few girls left, but it’s not for another twenty minutes that they all leave. and you just sit there, letting the crimson burn into your fingers, your colourless cheeks, your chapped lips. red is shame. red is failure. and you let it stew in your stomach and pray it gets digested before any custodian comes to check on you at the end of the school day when he comes to lock up. god forbid anyone see you like this, the resentment roiling and turning in your gut.

the silence is deafening. blood roars in your ears, even as the school bell chimes and you hear the last of the footballers outside cheer. how the hell is anyone happy at all, and you’re just sitting there withering away in your own self-made prison? you can’t even cry, god knows you don’t even deserve it, because this really is your fault. your fault for being too hesitant, too panicked, while everyone else goes on with you still hanging in the balance grasping for just one chance.

maybe now you’ll never prove yourself. maybe this is it, the final nail in the coffin that destroys everything you’ve ever worked for. three failing grades in the same day. screwed up all your interviews this week. it’s as though you’re cursed to defile everything you touch — damned if you hope, damned if you don’t.

the classroom door must have clicked open, because before you can scramble to your feet to leave, there’s a boy standing in front of your desk. he’s got this weird look in his eyes, all calculating and scrutinising. it’s as though his line of sight is a laser that pierces open everything you try to stuff under your skin. twirling between his fingers is a little key, presumably for the classroom doors. “didn’t expect anyone to be here at this hour.”

you’ve seen him around before. he’s in the class next to you - what was he, their class rep? either way, you can’t quite place his name, but his presence alone is enough to get you on your feet. “s-sorry, i’ll get going now.”

but as you haphazardly shove your things into your backpack, the test paper flutters to the ground in slow motion, landing right as his feet. oh no no no don’t pick it up don’t-

but of course it finds its way into his hands, and you can tell he’s trying not to peek but he sees anyway. that awful, awful 12/25 on your paper. and you avert your gaze as you take it from his grasp, because how could you possibly expect anything but pity from a complete stranger?

and gosh, do you detest pity.

“wait.” before you can run off, his hand wraps around your shoulder, the unexpected warmth stopping you in your tracks. he’s studying you again, trying to read what you imagine must be an impossibly despondent look on your face. it would be rude to shrug him off, and you almost do, until he gestures out the window. “it’s…raining,” he gulps out. and what do you know, it is. just your luck.

you shiver, tightening your grip on the straps of your backpack. “i’ll be fine.”

“at least take my umbrella. i’ll walk you to the gate.”

“…okay.”

so you walk in silence down three floors, each step sending tingles shooting up your previously-numb legs. maybe the boy can tell, because he swaps sides with you so you can grab onto the railing. maybe you wanted the company a little more than you’d like to admit.

as you finally reach where the shelter ends, you look away. “keep your umbrella, i’ll be alright.”

but there’s a strange grimace on his face as he pushes the umbrella into your unclenched hands. “no, you’re not. at least, you won’t be. not unless you keep yourself safe and dry. wouldn’t want you to get sick.”

you can’t help it. the words slip out before you even realise they’re on your tongue. “why do you even care?” oh shit, that came out ruder than you’d intended, and you want to slap your hand over your mouth and apologise a hundred times over, but it’s too late for that now.

the boy pauses, his silence unreadable as he eyes you once again. it’s starting to be a little more than unnerving, the way he sees through barriers you didn’t even know you had up. "because i don’t think you deserve to sit in an empty classroom alone trying not to cry…? you looked awful.”

“...thanks.”

he slaps his palm over his head. “no, not like that. i meant that you looked like your world had come crashing down. it…it hasn’t, okay? you’ll be alright. one step after another, and you’ll get wherever you wanna go. you’re trying as hard as you can and you should be proud of yourself for that.”

how can a complete stranger know exactly what you’ve always wanted to hear? your chest aches with the affirmation of a nameless boy, who’s smiling at you with a softness that makes you want to throw your arms around him and sob, decorum be damned. he’s so good. too good.

at last, you take hold of the umbrella, an inexplicable warmth blossoming in your chest and throat. you can feel the flood of tears you’ve been holding back the whole afternoon threatening to surface, but this time it’s triggered by the gentleness with which he opens the umbrella with a soft click, grinning at you as he gives your shoulder a light squeeze. “go on. don’t worry about returning the umbrella, okay?”

“i’ll see you around, y/n.”

and with that, he sprints off into the pouring rain, the file he’s holding over his head almost comical. the giggle that escapes you startles you out of your stupor, and it’s only then that you realise you’ve been staring, watching him go.

but he’ll be back. maybe not tomorrow, or the day after, but you’ll see him again. and you’ll wait.

you’re so lost in thought that you don’t even think to question why nameless boy knows your name.

with a crash, nishimura riki bursts through the front door, hair dripping water all the way along the corridor.

“riki! you’re making the whole place wet! where’s your umbrella?”

he sighs, shaking off his waterlogged shoes. despite his sister’s constant nagging and the rainwater soaking through his clothes, there’s a giddy smile on his face. “lent it to a friend.”

“...it was a girl, wasn’t it?”

at this point, he doesn’t even care anymore, flopping to the ground as his wet clothes slap against the wooden floors. “you don’t understand, nee-san. she’s the girl. i finally, finally got to talk to her. I’m-”

“GET OFF THE FLOOR ALREADY BISCO’S LICKING UP THE RAINWATER!”

a/n — hi pookies it’s been a while…i’m not built to be an academic weapon lololol. my final exam of the term’s next thursday, so i’ll probably be able to churn out more stuff after that. immediately after i type this im gg to pomodoro my way thru life again send help-