✩ to the valley

Something’s on your mind, that vortex of secret thoughts he has such a hard time reading, guessing, interpreting. You guard the castle of your inner realm with fairly high walls and it no longer feels like a lost challenge, his inability to pierce them. It’s dissatisfying in ways he can’t, won’t express. 

That doesn’t mean he can bring himself to stay away, quietly indulge your stubborn distancing.

“Penny for your thoughts?”, he brushes his nose against yours and you offer a smile, legs lazily wrapped around his waist from where you’re sitting on the counter.

“I’m hungry. And you look handsome while cooking”.

Oliver hums, still not entirely convinced.

“Why these, then?”, his thumb gently presses between your brows, smoothing over the little creases you get whenever you’re pondering something you won’t share.

“I’m sore”, you lie and he sees right through it, “so thanks for that”.

“You’re welcome”, he grins. And then he just stays there, looking at you, waiting. Expectant in a way that makes your palms clammy.

“I wanted to talk to you about something”, you start, unsure. Oliver hums.

“Uh oh”, he jokes but not as flippant as he always gets.

You feel sick. He’s probably expecting some pathetic love confession, because of course you’d be the one to catch feelings. Is it even possible not to fall prey to his charm? It’s not even fair to be upset about it. Oliver is a good man: he’s polite, communicative, honest. You knew what this was from the very start.

Little does he know, there’s no need to be so tense about it. You’re not about to burden him with your unrequited feelings, on the contrary, you’re finally going to take the entire weight off his shoulders. You had your fun together but this is no longer fun for you. It’s embarrassing, complicated, the mere thought of who he may be on the nights when you’re not together starting to get more and more gut-wrenching.

“What is it?”, he’s not making this easy, not by whispering in that hushed, intimate tone you find so attractive. Not as he’s so close his lips are brushing against yours.

“I don’t think we…”.

“Oliver?”.

You both freeze. Your legs go limp as he slowly turns around and takes an uncertain step forward.

“Mom?”.

There are three women you’ve never seen before in his kitchen and they all remind you of him somehow. The younger girl is insistent in keeping her eyes on you as you jump down from the kitchen island, horrified.

“You promised you’d take us shopping, remember? You wanted to come”, his mother tilts her head, eyes darting to you for just a moment.

“I remember”, Oliver clears his throat, “you’re early. I thought we were supposed to meet at…”.

“Coach moved today’s training to Friday”, the younger girl is still looking at you, “is she your new girlfriend?”.

He runs a hand through his hair and you pray to god the kitchen floor will open to swallow you whole.

“Uhm, actually I-”

“Oh, dear”, his mom smiles and she’s so beautiful your voice dies in your throat, “we finally get to meet one of your partners!”.

“Which number is this one?”.

“Kaya”, Oliver’s warning is stern and his youngest sister finally looks away.

“I’m sorry”, you bow, mortified, and quietly introduce yourself, “I was just about to leave”.

“Don’t mind her”, the woman who is probably his older sister offers you a friendly smile and takes a step forward, “I’m Mia. Why don’t you come with us?”.

Their mom’s face lights up.

“What a wonderful idea! Yes, please come!”.

“Oh, no, really, I don’t think it would be…”.

“It’s just a few hours of shopping, it’ll be fun”, Mia winks, “plus, we could use additional opinions. Right, Kaya? You always complain about mom’s horrible taste”.

The younger girl shrugs.

“I guess. Let’s just get going”.

“Hey”, you murmur, taking him by the arm as everyone else leaves the room. There must be a way out, he’s certainly alarmed at the thought of you crossing such a boundary. Hanging out with his family. “I’ll tell them I feel sick or something and just go home, okay?”.

Oliver wets his lips, pensive as his gaze takes in yours.

“Really? It’s just a few hours”.

You open your mouth then close it again, at a loss for words. He leans in closer.

“It’d break my mom’s heart to find out we lied”.

“Technically, we didn’t lie-”

“Oli, it’s late!”, Kaya’s harsh tone interrupts what would’ve been a hopefully convincing enough string of excuses. They melt on your tongue anyway, when he takes your hand.

Turns out, Kaya is about to turn 18 and the party she’s planning is going to be a big deal. Finding the perfect dress and making sure everyone wears something passable (her words, not yours) is mandatory.

She’s acting very wary but you wouldn’t dream of holding it against her. You’re a stranger, intruding in something she was supposed to do with her family, it’s only right. The only reasons why you’re accompanying them are Oliver’s mom, whose sweetness is leaving you no chance but to keep the act up, and Oliver himself, who seems way too comfortable with the blatant lie you’re both hiding behind.

Still, you try to keep your respectful distance. They’re a nice family, you can see the sincere fondness tying them together in invisible, golden strings. It’s in the way Kaya bickers with her brother but smiles so big when he comes back with a million dresses in his arms, huffing and puffing about how annoying she is. It’s in the way his mom tenderly ruffles his hair and, instead of circumventing her touch, he pulls her closer with an arm around her shoulders. It’s in the way Mia flicks his forehead and Kaya asks for her older sister’s advice despite the perpetually grumpy exterior.

“Don’t be so tense, she can smell fear”, Oliver casually whispers in your ear before disappearing into the store to help his girls, like he calls them, look for the perfect pair of shoes. You’re left with Kaya, who looks both unfazed and devastatingly pretty in the dress she’s almost convinced is the one.

You gather all your confidence and casually clear your throat.

“Excited about turning eighteen?”.

“Don’t talk to me like you know me”, she doesn’t spare you a single glance. You shrug.

“Sorry. I just remembered how my party was. I was really nervous, as if my life was on the verge of changing forever. I remember finally getting bold enough to confess to the boy I had a devastating crush on”, you don’t look at her while you talk, attention diverted to a couple coats hanging just outside the fitting room. A brief silence follows.

“And?”, she pushes. You hide a smile.

“We danced, shared a piece of cake. He was so handsome, tall, really kind in turning me down”.

“What? Are you serious?”.

“Yeah, turns out I wasn’t really his type. Which is fine. I ended up going out with his best friend”.

When you turn to look at her, your gaze softens. She seems pensive, still looks really young despite her age.

“How do you even know when you’re somebody’s type anyway?”, Kaya is reluctant in asking the question. You wish you could offer more solid reassurance.

“You find someone honest and value that honesty more than anything else. If they make you feel like you can trust them, if they’re willing to prove how special you are to them, chances are they’re worth keeping around”.

She hums, half a sound that makes you bite back a chuckle.

“Well, since you’re here, you might as well provide feedback. Thoughts on the dress?”.

Kaya seems to be really struggling to keep the hostile facade up but you know better than to make it obvious you noticed.

“I liked the previous one better. I’d still get this one too”.

She tries to resist it but finally ends up offering a tiny smile.

“My thoughts exactly”.

“Here. About a thousand shoes to go with the perfect dress”, Oliver, Mia and their mom are finally back with their arms filled with colorful, stylish options.

“Actually”, Kaya corrects her brother with a grin, “after careful consideration, I decided you’re paying for both dresses”.

It’s not lost on him, the conspirational look she shares with you for just a brief second. Thankfully, you don’t have to face any consequence because Mia claims your attention and you get to quickly elude whichever accusation Oliver’s narrowed gaze harbors.

“You should try this on”, she eagerly pushes a dress right into your arms and you only have the time to feel how nice the fabric is against your skin. Far nicer that what your wallet would usually allow.

“But we’re here for Kaya”, you try to hang the dress back but Mia furrows her brows, keeping it caged in your hands by gently holding your wrists. 

“Come on, I think it’s perfect for you! You can wear it when mom invites you over for dinner”, her lips curl into a sly smile.

“You think that’s gonna happen?”, you try to dissimulate the panic in your voice as best as you can and, thankfully, Mia mistakes your terror for regular excitement. If only.

“Of course. Oliver doesn’t introduce just anyone to us”.

With a nervous chuckle, you focus your gaze on a sales assistant trying to convince a woman to try an expensive coat on because it’s just her color.

“Yeah, about that…”.

“Truly, I think the last time we met one of his partners was years ago”.

“Mia, we didn’t plan this. Like, at all”, your fingers tighten around the fabric of the beautiful dress you’re still holding, “it’s just a coincidence, he didn’t mean to..”.

Her genuine laugh interrupts your desperate string of awkward excuses.

“You think he wouldn’t have been able to get out of this if he wanted to?”, her smile softens at the sight of the deep lines settling on your forehead, “he doesn’t mind having you hang out with us. Which, I believe, says a lot. If not about him, at least about you”.

“What do you mean?”.

She shrugs.

“You earned Oliver’s trust. Whatever you two are, it makes you pretty special anyway”.

Her chuckle fills the air again when you awkwardly cough, embarrassed. Of course she’d see right through the stupid lie he decided to back up, which is simply mortifying.

“Try the dress on”, Mia’s eyes twinkle with mirth, “please? For me?”.

“Okay”, you sigh. Anything to escape her painfully knowing and yet somehow lenient gaze.

You slip into an empty fitting room, trying not to draw any attention. The dress is simple but incredibly beautiful, crafted in lightweight white wool and silk, embroidered with a gradient of coral beads on the top and bottom. It’s something you’d pick too, in a regular shop. You don’t ever remember stepping foot inside a designer boutique but it shouldn’t come as a surprise that the Aiku family was warmly welcomed and followed around the minute they arrived.

Oliver is still sipping on his champagne when you bashfully step out. His mom gasps and promptly hands him her glass of sparkling water.

“Mia insisted-”, you start and, as if summoned, she appears by your side out of thin air.

“Look at you! It’s gorgeous, of course I insisted!”, she chirps, hands frantically smoothing the fabric of the dress as you awkwardly stand there, gaze kept low.

“I love it”, her mom gets up from the velvet sofa, hands clasped, “you should get it!”.

“Mine’s prettier but it doesn’t look too bad”, Kaya eyes you with a seemingly unimpressed gaze that dissipates part of your stiffness and makes you melt into a chuckle.

As much as you try to avoid it, Oliver’s intense stare ends up locking you in place. You try not to squirm underneath it but he doesn’t seem inclined to say a word, which is weird and makes you feel oddly vulnerable. It’s usually quite hard to shut him up.

“You’re staring like a weirdo”, Kaya lightly elbows him in the ribs. He doesn’t falter.

“I don’t think I’m going to get it”, you clear your throat and do your best to ignore his mom’s brokenhearted objection, “but it’s really pretty! Mia has taste”. She mirrors your smile, lightly adjusts one of the tie-up shoulder straps.

“Maybe next time, then. Doesn’t she look great in this, Oli?”.

You find his eyes again and this time his expression is somehow softer.

“Yeah”, he breathes, “I’m a lucky man”.

“Yikes”, Kaya, sitting next to him, rolls her eyes. He flicks her arm.

“Aren’t you a bit old to be jealous?”.

“I’m not jealous. You’re just corny”.

“Aww, my baby sister still wants her big bro all to herself? Süß”, with a mischievous grin, he pulls her in with an arm around the shoulders, laughs at the way she grimaces.

Everyone giggles at the sight and you can’t control it, the way your smile grows while they keep bickering. His mom gently squeezes your shoulder and you wish you could bask in that warmth, in a familiarity that will only last the space of one late morning.

Oliver gets you alone outside a different boutique, he just gives his card to his sister and tells her to get whatever bag she thinks will go best with her birthday outfit. One bag, is the only warning. He’s not entirely sure she’ll comply.

“Are you absolutely hating this?”, he asks only because he knows you aren’t. Although he’s not convinced you may be possibly enjoying it as much as he weirdly, unexpectedly, is.

“What? No, of course not. They’re lovely”.

“Lovely”, he repeats, amused, “even Kaya?”.

“She’s seventeen, I’m a stranger. Cut her some slack”.

He hums.

“You managed to have her warm up to you though, I can tell”.

“We just talked. I like how close you are, they’re all very…”, you stay pensive for a second, trying to come up with the right words, “I can see glimpses of you in them and of them in you. I like your family”.

“And they like you”, he says and the gentleness of his tone makes your stomach do a weird flip.

“Here”, Oliver hands you one of the bags Kaya’s left in his hands ahead of running to a different store, “but you’re not allowed to protest”.

Confused, you take the elegant bag and peek inside.

“No”, you say right away and try to give it back to him, “are you insane? Take this, return it”.

“Sorry, no can do. Told the sales assistant that if anyone tries to return it, including me, she’s not authorized to accept it. Under any circumstances. I can sound very proper and serious when I order people around, I’m team captain after all”, he smiles, offers a playful wink. You’re horrified.

“This dress costs…”.

“I don’t care”.

“But I can’t accept-”

“I don’t care”.

“Oliver!”, you whine, feeling as pathetic as ever.

“Can’t I ever do anything for you?”, he cocks his head, looking every bit as innocent as intended.

“Can’t you do something that doesn’t involve spending a terrifying amount of yens?”, you fire back.

“I make my own rules”, his smirk makes you groan, “please, just take it. I promise I won’t ever get you anything else”.

“You’re lying”.

“I am”.

Exasperated, you deflate and stop the useless attempts at giving the bag back. He’s infuriating. The way he’s looking at you, gaze hazy with affection, makes your heart ache. It prompts a weird feeling to unfurl in your chest, one you absolutely cannot wallow in.

“Thank you. Also, I hate you”, you murmur. His laugh is sweet, the hand rising to cradle your cheek rough but warm.

“I don’t believe you”, his thumb gently strokes the portion of skin right underneath your eye and for a moment you forget to breathe.

It’s just a second: you allow yourself to lean into his familiar touch, pretend not to notice the tenderness laced into the gaze you’re avoiding. And then, Mia is kind enough to keep her voice extra loud to signal that they’re back, to give you the chance to take a step back and avoid the umpteenth awkward interaction of the day.

You try to hide the bag but, surprisingly, it’s Kaya who puts you at ease with a seemingly indifferent comment about being glad Oliver got it for you: it would’ve been a waste to leave a dress that beautiful. 

They’re nice to you. They are so nice to you. For a few hours it makes you forget that, hopefully, this is the last time you’re going to see Oliver at all. It’s for the best, for you heart and his time. You don’t care that he’s being sweet, that he’s willing to have you hang out with his family, that he’s looking at you like that. You just know opening up to him would require too much work on your side and too much patience on his, it’s just not worth it for any of the parties involved. You will leave the dress at his apartment and disappear from his life without a second thought. Yes, it’s a good plan. He’ll get over it in two days and you… well, you’ll surely manage somehow. 

“How did you guys meet?”, Mia takes a bite out of her burger after asking the question and suddenly, everyone is looking at you. Oliver languidly hooks his ankle around yours underneath the table.

“I tried cutting in line at a cafe and she got so upset she spilled her coffee on me”.

“It was an accident!”, you protest, outraged.

“Oliver”, his mom shakes her head, feigning exasperation.

“I was late for practice”, he pouts, “she ruined my favorite shirt”.

“You’re making me want to spill more coffee on you right now”.

Mia chuckles.

“And then?”, Kaya lazily sips on her strawberry milkshake but you can tell she’s invested.

“She was so sweet, tried to pay for the dry cleaner”, he grins and you roll your eyes, “we met again at a mutual friend’s party the same week”, which is a nice way to say he used to fuck your roommate and was invited to her birthday. You remember his charm, how easy it was to win everyone over in the space of one night. You remember begrudgingly chatting with him out on the balcony, the deepness of his voice, the twinkle in his beautiful eyes.

Eventually they stopped seeing each other and your roommate casually, skeptically mentioned something about his interest in you over breakfast. You never thought he’d ever actually message you over social media. You never thought his magnetic field would be so strong, his touch so addictive. Ha made you fall for him without even noticing, without trying. Without doing anything but being himself.

And now you’re his while he’s still everyone else’s.

“So, a bad first impression”, his mom smiles, knowing, beautiful eyes boring into yours, “what made you change your mind?”.

“More like what made you do this to yourself?”, Kaya grins and Oliver throws a crumpled napkin at her.

You smile too. Despite being well aware of what danger his stare harbors, you still turn to look at him.

“He’s a good man”, you say, “honest, really kind. He always thinks of those around him, hardly ever puts himself first. I just love how genuine and caring he is”.

The corners of his eyes crinkle slightly as Oliver casually takes your hand and brings it to his lips, his mom softly cooing her emotion. Kaya softens up too, perhaps deciding against joking about his looks or money playing a substantial role in your change of heart.

“You have to tell her something nice too, idiot”, she pokes his brother’s cheek and he chuckles.

“I was getting there”.

“So?”, Mia urges, “what was it about her?”.

He hums, pensive. You’re tense again, he can feel it. He hopes the thumb he’s rubbing comforting, attentive circles over your wrist with, is enough to soothe your mind. It makes him smile that you lightly bump your knee against his under the table.

“She’s smart, way funnier than me. Disarmingly generous. I don’t have to be anything but myself when I’m with her”, Oliver hesitates, then relaxes in his seat, “she makes me want to be a better person”.

He’s a bit disappointed by the way you promptly avert your gaze with an embarrassed chuckle, wishes you’d look into his eyes more. Maybe you’d read something in them, a reason to share what you’re tormenting yourself with in that pretty little head of yours.   

By the time you stumble back into his apartment, it’s the late afternoon and your traitorous heart is on the verge of undermining the rational decision you were so ready to put across only a few hours prior.

The bag with the dress is strategically left by the door, hidden behind the umbrella stand, where he won’t immediately notice it after you leave. You plop down on his couch and sigh, exhausted for more than one reason.

“Tea?”, Oliver peeps out from the kitchen, “I got that ceylon one you like”.

“No, thanks, I’ll leave in a bit. Can you call me a cab actually?”.

You hear the distant rattling of cups being put away and after a moment he shuffles to the living room.

“What cab? I’ll drop you off”, Oliver sits next to you with an easy smile, “thanks for today. If you're mad, I can make it up to you”, and just like that, with a gentle grasp of your chin, he angles your head just right to press a chaste kiss to your lips. You can’t help but melt into him, when he runs his tongue along your bottom lip the sharp exhale you let out makes him smile.

“You’re cute when you’re embarrassed”, he murmurs against the spot behind your earlobe where he’s mouthing at the skin, “looked so beautiful in that dress. How about putting it on right now just so I can take it off?”, you try to gather your thoughts enough to string a few coherent words together but Oliver’s teeth graze your ear before his lips are back on yours, eager, and the fire of your remonstrance is about ready to die. A candle burning out.

“Oliver”, you pull away but he chases you, pecks your lips again and again, “Oliver”, you try again, hand on his mouth in a silly attempt at keeping it at bay. Eyes locked to yours, he grins against your fingers and then casually parts his lips to take two of them in his mouth. Something scorching hot trails down your spine and you have to take a deep breath. Focus.

“When you tell them we broke up, please be nice about it”.

He releases your fingers and you pretend not to notice the way his smile falls ever so slightly, a crack in the facade you’re not willing to question.

“You promised you’d come to Kaya’s birthday”.

“Yeah but we can be broken up by then-”

“It’s in three days”.

You sigh.

“Well, technically she didn’t invite me, your mom did. I think it’ll be fine if I don’t show up”.

“I know my sister, she’s gonna ask me if you’re coming. She’d like to have you there, I want you there”.

He’s not making it any easy for you.

“Do we really have to talk about this right now?”, he pushes, scooting even closer and resting his chin on your shoulder. You shut your eyes.

“Why won’t you let me get close?”, he murmurs, lips inches from your neck. You clear your throat.

“What d’you mean? I think you get close enough”, with a nervous chuckle, you hope to disperse the weird tension you can feel bubbling underneath the surface of his words.

Oliver’s nose follows the curve of your jaw, breath curling hot against your skin when he speaks again.

“There’s a barrier, right here”, his finger gently taps on your chest first and then on your temple, “you let everyone else in so easily. Not me, though”.

If he feels the way your heart starts beating faster, he doesn’t comment on it.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Aiku”.

He hums.

“I see. It’s getting higher, can’t climb over it. What are we gonna do?”.

“Oliver…”.

“Ah, there she is”, you can feel the curl of his smile, “if I ask you something, will you be honest?”.

You nod, not trusting the steadiness of your voice.

“Do you trust me?”.

It’s a loaded question, one you’re unprepared for. By now, you know him well enough to understand what he’s truly asking, the implication going beyond the simple outward layer coating his scrutiny.

Oliver is asking if you trust him with what you’re keeping from him, your heart and your thoughts. Because of course he’s smart enough to notice.

“No”, you murmur after a few seconds of careful evaluation.

His cheek is pressed to your shoulder and dark hair tickles your chin when he nods, immersed in his own thoughts and considerations.

Oliver doesn’t speak for a while, perhaps an entire minute. He wonders if the day spent with his family wasn’t enough, how much of himself he has to bare for you to believe he’s worth being vulnerable for. When has he ever shied away from a challenge?

Right as you’re about to timidly ask for a cab again, the deep rumble of his voice makes your heart jump.

“I’ll change that”.

you expect it, but it doesn’t make it any easier. you watch numbly as suguru is assigned under your watch. you should be happy. you love suguru—you never stopped. but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s not a free man, and now he drags your freedom with his. you’ll never break away from him, never cut through the ropes that tie your hands behind your back and bind you to him—and then you wonder for a moment, unsure if it’s selfish or selfless or some cruel in-between to think this way, if geto suguru was better off dead. 

whether that’s for your sake, or his, you’re not sure. 

and yes, he’s let off alive, and sure, there’s no real punishment for all he’s done, but you know deep down he’s as chained and shackled as he’s ever been. he’s not allowed to leave the house unless you or satoru are there to chaperone, and it’s never to be anywhere near non-sorcerers. he’s not to live in a place of his own until the higher up’s deem him trustworthy. he has to ask you to buy the things he wants from the grocery store. he can’t even step outside for a smoke unless you’re aware. 

for a long time, he doesn’t speak much—can hardly muster a barely audible mornin’ back when you force a smile and greet him cheerily for breakfast. slowly, it turns into half-snarky conversations that get cut short by one of you leaving the room. finally, you’re civil—maybe even friendly. you’re not so sure where you stand with him as of now.

it’s not the same suguru you remember falling in love with, it’s not even close to the version of the man you fell for all those years ago. it’s hard having him here—some days you’re angry and want to throw him out, to scream at him for haunting you again just when you think you’ve moved on from the horrors of your past. some days you want to cry and cling to him, bury your face into his neck and thank him for being here again, for finding his way back to you. and some days you wish you never met him at all, that this would all be easier if it didn’t exist in the first place. 

he’s not the same geto suguru you loved, but somehow, because life is as bitter as it is ruthless, you fall in love with this version just as hard no matter how much you deny it. 

“i made your favorite,” you smile gently, placing a neat plate of french toast with freshly cut strawberries on the side. you even take great care to get the syrup-to-powdered sugar ratio he likes right, but he doesn’t make a move to reach for the plate. instead, suguru sits at the table stiffly, like he has to be here or there are consequences for that too. it almost makes you sad—even here, he’s not free. 

“thanks,” he says quietly, “but i’m not hungry.”

“you said that last night, suguru,” you sigh, “and at lunch. and at breakfast. and at dinner the night before—”

“i’ll eat it later,” he cuts you off, playing with the ends of his hair. 

it’s a lot shorter now. it’s you who finds his body battered and bruised after the smoke clears. he’s almost unrecognizable, not the same charming and perfect suguru you’re used to seeing. not the same silkened strands and smooth skin, not the same muscled and toned body, not the same chiseled jaw and soft cheeks. instead, he’s a shell of himself. his hair is matted in knots, his body is almost frail, and you notice the sunken hollows of his cheeks and dark undereyes as you lift him from the rubble a little too easily. but his body is his own—that much you can tell from the way the stitches have disappeared. 

it takes shoko a long time to nurse him back to health—it takes even longer for him to open his eyes.

you waited day and night by his side, hand over his as he breathed slowly, unconscious and unsuspecting. it would be so easy, you think one night, it would be so easy to kill him and forget and move on. 

you’ve already grieved him once before. you’ve felt and conquered the pain of loving geto suguru and losing him first to himself and then to death. but love is as selfish as it is selfless, and it’s under your mercy that you let him live—yet it’s under your cowardice that you keep him close. 

“you have to gain back the weight you lost, suguru,” you sigh, “you’re w—”

“weak?” he finishes for you, eyeing you for a second and then grinning. it’s unsettling, a grin that makes your skin crawl and your heart stop for a moment before he’s reaching for the fork and stabbing into his toast. “is that what you wanted to say? that i’m weak?”

“suguru, you know that’s not how i meant—”

“you’re not wrong,” he hums, chewing on the first bite as he speaks, “i suppose i am pretty weak right now, huh? couldn’t even kill you in your sleep if i tried could i?”

your throat is dry as you shrug, “i suppose not,” you whisper. 

“ah,” he grins again, “but that doesn’t stop you from locking your door every night, does it?” 

suguru is still healing. his body is weak, and sometimes, he leans against the wall as he walks. his arm is healed—you’re not entirely sure how, but you catch him rolling the shoulder out every now and then like it’s sore and stiff. he’s lost a lot of weight—part of it is from being bedridden for as long as he was, injured and half alive, and part of it is from barely eating—save for the few bites you force into him. you never thought there’d be a day when you could say this—but the odds of you beating suguru in hand-to-hand combat are high, and the reality is an everlasting reminder that he is not who you fell for. 

you swallow, letting out a shaky breath as he watches you closely, diligently cutting another bite from the french toast sitting on his plate as he stares you down like he can see past your soul. you don’t know what’s scarier—that suguru can still practically see yours, or that you’re unsure he even has one anymore. 

“you tried coming in?” you ask, unsure what else to say. he merely shrugs, takes another bite, and sets his fork down. 

“thought i’d check on you,” he pops a strawberry half into his mouth as he speaks.

“is that what it really was?” you raise a brow, “or was i right to lock the door?”

you’re not sure why you lock the door at night. maybe it’s because you don’t trust him, or maybe it’s because you don’t want him near you just yet. you’re not sure. you’re not sure how satoru can go back to his cheery self, how he can step through your door and boom a loud yo, suguru! before settling beside suguru on the couch with his feet on the coffee table as he rambles away. maybe it’s not real—maybe it’s satoru desperately pretending that if he tries hard enough, things can go back to how they were. 

but you don’t know how he still has the energy to try, and you don’t know if you have it in you to try anymore yourself. 

you and suguru stare each other down like that for a bit, the tension rising with every silent second that passes. you’re sure he doesn’t want to be here as much as you don’t want him around—but you’re also sure he’s glad it’s here with you as much as you’re glad it’s with no one else.

“you tell me,” he smirks after a bit, the hint of amusement making your fists clench. how dare he have the audacity to look at you like that in your own home? like he has the upper hand over you without trying? “what do you think i was there for?”

“i think you should stay in your room, suguru,” you say carefully, “i bought a new bed just for that room.”

“how sweet of you,” he hums. he sips the tea before him—it’s cold by now, but it’s just how he likes it, rose with one sugar. “you must have been excited to have me.”

“hardly,” you mumble bitterly—you can’t help it. you want him to feel hurt, even just a little. you want him to know that just because he’s back, it doesn’t mean you’ve waited all this time for him to be. liar, a part of you says, you’ve always waited for him, haven’t you? but suguru doesn’t seem phased—he doesn’t even blink.

“then tell me, why am i here?” suguru asks, his tone is as casual as ever. 

i wish i knew, you want to say. i wish i knew but i don’t.

“because satoru asked you to be,” is all you can say.

he nods, pushing back his plate and standing up, offering you that same grin. “you’re right,” he hums, “that’s exactly why i’m here.”

it hits you why his smile is so unsettling once he leaves—it’s almost genuine, like he’s still loved you all this time. impossible, you tell yourself. suguru stopped loving you a long time ago. and you need to stop trying to figure out why. 

————————————————

even despite telling yourself you don’t care what suguru thinks, a small part of you needs to prove to him you’re not scared of him. that you don’t fear for your own safety in your home, and that him being here is not some form of him haunting you. you don’t care. he shouldn’t get the luxury of thinking you care. he can come in and watch you sleep like the creep he is if he wants—you couldn’t bother to give it a second thought. 

the first night you take a chance and leave the door unlocked, suguru slips into bed beside you. it wakes you up instantly, and before you can question it, his head tucks into your neck, and his hand grasps your shirt tightly. you notice the panting almost instantly—and then you realize, it must be a nightmare. 

you fall into old habits, even after all these years, defaulting to care for him like it’s second nature. 

“you’re safe, suguru,” is what you settle for saying after a moment of contemplation. it’s all you can really think to say, so you brush your lips over the top of his head as you murmur, “you’re safe,” over and over again. 

as difficult as it is to have suguru around, as painful and cruel and aggravating as it is to be reminded of his distant existence even as he’s two doors down, this part feels natural. it’s almost like you’re back in jujutsu high, waking up to him sneaking into your room as he presses his weight over your body and wakes you with soft kisses along your face. 

except this time, he’s not annoyingly demanding cuddles or telling you about his weird dream, he’s not stealing your blanket and demanding you play with his hair. this time, it’s not the same suguru—and this time, it’s not jujutsu high. 

it’s your room. the one you got on the other side of town to leave the sorcery world behind, somehow still stuck right in the center of it no matter where you go. and yet, just like all those years ago, your legs tangle, and your arms wrap him up, and you murmur, “you’re safe,” while he catches his breath. 

“but they’re not,” he mutters in between labored pants, making you pause. 

and then you remember. 

faintly, you recall the blonde and black hair from a distance, you remember bitterly wondering what’d it be like watching suguru fathering children of your own as you came to the reality that it would never happen. sometimes, you wonder if you hate nanako and mimiko for existing, for living as the dreams you never got to live through with suguru. 

it’s selfish—to hate two children because they are what you do not have. 

but then you feel something wet hit your neck, and then you wish they were okay—for his sake. and just for a moment, you’re selfless again. 

“they’re not safe,” he mutters, making you sigh. 

“they are,” you whisper, hesitating for a moment before letting your fingers slip into his hair. you scratch gently at his scalp, feeling his body melt into yours almost instantly—like it’s a response that’s natural to him. “they’re not suffering. not anymore.”

“is that supposed to make me feel better?” he scoffs. you shrug, letting your cheek press against the top of his head as you sigh.

“it helps me feel better,” you say softly, “‘s just how you learn to cope.”

it’s an understanding you both silently come to. loss on both sides. bloodshed on either ground. defeat no matter which ideal you take. to love is to bear the pain of mortality—it’s a lesson that you never cease to learn until the ends of time itself. 

“the jujutsu world is one of suffering,” he grits, sniffling into your neck. you hum, pressing a kiss to his head as your eyes close. 

“every world is one of suffering, suguru, you can’t erase them all. the sooner you realize that, the easier you’ll find peace.”

you fall into a slumber after that, faintly aware of the way he shuffles closer to you, faintly aware of the soft kiss pressed to your skin as sleep takes over your body and drifts you out of consciousness. 

when you wake up the next morning, suguru is gone, and the door is closed. the blanket is tucked up to your chin, and your neck still tingles from last night. 

————————————————

“get up,” you throw a pillow at suguru, waking him up with a start as he sits up. his hair is tousled and messy from sleep—it’s now long enough that he can put it in a bun without strands slipping from the bottom anymore. you chuckle as he glares at you, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he groans. 

“the fuck was that for?” he grunts, holding the blanket up to cover his exposed chest. 

it’s funny that he does that, in a way. it’s not as though you haven’t seen his chest…and then some too. it’s not like you haven’t torn his shirt off to stanch the flow of blood from his injuries before or feel the bare skin with your palm under the pale moonlight as the lingering scent of sex breezes through the room. 

but somehow, even though he doesn’t need to cover his chest around you of all people, you’re glad that he does. truthfully, it keeps you slightly comforted to know that he’s aware you’re still technically strangers—no matter how well-versed you are in each other’s pasts. but you don’t ponder on it too much. instead, you grin, shoving aside the visual of the small glance you caught at his pecs, and you clap your hands to motion him to hurry. 

“we are going grocery shopping,” you say casually—as though it’s not something to make him raise a brow in shock.

“me?” he points a finger at himself. you roll your eyes, and he challenges you with another raise of his brow. “aren’t i supposed to stay away from civilians?”

“yes, you,” you nod, pointing back at him, “and satoru has worked overtime to get you granted permission to roam around with me. he says you’re welcome, by the way.”

“tell him to go fuck off.”

“that’s ungrateful,” you say flatly, “his feelings will be hurt.”

“his feelings will find a way to cope,” suguru huffs. “i don’t want to be around…them,” he says bitterly. 

you suppose it’s wishful thinking to hope suguru has let go of his past beliefs. perhaps he’s long abandoned the possibility of the vision he once planned on bringing to life, but you can’t say you expected him to revert back to the old suguru who fought alongside you and satoru. you yourself certainly have no intention of returning to the sorcery world after all the events, so you can’t say you’re shocked by the lack of change he seems to show. but then again, you suppose suguru has changed. whether he sees it or not. 

he stays here and doesn’t put up a fight to leave even though he can now that he’s healed. he eats lunch when you tell him and even washes the dishes. sometimes, when you come home a bit late, dinner is even ready on the table as he sits and stares at you expectantly. his plate is empty like yours—like he’s been waiting for you even though he doesn’t need to. you suppose you can see he’s changed in the way he doesn’t scoff at the tv channels you surf through, he silently sits on the opposite end of the couch now and watches with you, and perhaps if you’re lucky, you’ll hear a light chuckle or a quiet sigh as the scenes roll on the screen. 

you suppose suguru is a step closer to suguru every day he spends with you, but you don’t know if suguru is what you need right now. not suguru, not suguru, and certainly not geto suguru. perhaps that name should’ve been buried away as a distant memory, perhaps it should’ve only been something you unlock once every year on his death anniversary—when satoru clambers through your door drunk and unsteady as he clutches the hand that killed his best friend, only to share pancakes with you in the morning and pretend like you don’t notice the dried tears on his cheeks while he acts like he doesn’t catch the way your hand shakes as you cut into your breakfast. 

but suguru is here now. whether it’s as geto suguru, one half of the strongest duo in jujutsu high, whether it’s as suguru, the love of your life and the sole reason you exist, or whether it’s as suguru, the curse user and mass murderer who haunts your past, present, and everything in between. 

so you simply sigh, grab the pillow again, and hit the top of his head before walking over to the door as you call over your shoulder, “i’m gonna wait for you by the door in fifteen minutes. be ready or face the consequences..”

“no thanks. don’t wanna,” suguru grumbles petulantly, frowning at you as you stick your tongue at him, smirking as if you’ve just played your ace. 

“too bad,” you sing before swinging the door shut.

he’s at the door in exactly fifteen minutes, like he waited until the last possible second to join you as a move of spite. but you simply gesture him out the door and lock up, taking your sweet time as he stands there with an annoyed face. you stare at the doorknob once you’re done, taking a deep breath before turning to him with your best smile. 

“let’s go,” you hum.

“after you,” he mutters.

—

he grimaces as soon as he sees the people going about their business, clearly unhappy with the idea of being around non-sorcerers, but one sharp glare from you has him sighing and trekking along. the grocery store, admittedly, is not as bad as suguru thinks—in fact, there are lots of things he doesn’t realize he misses until he watches you grab a shopping cart. 

suddenly, he sees shadows. the silhouette of your figure climbing into the cart, the angry wave of satoru’s hands as he claims it's his turn to be pushed around, the figure of shoko pinching the bridge of her nose in irritation from the back—and then, he sees the dark shadow of baggy pants and a small bun. it’s him. suguru watches himself almost in slow motion through the remnants of his imagination as he gently shoves satoru out of the way and reaches to poke the tip of your nose before he pushes the cart with you in it.  

it’s a happy memory—and it’s gone all too soon.

as soon as he blinks, the shadows have disappeared—instead, it’s you waving a hand in his face, concern written on your features as you call his name. 

“suguru? hey, hello? are you with me?”

he exhales, pulled from his trance as he gently grabs your wrist from in front of his face and sets it down as he nods, “yeah, i’m fine. just thinking,” he mumbles. 

for a second, you hesitate, like you almost mean to say something. but in the end, you only nod before turning to grab the shopping cart. but he stops you—grabs the handle and turns to you with a small smile on his face, making you raise a brow as he gently moves you away. 

“what are you—”

“get in,” he grins, making you stare at him in bewilderment. 

“what?”

“just get in,” he sighs, “you love it when you get to sit in the cart.”

“i’m not a teenager anymore—”

“get in, will you?” he groans, “always so damn difficult.”

“hey,” you pout, glaring at him with your hands planted at your hips, “that’s rude.” it’s cute. suguru stares at you with amusement in his eyes and a soft look on his face that you don’t think you’ve really seen in years. 

“humor me,” he hums, “just get in, okay?”

so you do. 

with a huff and a grumble under your breath, you fight back a smile and climb into the damn cart just like old times. you swallow and try not to let it get to you when he reaches over and pokes the tip of your nose and pushes the cart around, letting you name off the things you need from your list while he grabs them. and when he sneaks snacks into the pile, you roll your eyes and glare at him in the way you always did—the one that isn’t actually annoyed. fond. happy to let it slide because it’s him.

“we need candy,” you murmur, “that’s the last thing on the list.”

“okay. what kind?” he asks, turning the cart into the candy aisle and smiling softly down at you.

“doesn’t matter, satoru eats anything as long as it’s sweet. he’s more likely to die from sugar than fighting a curse, i think.”

“you buy candy for satoru?” he asks, making you shrug as you reach over and grab a few bags of candy off the shelves, setting them down beside you. 

“he comes over a lot so i learned to keep stuff stocked up for him. you know how he gets when he’s hungry.”

suguru feels something he hasn’t felt since he was a teenager. jealousy—specifically of satoru. 

suguru is not foolish. he knows as soon as he meets gojo satoru that of the two, one of them is stronger and it’s definitely not himself. for the longest time, he’s okay with that, okay being the strongest only when alongside satoru—until he’s not. and even if suguru always had a bit more attention in the romance department than satoru, in his head he’s always known that perhaps satoru can keep you safer, more well off, maybe even happier. with smooth smiles and eyes as welcoming as an oasis, gojo satoru would never leave you in the dark pit of misery as suguru once had. 

something about the thought of you and satoru keeping each other company through the lonely years, filling that empty spot suguru left behind, sharing moments over candy and empty wrappers makes suguru wonder for a moment if perhaps he’d be happier if he stayed. maybe he could have worn a heartfelt smile in a world that carves them off the faces of sorcerers with bloody knives as long as you were there to wipe the blood.  

but before he can dwell on it, you snatch one more bag—this time of his favorite candy, placing it into the cart and grinning gently up at him. 

“i haven’t bought this one in years,” you admit, “i almost forget how it tastes.”

“me too,” he says quietly.

“well,” you hum, “we’ll have to have some when we’re home.”

home. you say it as though it belongs to him as much as it does you, and then like you always have, without even meaning to, you wash away the dark stains of his jealousy with no trace left behind.

“yeah,” he chuckles, “we—”

“daddy, look! candy!” suguru is cut off by the gentle pitter-patter of two tiny feet running into the aisle, pointing at a bag of candy as a man follows close behind. 

his breath hitches. 

she’s small, the girl—she has two pigtails with soft strands of blonde hair falling out of the loosely tied bands. it reminds suguru of the first time he perfected tying up nanako’s hair, the soft giggles behind her tiny hand as she twirled in the mirror. 

there’s another girl in the man’s arms—dark hair on her head as she curls into her father’s chest and tucks her head into his neck when she sees you and suguru in the aisle. she’s shy, he realizes, like mimiko, and suddenly he remembers the tiny fingers that used to hook into his pants when she got too overwhelmed by the people around her, waiting for suguru to scoop her into his arms. 

perhaps in another life, suguru would redo everything differently—he’d be happy with you and satoru and shoko, and nanami and haibara would be there too, well and alive. but no matter what, he’d never redo nanako and mimiko differently. he’d never change a thing about them, not even the way nanako whines too much about small things or the way mimiko never speaks up even when something is clearly bothering her. he’d never change the way he saved them and took them in at the tender age of eighteen, too lost to be a father but choosing to raise them anyway. he’d never change the feeling of pure joy and unbridled pride when they climbed into his bed for the first time, shushing each other so as not to wake him—even though he’d awoken as soon as the door to his room opened. 

because he realized that night that yeah, maybe he’d made mistakes in his lifetime, lots of them too. maybe he’d made a bad choice choosing the path he did, or maybe he didn’t. he’s never been completely sure—just that he had to try at least to make his vision for a different world come to life. but one mistake he never made was his girls. one thing he was always sure about was the soft clutch at his pants and the tiny hands reaching for his own.

suguru wouldn’t change anything about nanako and mimiko—except maybe the fact that they aren’t here, gone because of him. 

“suguru?” you ask softly, reaching for his hand as he grips the cart tightly and pulling his gaze away from the family in the distance. 

he blinks, meets your eyes, and knows that you know. with one glance at your face, he knows you understand. the world is cruel, one filled with suffering, he thinks. but then he remembers what you said, that every world is full of suffering, not just his—that it’s a truth he has to come face to face with.

but it’s hard. it’s hard when this man has his two little girls and suguru does not—it’s hard to watch someone have what he wants with no worries of losing it, all because of people and their own weaknesses. he thinks for a moment that he’s been right all along—that non-sorcerers are too weak for this life, that the jujutsu world has always suffered so they don’t have to. 

but then the man speaks up, catching both of your attention. 

“your mother used to love those,” he says quietly to his daughter, a pained smile on his face. instantly, you and suguru both seem to understand the weight of that single sentence. 

every world has its own pain, suguru realizes. its own cruelties and unfairness, its own way of bringing suffering in its wake as it rips away the things closest to you from your begging fingertips, leaving them cold and empty and numb from the lost weight underneath them. 

“let’s go, suguru,” you whisper, “we have everything we came for.”

“yeah,” he whispers back, clearing his throat so his voice doesn’t crack, “let’s go.”

suguru leaves the grocery store with you after you pay, and for a brief moment, he’s unsure. unsure whether he’s grateful to satoru for fighting for him to be able to come and grateful to you for dragging him along, or if he wishes he died along with the rubble, gone before you could find him and turn him into this.

“before you even think about hiding away in your room,” you say, grabbing the bags from the cart as you put it back where it belongs, “you have to help with putting away the groceries.”

“sure,” he says smoothly, grabbing all the heavy bags from your hand, and you make a move to protest that you don’t need him to take the heavier ones, that you’re fine and can handle them like you’ve always handled them. 

but he walks off, and finally, you decide to simply follow.

————————————————

satoru likes to come and visit—you’ve started a routine movie night every week (unless he’s away, of course.) it’s fun, but it also means he makes your veins pop because he’s a headache like that—always makes himself right at home and eats your snacks like this is his place and not yours. he helps himself to your already limited candy and puts his sock-clad feet up on the coffee table no matter how many times you tell him not to. 

you try sitting with legs as long as these, he always whines, earning a harsh glare from you as you smack at his shins until he ultimately caves and begrudgingly sets his feet down. 

but then they always make their way back up to the coffee table, and you’re too busy enjoying his company to care—although you’ll never admit it. 

satoru is endearing like that, swallowing the dark clouds from your shoulders whole and eating up your burdens with that side of responsibility that you don’t think you could ever stomach. satoru is just like that, you realize, taking the brunt of the weight and laughs off every concern until you can’t help but not take them seriously yourself. 

it’s hard to remember that sometimes you didn’t just lose suguru, the love of your life, that night. everyone lost something. shoko lost someone to smoke with, yaga lost a student to scold, nanami lost a headache to avoid, and satoru?

well…satoru lost what you think might’ve been the only filled void of his miserably empty life. 

it’s hard to remember that satoru lost his best friend—the only best friend he’s ever had (although you like to think of yourself as a close contender)—because he’s so good at letting you forget. he brings you ice cream (that he eats half of because it’s only fair he gets a share), and he sits and hogs your couch (that he argues you don’t really need as much space as him on because your legs aren’t as long), and he watches those stupid sitcoms that are dry with boring jokes (that you used to make suguru watch back in the day).

it’s hard to remember that satoru also lost as much as you because he’s so damn good at making you forget about your own loss, you don’t care to think about anyone else’s for a while. just a short while. just until he’s yawning that obnoxiously loud yawn and stretching those awkwardly long limbs of his before he claims he really should go and that being the world’s best teacher requires as many hours of beauty sleep as you can squeeze in. 

and then he’s off. and it’s empty again. and just like that, you’re reminded of why he was there in the first place—to fill in that sick and painful void that geto suguru left in you. 

it’s gaping, like he tore a chunk of you right out with sharp teeth, like you’re just a piece of meat for him to get his fill of. if suguru really loved you, would you be so easy to let go of? why couldn’t he smile? because you could—god, you could smile just from the sight of him alone, you realize a long time ago. him with his cigarette tucked between his lips, those death sticks as you called them, hung loosely from his mouth as he gives you a lopsided grin. 

geto suguru is enough of a reason to smile. the world could crumble at your feet and leave you with nothing but rubble and dirt, and still, suguru is the core of the earth you’re searching for. 

so why couldn’t you be the same? what is it you were missing? what about you was just not enough for him like the way he was enough for you? 

it dawns on you one night, through bitter tears and shaky sobs, and that sick, twisted, pleading feeling in your gut that begs the wind to carry him back to you—geto suguru has never loved you the way you loved him.

and for that, you can never forgive him, you don’t think.

“you tryin’ to go bug-eyed?” he asks, settling down on the couch next to you, making you snap out of your trance. you shake your head a little, stare back at him for a moment before putting on that look on your face where you roll your eyes and pretend everything is fine.

“no,” you huff, “i’m just thinking.”

“about…?”

“satoru has rarely ever missed a movie night.”

“maybe he’s sick of you,” he shrugs, grinning slyly at you as you narrow your eyes with a glare, “there’s someone here to keep you company now so he’s probably taken his opportunity to run.”

“you’re hardly company,” you scoff, “freeloader.”

“hey,” he defends, shrugging as if it’s not his fault. you suppose it’s not. “i didn’t ask to be rescued. you can’t be high and mighty and petty. ‘s not how that works.”

“says who? you don’t make the rules. i can be graciously kind and a jerk all at once.”

“complexity,” he nods, “i like it.”

“i’m not as complicated as you might think,” you grumble, crossing your arms as you stare at the time. yeah, satoru isn’t making it—which, he told you as much, but he’s strolled in at the last second too many times to count before. you figure today would be the same. “as long as you don’t skip movie nights with me, i’m pretty simple to keep appeased.”

“alright,” he props his feet up on the coffee table—seriously, what is it with asshole men putting their feet on your table? satoru is a terrible influence. “let’s have a movie night.”

“what?” you blink.

“movie night,” he repeats, “you said you don’t like skipping movie night—”

“well, i meant i don’t like satoru skipping movie—”

“well, it was me before satoru, wasn’t it?” he says with a smile. his eyes are closed, crinkled at the corners, but his voice is carefully neutral—like he takes extra care not to let you see any emotion behind it. 

but that only means there is an emotion, isn’t there? is he jealous? does he hate the fact that you and satoru have a routine of your own without him? that you don’t need him to continue living your life? 

good. he should be. he walked out on you all those years ago. he killed a village. killed his parents. you never even got to meet them—he never even got to take you home and introduce you to them before he ripped away every fantasy you ever had with him. 

and now he’s back—he has the audacity to live, to laugh in your face with his existence that yes, geto suguru is here. and he was supposed to be executed, but your stubborn friend didn’t let that happen. he was supposed to be your husband by now with kids and a happy little home, and you were supposed to be his parent’s new addition to their family that they loved so much. but none of that is even close to happening, and it’s suguru’s fault, and the least he can do is show you some regret and maybe feel just the slightest bit bad that you now have to watch shitty movies with his best friend instead of him to feel normal. 

ex-best friend? half best friend? you don’t even know—do they still consider each other their best friends? does anyone consider suguru anything? you don’t know what you consider him. but you think the least he can do is act just the slightest bit pathetic after making you feel so pathetic for so long just to even the score. 

he should be a stranger. he feels like an old friend. but either is dangerous. 

“alright,” you sigh, “let's bring back movie night. don’t fall asleep.”

“i get plenty of sleep nowadays,” he hums, “i have more than enough free time for that now.”

“how lucky of you,” you snort. 

—

picking a movie with suguru is difficult. he actually has standards—satoru watches anything so long as he gets snacks, and he can make anything fun to watch with the way he comments from the side like a critic. suguru, on the other hand, actually cares about the quality of a movie, the metrics that make it good. 

so you pick the hunger games just to piss him off. 

“seriously?” he raises a brow, “this is your pick?”

“yes,” you grin, “i like these movies.”

“of all movies—”

“my house, my rules,” you grin cheekily, “you can pick the movies as soon as you start paying the bills.”

“wow,” he deadpans, “stooping to use my financial status against me? i thought you were better than this.”

“oh suguru,” you sigh dramatically, grabbing a bag of chips from the table, “you don’t know me at all.”

all things considered, you think it’s a rather enjoyable experience. it’s not as fun without satoru’s stupid comments that you pretend to hate, but suguru provides his own commentary that earns a giggle out of you here and there too—although his are not meant to be funny. but that’s the appeal of it, you think. 

“she should have picked gale,” he mumbles. you raise a brow.

“peeta was always there for her, did you miss the rain scene?”

“so was gale,” he says smoothly, grabbing a chip from your bag and making you scowl.

“gale killed her sister,” you point out, “and a lot of other people too. he was ruthless. she needed peeta.”

“gale did what he had to do,” suguru mumbles. 

suddenly, it doesn’t really feel like you’re discussing the movie anymore. it feels more than that. it feels sickening—the air is heavy, and your throat is dry and god, you just wanted a movie night and not this heaviness as you talk about stuff from the past without actually talking about it. 

you blink before turning to your chips, playing around with the bag as you shrug. 

“in the end he didn’t get katniss, did he?”

suguru studies you for a moment, stares a little too deep into you that you start to feel the urge to bolt to your room and go to bed. 

“guess not,” he says quietly, “guess that’s the one regret he has, huh?”

you think for a second, as suguru stares at your eyes with something you can’t quite read, that you might cry. you might cry and throw that half-empty can of soda in his face for speaking in codes and making you question what he means and remember your past. you might cry because suguru could’ve always gotten you—in fact, he had you.

it’s not fair. nothing is, but you can’t help but dwell on it.

“i’m going to bed. it’s late,” you mumble after a few moments, standing. he only nods, staring at the tv as the credits roll. when you make it to your room and the door shuts behind you, you debate clicking the lock in place. 

in the end, you don’t lock the door. suguru climbs into bed with you once more later that night, shaking slightly from his nightmare but calmer than usual. he’s still gone by the time morning comes, and you still never mention it.

it hits you one night that maybe he still has you—maybe you never let him stop having you, no matter what you say.

————————————————

suguru is good at cleaning while you’re away. you have to go out and do adult things like breadwinning and grocery shopping and bill paying. he dusts and cleans and even takes out the trash when you’re home to monitor him as he steps two feet out of your front door. sometimes, because you like to get on his nerves, you accidentally mess up a corner of the house just as he cleans it, laughing as he shoots you an unimpressed look. 

“stop getting crumbs on the floor,” he mumbles, “i just vacuumed.”

“you make a good malewife,” you giggle, “vacuuming and everything. how cute.”

“don’t call me that,” he grumbles, sitting down on the couch. 

“but you missed a spot,” you point to the crumbs you’ve sprinkled from your fingers as you snack away, making him glare. “failwife.”

“i’m going to divorce you and take everything,” he snaps, making you snort as you put your hands up in surrender.

“you don’t have to, you know,” you murmur, “clean, i mean. i can handle it.”

“i think i should carry my weight around here,” he shrugs, “since you are basically sugar babying me around for now.”

“dangerous curse user to the world, but sugar baby to me,” you tease, pulling a chuckle out of him as he rolls his eyes. 

sometimes it’s nice to have his company. suguru is good with banter like that, he’s not annoying like satoru where you run in circles. suguru makes you laugh from your belly, makes the hiccups catch in your throat as you double over. he’s always been like that, always known how to make laughter pour from your lips and trickle down your chin. it’s comforting to know he still knows how. it leaves a small bitterness that he’s still able to make you feel like this. 

“by the way, next time you go shopping, take me with you,” he says casually, “i need to buy stuff for my hair. it’s growing.”

“you’ll finally see the sun just for your hair?” you gasp, “who knew that’s all it’d take?”

despite the playfulness in your words, there’s still shock. suguru is willingly stepping foot outside your house. he’s finally choosing to return to life after living like a recluse no matter how many times you and satoru have tried to beg him to get up and go somewhere. the most you can get out of him is a walk around the neighborhood before he goes back to wandering your home and hiding away in his room. 

suguru is returning to life, his life, and you can’t help but wonder where that leaves room for you.

“my hair is my charm,” he reasons, “wouldn’t you agree?”

there’s a smirk on his lips when he asks—it’s like he’s seventeen and teasing you again, giving you that unfairly flirty smile that used to make you stutter as a kid. back when you were hopelessly in love. back when it was you, suguru, and the world in your corner. back when you had dreams of your future, practically giggling as you planned it away in a notebook. 

suguru was always perfect like that, the kind of guy you could only dream about. he’s always been handsome—he’s always been the center of attention everywhere you went. you used to huff about it, about all the attention he managed to get from walking into a room alone. but then he’d smile, give you that tender look of his as he’d chuckle, and you’d be hopeless again. 

he shouldn’t have that effect on you anymore after over a decade. but he does. it’s cruel, the way the universe works. it’s like there’s a magnet that pushes you together no matter how far you try to go, still pulled by gravity straight into his awaiting eyes and devilish smile.

“i cut your hair off once, i can do it again,” you huff. he laughs, it’s good-natured and kind. 

“i was a bit heartbroken when i realized it was so short, i have to admit,” he says, “i didn’t look like me.”

“you looked good,” you say quietly, “i think you’d make anything work, to be honest.”

“yeah?” he grins, “any requests? i might consider it if it’s you.”

“oh shut up,” you roll your eyes, “how about shaving your head bald? let's see how much charm you have without all that hair.”

“i could charm you without the hair still, couldn’t i?” he winks. 

it’s unfair how he acts like normal. like a few months in your home undoes everything he’s ever committed, all the atrocities he’s caused. the way he flirts with you feels like you’re his again. the way he’s aged and changed feels like you’re meeting someone new. you don’t understand how suguru is so natural with that—with seamlessly falling back into a rhythm with you like nothing has changed at all.

deep down, you know that suguru is just moving on with his life. he’s making the most of what he can. he can’t die, satoru would never let him have a peaceful death after all this. he can’t go back to the way things used to be, whether that’s his sorcery days or his curse user days, and he certainly can’t start over. so he’s making do with what he has—which is very little in reality.

it’s you, your home, and the biweekly visits from satoru and occasionally shoko. so he weaves you seamlessly into his life and treats you with a sense of normalcy you can’t hope to treat him with. maybe it’s because suguru was actually able to move on after he left. 

it’s the part you hated him most for. for building a family with new people. for having two girls that he raised as daughters. for finding people to follow him and trust. suguru, after he walked away from everything he ever knew, actually did something with his life—even if it could hardly be considered good. 

you? you fell deeper and deeper into a pit of denial until clawing your way back out was too impossible, until you had to leave behind everything you’ve ever known to get away from the remnants of his existence. 

it’s easy for him to weave you back into his life because he chose to cut you loose. it feels damn near impossible to let him weave back into yours after he tore himself from the edges and frayed away. 

“don’t do that,” you sigh, making him frown.

“do what?”

“you know what, suguru,” you pinch your nose in frustration, “stop acting like things are normal.”

“things are definitely not normal,” he snorts bitterly, “i think needing your approval to take the trash out is not equal to normal.”

“then why are you acting like…” you trail off, unsure.

“like what?” he raises a brow. 

“like we never changed,” you slam your hands down on the couch in exasperation. 

he stares at you for a minute, blinks once, then twice, and then furrows his brows.

“well, of course we changed,” he mumbles in confusion, “i know that—”

you shouldn’t have said anything. you quickly realize that. suguru is not trying to act like things are normal—he’s trying to be civil, and you’re just a fool. a fool who looks too deeply into everything and assumes what you want to out of things and god, you’ve embarrassed yourself in front of your one and only ex-boyfriend in over a decade who was once dead and somehow came back to the land of the living.

of course, he knows things are not the same. he doesn’t want what you think he does. it’s been years and suguru has moved on—he had already moved on all those years ago, and you’re the only one here that is still focused on the past. and now he knows it too. 

you stand before he can finish, nodding as you stare down instead of meeting his eyes, pretending to adjust your clothes. 

“right, of course you do,” you nod, “i don’t know why i said that. just ignore me, i’ll be going to my room now. i have…things to do, so i’ll be—”

“hang on,” he frowns, hand grabbing your wrist, “i don’t mean it like that,” he says gently.

fuck geto suguru for being so confusing and fuck him for being nice about it too. 

“you can let go, suguru,” you pull at your wrist, “forget what i said, i wasn’t thinking—”

“i still feel the same,” he cuts you off, making your eyes widen, “if that’s what you mean. i never stopped.”

never stopped—that’s almost worse than moving on. how could he have felt the same all those years and still never come back?

“that does not help even a little,” you swallow the lump in your throat. “that makes this so much worse, do you see that?”

“i know,” he sighs, “i’m sor—”

“don’t say you’re sorry,” you grit your teeth, “we both know you’re not.”

“maybe not,” he admits, “i had to try. and that meant leaving—i’m sorry that’s not what you wanted.”

“it’s not!” you turn around, pulling your arm out of his grasp—suguru, for what it’s worth, takes the shove to his chest like a champ. “of course i didn’t want you to leave and kill a bunch of people and have an execution stamped on your forehead and live your life without me.”

“i know—”

“and now you’re back. back! in my house, eating my food and sleeping in my bed for half the night and i just have to act like this is normal. how is any of this normal?” 

“it’s not,” he agrees. he’s calm. so calm, it almost makes you mad. why is he so calm? “nothing about anything in our lives is normal. it never was.”

“you ruined my life,” you blink back tears. he smiles sadly, taking a step closer.

“i guess i can take the blame for that,” he nods, hands finding their way to your hips. against your better judgment, you lean half your weight against his body. this is bad, very bad—but it’s also the best thing ever. 

being close to suguru feels like the sun’s heat tearing through your skin—it’s warm. it’s pleasant. it leaves you parched and drained with a dry throat. but still, you need it to survive. 

“why did you come back?” you ask tiredly. his hand finds the small of your back, rubbing slow circles.

“i don’t know,” he hums, “i didn’t really get a say. maybe i was always meant to, who knows?”

you look at him at that—tilt your head to get a good look at his features. his eyes are more tired, and his cheeks are a bit more sunken in compared to the youthful flesh you remember him with. his hair isn’t as healthy, and his forehead has the slightest traces of pale marks from the scars. but he’s still suguru—and you have always loved suguru, even if he gives you every reason to hate him.

“you make my life unreasonably difficult,” you mutter.

he hums, smiling. “can i?” he asks breathlessly, pleadingly. you stare at his eyes, he stares at your lips. you know what he wants—but fuck, you can’t let him have it so easy. 

“can you what?” you ask, raising a brow slowly.

“are you really gonna make me say it?” he grunts, lips almost curled into a pout. it’s cute, the way he looks longingly at your lips—it’s so cute and beautiful and dangerous all at once, just like suguru. 

“yes,” you say, “yes i am. i deserve to hear it suguru, after everything you put me through. you…you left me. i wasn’t enough for you. i mourned you. i grieved a body i never even saw. do you know what that does to a person? to lose them not once but two times? the least you could do is tell me what you want,” your voice wavers just a little. 

it shakes for the lost time. for the moments you’ll never have. for the memories you lost. for the past that’s tainted. time is cruel like that. but that’s the beauty of it all—the fragility. it’s like sand falling through the cracks of your fingers, every grain slipping from your reach but still soft and soothing against your skin as it falls. everything fades over time, everything starts to hurt one way or another. but it stops. it heals. it starts over. the sand fills the cup of your palms again, warm and delicate and just as beautiful as before it crumbled. 

“can i kiss you?” he asks desperately, “please?”

“kissing me is not a temporary thing,” you shake your head, “not anymore. it’s for good. only for good.”

“i want to kiss you for good,” he nods, hands digging into your hips impatiently. you’re close. you’re too far. he can feel you, smell you, hear your unsteady breaths. but it’s not enough. he needs to devour you, taste you on his tongue, and melt you with his touch. “i won’t stop this time,” he promises. 

“you better not,” you sniffle, tears blurring your vision. you hated suguru for leaving you. you hated him for coming back to you like this. you never stopped loving him, never will stop loving him—and maybe that’s what love is. when the darkness is worth trekking through for the afterglow of the light. “if you fucking leave me again, you’re dead to me. i don’t care how many times you come back to life. you’re dead to me.”

“okay,” he agrees through a shaky chuckle, “i suppose i deserve that. let me kiss you, yeah?”

“yeah,” you breathe.

he kisses you—years too late, he kisses you. it feels like you’re teenagers again. it feels different and foreign. you know this feeling like the back of your hand. you don’t understand what this sensation is anymore. it’s new. it’s old. it’s perfect. it hurts. suguru is here. he promised not to leave—you don’t know if you believe him, but you’re going to trust that finally, for once, you are enough. 

you’re enough to make him happy. to give him a sense of purpose. to keep him swimming when his limbs start to sink. 

finally, for once, you’re enough. 

“i love you,” he whispers against your mouth, breathing the words into you like he’s offering you the air from his lungs, “i never stopped. i promise.”

“you don’t deserve to hear it from me,” you murmur back, panting against his lips, “not yet.”

“fair enough,” he chuckles, “you sure know how to leave a guy waiting.”

“i learned from the best,” you shoot back.

he grins—suguru smiles, heartfelt and real. life is full of misery, it’s painful, and nothing fucking makes sense. everything is cruel. everything dies no matter how carefully you water the roots. there’s always something, someone, ready to tear it from the earth. but if you keep planting the seeds, suguru will keep watering. 

maybe something kind can bloom from that, something big enough for him to hide under the shade when the scorching heat of tragedy becomes too much. 

in this world or in the jujutsu world; in this life or in the next. suguru is yours.

“why am i here?” he asks gently, his face digging into your neck. you hold him, cradling the back of his head as you hum. 

“because i need you here. will you stay?”

“yes,” he murmurs, “i think i’ll stay.”

hi. i have been working on this since march. its still not how i envisioned it to be originally but that's okay. i had fun writing it and it means a lot to me even tho its kind of. well....cliche LMAO like everything i write. but. i enjoy the cliches okay ?? i do. kxljchskdf hope u guys didn't hate it </3

with the moon positioned at its highest point in the night sky, blade guessed that it was already midnight, meaning that he hadn't caught a wink of sleep ever since he fled the xianzhou with your unconscious body in his arms and warped to a planet he first thought of. this was nothing new. he could stay up all night and his body wouldn't feel anything at all.

blade approached your resting figure in the small cave you were both currently residing in. observing your face for a moment, which was formed in a deep frown, he brushed away the stray hairs out of your face as carefully as he could, then placed the damp cloth on your forehead.

your fever wasn't going down throughout the evening, with your body covered in sweat and hastily wrapped bandages. your shoulders were bare since your most grave injury was a stab wound near your heart, caused by a sharp blade of a mara-struck soldier, and so he was forced to rip open the top part of your shirt to stop the bleeding.

beside your now wrapped wound was none other than your mark. your stellar mark. blade can only stare at it. even when he was placing a bandage over your wound, he didn't dare touch the area where the mark rested on your skin. until now, he was still in disbelief over the fact that the aeons gave him a counterpart, his other half. after all the torment and pain, he, of all people, was blessed with a stellarmate.

he went over to the bonfire in the middle of the cave, where he was boiling medicinal herbs with water using a bowl he made out of stone. years worth of travelling between planets made him gain knowledge of which food to eat or which plant is safe to intake. emerald-iii wasn't a foreign land to blade; he had visited the planet before twice, accompanied by kafka.

speaking of his companion, blade thought back to the xianzhou while waiting for you to wake up and for the medicine to finish cooking. she must be looking for him right now, maybe even asked silver wolf to track him down. your astral express friends might be searching for you too.

he closed his eyes. the image of you lying in your own pool of blood appeared in his mind. blood was also dripping down the side of your mouth, and your eyes were already starting to close when he found you. the pain and rage and fear he felt all over his body was nothing compared to his never-ending death. and he felt his mark burning too, wanting to seek revenge to the people who hurt what was his, wanting to kill them clean with his broken—

"b—lade?" your broken voice came out in a pained wheeze. you coughed shortly after, throat dry and parched. blade turned around and looked at you. your eyes were barely open, but he can see your confusion and distress. "you're...h-here?"

"fool. don't try to talk. you are currently in a weak state." he scolded, glowering at you with his crimson eyes narrowed in slits.

you shook your head repeatedly, slowly lifting your shivering arms and wrapping them around yourself. "i-it hurts, blade..." you complained as tears lined up your eyes, fingers brushing against your wounded shoulder, "...and it's c-cold."

blade gave you a blank stare. he didn't know what to say to you. it was the first time you talked to each other properly, and the first time you were alone together. but it seemed like you were in a state of delirium, seeing that you weren't scared of expressing yourself.

you whined while sniffing, "so cold...why is it so cold?"

he sighed in defeat and shrugged off his tailcoat, leaving him in only bandages wrapped around his torso. he scooted over to you and covered your body with his coat. "we are in emerald-iii, therefore, the weather is constantly changing. endure it while i finish the medicine."

"medicine?" you asked curiously, pulling his coat up to your face.

blade clicked his tongue in annoyance. "one more question and i will abandon you here."

you were silent for the next minutes as you patiently waited beside him. he removed the stone bowl from the fire, and saw that the water has turned a greyish green due to the medicinal herbs. to further melt down the remaining floating leaves, he gave the liquid a quick stir by moving it in a back and forth motion.

bringing it up to your lips, he commanded, "drink."

moving your head forward, you sipped from the bowl, but you immediately coughed it out. after recovering from the series of coughs, you let out, "it's bitter—!"

"you dare complain when i boiled these herbs for hours just so they become pure enough to consume." blade snapped impatiently, "do you wish to be well or not?"

you nodded quickly, not wanting to anger him any further. "okay. i'll drink it."

it took you a few more tries before you get to take all the medicine down your throat, your face scrunched in disgust by the time you finished drinking it.

without warning, blade scooped you up and placed your head against his shoulder. he started taking off your bloodied bandages, and once it was all removed, he examined the wound. he already cleaned and stitched it up hours ago, but it was still bleeding. it can't be helped. the supplies were sparse and the cut was too deep, and with your fever adding up, he was not sure if you'll survive the night.

sweat began lining up his forehead. gritting his teeth, he took a fresh batch of bandages and started to wrap them on you again.

why? why was he doing this? why was he trying to keep you alive? each time the bandage circled around your arm, blade's movements became more frustrated and quick and rough. he didn't even notice you gazing at him with a dazed expression until you chuckled softly.

blade scowled. "speak if you wish to say something."

"are you real?" you murmured weakly, your hushed voice cracking in between words, lacking the usual gentle tone yet it was still tinted with naivety and awe that it made him freeze. all the frustration and anger was washed away and was instead replaced with confusion to your question.

your eyelids kept drooping down, not allowing him to see the beautiful shade of your warm eyes that reminded him of the brightest stars of the xianzhou sky. it was fine; as long as he gets to hold you like this, your head against his shoulder, your bare skin against his with the moonlight shining over you, then everything was fine.

feeling his heart skid to a stop for a thousandth time that night, blade can't help but to slowly reach out, and although his bandaged hand hesitated to land on your skin, afraid it might tint your innocence with his sins, he allowed himself to caress your cheek. it did not surprise him at all when your face fit perfectly in the palm of his wounded hand, your warmth proceeding to seep through his thin and bloodied bandages. a stray tear suddenly fell down your smooth skin, and this time, he didn't hesitate to wipe it off with his thumb.

"what do you mean?" he whispered, leaning in closer to you. you didn't answer for a minute, your breathing growing heavy.

then you laughed. "i don't know," you said, "i feel like i just made you up."

more tears escaped from your eyes as you continued, "you wouldn't...boil some strange herbs for me, or wrap me up in your coat. or treat my wounds, or even talk to me. you wouldn't want to be near me. you wouldn't do that."

"i have no time for your nonsense." blade replied with the intention of sounding harsh, but it came out weak instead. you smiled at him tearily, placing your hand on top of his.

"we are going to be unbound soon." you assured him, and blade swore his stellarmark was stung the second you said those words, "and as soon as i get well, i will immediately seek the aeons and get our marks removed. then you wouldn't have to see me ever again."

he swallowed, speechless for the first time. unbeknownst to him, he was slowly pulling you closer to his chest, his fingers digging into your skin in an attempt to keep you all to himself. his breathing grew uneven as he thought of you walking away from him, forgetting him, not thinking of him, and you belonging to someone else that wasn't him. his heartbeat grew irregular at the thought of not seeing you again.

blade had the sudden urge to cover up his mark and protect it from the world. it was his. it was his and his alone, and no one was going to take it away from him. not even the aeons.

"but do you want to know a secret?" you continued quietly, your smile growing wide, "if the aeons would give me a chance to pick a stellarmate again, i would choose you."

yes. he was going to keep this mark. and he was going to keep you. ever single person who will lay their hand on your skin will meet the sharpness of his sword, and every single one who will stand in between your bond shall face his wrath.

"i would you choose you, again, and again, and again, until you want me back. until you love me back."

the second you wake up from your delirious state, he'll tell you of his new plans, and he imagined you in disbelief, surprised and hesitant and hopeless but you'll nod and you'll take his hand, and you'll run, run, run, and leave it all behind.

"oh, look at the moon," you exclaimed, pointing a finger to the crescent shaped light, and he ignored the way your breaths were growing shallow each time you talk, "look at the moon, blade. it's so pretty. the moon is so pretty."

blade pulled you closer to his chest and rested his chin on top of your head as a sinister grin started to grow on his lips, along with an unfamiliar flame beginning to ignite in his amber crimson eyes. you were his. you were his.

you're not sure what it is about him and what it is he saw in you that kept you together then. but his nights were yours. you'd trace your name against his exposed skin and you know he can tell, because you can feel him tense up whenever you do it.

he never stopped you then.

and you wonder which reaction was the most real from sae: the way he'd tense up as you traced your name or that he never told you to stop.

like you could.

like you had him.

you were both only eighteen; it's the first love you've ever known—maybe it's the only love you'll ever come to know.

but sae itoshi's reality is far from yours. so, so far from yours. that's why you're gripping his hand in yours like you'd fall from the earth or float away from it if you let go.

sae doesn't tell you this, not when he needs to board his plane with only a few minutes left, but he almost wishes he could stay with you.

play house, play lovers.

maybe he won't be itoshi sae, and you won't be y/n, but he'd love you the same.

you've gotten only barely a year of you and sae, but at the airport, you hold out your heart—soft and beating fast.

"i love you," you whisper against the pulse right under his ear, like if his heart could hear it, then maybe he won't have to go.

he hears you loud and clear. only because the language of your love is something he could recognize from a mile away.

sae itoshi is only barely nineteen. and i love you are foreign words even if he means to say them.

his thumb brushes against your bottom lip. it's gentle, along with his gaze, trained on the movement.

sometimes you wonder what goes through his mind whenever he does this, just right before he tilts your chin up, teal eyes meeting yours. you're also unsure what it is about sae's eyes that makes them look so piercing; you only ever see it when he's looking right at you.

he leans in, eyes flickering from yours down to your lips, then he brushes his lips against yours—it's barely there—like he's testing it like he hasn't done this a million couple times before.

then he presses a kiss on the corner of your mouth, butterfly kisses, fleeting then coming back for more.

only then—does he really kisses you. he kisses you like it's enough to make up for the words he's not saying.

"i'll come back," he says in between kisses; even at that, he can feel the smile on your lips. it's just a promise, but you smile like you trust him—like you genuinely believed it, like you'd hold him to it even if it took a decade.

"i'll call you when the plane lands," he adds.(because it's the best he could say.)

"it'll be midnight here," you reply, while still gripping on his unzipped tracksuit, your other hand against his chest—because he could keep the words to himself, but you figured the wild thumping of his heart couldn't lie, couldn't ever keep a secret.

"you'll answer," he tells you.

and he's right. he always is.

and one day, you'd wish all of these stolen moments with him were enough. only because they had to have been, only because itoshi sae knew little else outside football, but he knew you.

sae thinks you're quite easy to read from the get-go, but in the months you've spent together, sae has learned you. as though you mattered that much.

you were only barely nineteen. you think you might've shot to the stars when you dreamt about sae itoshi not leaving you or maybe keeping you.

"sae-chan!" his manager yells from a distance, "we have to get in now!"

it's barely there, but you can feel the way he sighs. when sae lets you go and walks away, he doesn't turn back, doesn't wave, doesn't glance to see if you're walking away too.

he doesn't look out the window once he's seated inside the plane; he doesn't watch the view of japan fade away.

but at one thirty-six am, your phone is ringing.

you pick up at the first ring—because you haven't slept, subconsciously waiting for his call.

his voice filters in first, too monotonous for the words he's saying, "i should've asked you to come."

you laugh. only because you know he doesn't mean it, not really.

you miss him already, though. so you allow his little lie. besides, maybe it's not a complete lie. perhaps he really thinks so, but even if he did, he'd never allow it.

unlike you, allowing his calls at midnight to talk about the day and whisper empty promises for the next few months.

"after soccer," he says silently, "we can stay together."

his voice is warmer through the phone, mostly from his exhaustion than anything, but you think it must mean something at least—that it's always you on the other end of the line whenever he comes home, it's always you on the receiving end of his smile through the screen, always you that you see him texting after his team wins a match.

"after soccer," you echo him with a laugh, "i don't think there's an after soccer for you, sae."

your tone isn't malicious when you tell him this, and he's not sure what comes first—that he knows he's hurting you or that he loves you more for understanding.

"i'll figure it out," he answers you, completely serious. he says he will like he could do it all on his own.

"i'll figure it out with you," you say. "i'm right here with you, sae," and you tell him because you think he needs the reminder.

it's odd, you hope you're not wrong, but you can feel sae smiling through the phone in the silence.

when you whisper these promises to each other, promises that are as empty as they are pretty—you think it must mean something.

sae only wanted things that pushed him towards his goals but then there was you... and for a while, you thought you belonged there.

it must mean something, that there was you—running and trying so hard to catch up to his dreams because he wanted you there. running eastward to the warmth that sae had reserved only for you.

but if you were more honest with yourself, there is nothing between you and sae.

sometimes, when sae is gone from you and far into his own world, you think perhaps you might've truly been delusional to think you ever had a shot at calling him yours.

that's why when he gets involved in a dating scandal—with someone who's not you—you have to pretend everything is fine. you think it shouldn't be much of a challenge to do so, since no one even knows about you and sae.

as for sae, you wait for his calls, but for the next few weeks, they never come.

still, you try to think maybe it's your fault. you haven't reached out since then, but he hasn't either; you're stuck with nothing but a promise that you're starting to doubt ever even existed.

you know you love him, and you'd like to think that somewhere in his heart, sae loved you too.

except it's not enough to keep you from doubting otherwise until itoshi rin comes knocking on your door, plane ticket in hand, like whatever you had with sae hadn't ended when you stopped talking to him weeks ago.

but sae's little brother is there, telling you to come to sae because his brother's not doing well without you.

you're not sure what it means because sae seems to have been doing just fine when you saw his recent game—especially when you saw a picture of him leaving a building with the rumored girlfriend.

that's why you're shaking your head at rin, who's still standing by your front door. at rin, who's sighing and finally relenting.

"i don't care what you do, i'm just here to give this," he tells you (and you can't help but pick up on the way he speaks like sae) but he reaches out and takes your hand, leaving you the plane ticket and walking away without so much as a goodbye.

the flight isn't til three more days.

you stare at it, laid on the palm of your hand, and somehow you feel like crying. sighing, you close your door and leave the plane ticket on your coffee table.

maybe the universe would do you a favor and let the wind take care of it, fly out the window or fall somewhere you couldn't find.

the next morning, it's still there.

when you come home, it's still there. you consider ripping it, hoping you won't let yourself stumble over and stupidly back into sae's arms somehow.

but when the night comes and there's a gaping hole in your chest where sae resides, you miss him so much you think you'd die—your resolve breaks. you think about texting him because that's the easiest part, but the curtains of your window sway forward at the wind, and it makes you think of sae and the way it's the first thing he does when he wakes up, opening the window and letting the air in, and how it would be so lovely to see him do it when you're there.

there's a plane ticket taunting you.

you figure flying all the way to spain for sae is crazy but if it meant seeing his face, hearing his voice—if it meant you'd have the chance to keep him in any way he'd allow, perhaps it'd be worth it.

rin sends you a message just as you're boarding the plane the next day; it's an address to an apartment in spain and instructions to contact sae's manager once you land.

you follow it all—heart over head until he's right in front of you, lithe fingers curling over the handle of your luggage and rolling it inside his apartment—where all his windows are open, all wind and sunlight pouring in.

"rin said you didn't wanna come," he speaks up, turning to look at you awkwardly standing by the door.

"i didn't—" you try to say, but it feels like a lie, "but i missed you more."

sae walks up to you, his hands tucked inside his jacket and his stare that never really gives away how he feels.

"why not?"

you give him a shrug. "is there someone else, sae?" you ask, so blunt and earnest that his lips twitch in a smile.

sae reaches out, holds onto your hips, "you've got a good brain in there. use it," he replies, lets your question fall back to you, "is there, y/n?"

you frown at him like you're a child telling him he's being unfair. "there might," you pause, "but then i'd have to leave," but your hands moving to his chest doesn't make it convincing.

his heart jumps at your touch, it beats steadily. it's a rhythm only you're privy to.

"...there isn't," he says finally, eyebrows furrowing. "you're with me."

you smile because you believe him, "you stopped calling, though?"

"you were upset," he quips.

you nod, point taken. "and you let me be upset at you, itoshi sae? just like that? and let me think maybe you don't love me after—?"

the scowl on his face is quick to form as you spoke, "shut up," he says, completely serious.

"will you say sorry?" you say instead, trying to sound teasing, but your voice is soft and it's the easiest thing in the world for sae to pick up on.

"no," he whispers, pulling you even closer.

"make it up to me?" you continue even though you know he'll shake his head, stand his ground. not scared enough to test his patience, even though maybe you should be.

you want to let up, to take it as it is. to love him with no need for anything else, but the reality of your feelings win and you're asking another question before you could stop yourself.

"am i with you, sae?"

"stupid," he mutters. "i love only you."

right there, in his hold and the sunlight hitting him just right, you find yourself in itoshi sae's apartment for the first time, finally offering you his affections.

perhaps the world can have him every other way, but him just like this, you get to have all for yourself. in the way he pulls you in, presses kisses to your skin. in the way he comes through the door and searches for you in the room, and he smells so good and feels so safe for no reason at all.

while you're there, still unknown to the world, your hands are intertwined beneath the tables when he takes you out, it feels just enough.

in the mornings, you wake up early with him. it's contagious—he's contagious. his habits and idiosyncrasies. when you're brushing your teeth, he's carelessly littering kisses on your neck until you're scolding him about how you can't move. he gives your hips a pat—once, twice—peers at you through the mirror, then he's off.

sometimes, you wonder what it would be like to be able to call him yours. say he's your boyfriend, mean something more.

you think about how nice it would be if you could stay here with him. play house, play lovers.

and no one had to know, because he was enough.

but when sae's stopped for a post match interview and they're asking about her—the girl in the pictures—you wonder if you're enough. because sae stops only for a moment, then he’s sneering at them to fuck off.

under the sheets and a few hours left before you fly back to japan, sae's room is dim in the night. you tug on the necklace he keeps on all the time, bodies pressed together in a bed only fit for him.

he hums, eyes sewn shut still.

"are you only ever with me, sae?"

there's a beat of silence. sae knows exactly what you're talking about, but he's almost sure nothing he could say will never stop you from wondering what if.

so he doesn't try to dispel it, but at least he pulls you in and presses a kiss on top of your head.

he offers you a whisper of yes, and that's all you get.

you're not sure why sae is risking this, when the media always has their eyes on him, but he insists on bringing you to the airport.

there's a sinking feeling in your gut you can't quite shrug off. but sae is holding your hand, igniting your body aflame, peering over you like there's so much he wants to say.

your anxiety insists that it's nothing good. the words never come, though; just sae hooking a finger around one of the belt loops of your jeans to pull you in.

he tugs one, two, three times more, securing you close to him and then he's cupping your face in his hands, kissing you like it's the last time.

all sweeter, all slower. almost like if he cause pause the time, stay there forever, he might actually do it.

you wonder if he feels it now, the way you felt a year ago. in the airport, not really sure when you'd see each other again.

sae doesn't tell you to call him when your plane lands.

instead, he tells you to send him a message when you're home. you nod only because it feels better not to shatter this now, when he's all affection and the one who loves you most.

it's the first thing you do.

your chest is burdened with a weight that doesn't truly exist until his message comes before yours.

we're done.

you'd think that if you anticipate the pain, it would hurt less. but it doesn't, not for the quick sob that rips itself out of your chest, not for the tears that start falling before you make sense of it.

it's only a two-year run and you're barely twenty-one, but you think you'd be sae's forever.

it's a love hard-earned, hard-learned. a love letting go of you before you even stood a chance.

you tell him you're home, just like promised. right before you delete his number, because if you knew sae at all, he'd have your contacts deleted soon enough—if you're optimistic, maybe he'd do it more for him than you.

and miles away, you're right. while you grieve the love you'd always want, sae makes sure he won't crumble from thinking what if.

this is the choice he made for your sake, for his. he could only hope to god if he could finally keep you close to his chest, that you would still let him.

it's a terrible fate, though.

Your parents, on the other hand, were in the midst of a power struggle in the succession rights of the billion-dollar conglomerate founded by your grandfather. According to what he’s heard, you were up against your cousin, who already had a wife and a newborn earlier this year. Apparently your elders seemed to favor those that are family-oriented and so in order for you to become a more preferable candidate to take over the business, you needed a husband.

And so, your deplorable circumstances seemed to be the perfect opportunity to reintroduce him to you. His ma told him that he had once met you before when he just started college, though he can’t recall a single thing about you.

His parents knew yours well enough to brief him on a little bit about you prior to this meeting. You’re also a well-known socialite in a few circles and it wasn’t hard to find your social media account, which helped confirm a bunch of assumptions he made.

Your Instagram feed is everything he expects it to be. Neat, tidy, and calculated. You have quotes in your captions from all sorts of novels to show that you’re well read. You regularly tag the people you meet in your professional and casual outings to show that you’re well-connected. And of course, you liked to post the places you’ve been and the things you own to subtly showcase your wealth.

It feels like it might just be another round of same person, different face, though the only thing that intrigues him is that you’re far prettier in person than in the pictures. He spots you immediately, sitting in the corner by the wide window. There’s an arrogance in the way you’re sitting straight, elbows on the table and your lifted gaze directed aimlessly out the window.

You’re resting your chin in the palm of your hand, a rose-gold watch adorning your wrist, nails freshly manicured, and your make-up flawless—exactly the kind of woman Kaiser can’t stand.

But he takes a deep breath. The least he could do was ‘play nice’ as he was told and keep his unfavorable first impression of you from clouding his judgement, even though he doesn’t actually plan on taking this meeting as seriously as his parents would have liked him to.

“You’re late,” you say as soon as he approaches. You don’t even look at him, keeping your eyes on the skyline.

Well, Kaiser dislikes you already.

He fakes a chuckle, pulling the chair out from across you. “Sorry about that.”

“Let’s just cut to the chase,” you direct your icy gaze at him, though it doesn’t make him flinch. “I’m only here to fulfill my obligations to my parents and I suspect you are too. I’ll likely be the most difficult person you’ll ever meet on these next five dates, so let’s just agree to enjoy dinner, not speak, and get these meetings over and done with. Alright?”

Based on the tone of your voice alone, Kaiser can tell you’re someone who’s used to authority, someone used to being in charge and calling the shots. And if it’s one thing Kaiser loves to do, it’s to challenge authority. Your proposition was in his best interest as well, but Kaiser couldn’t help but be curious about what would happen if he pulled your strings.

“That’s a tall order right off the bat, darling.”

“Do not address me by anything other than my name.”

Kaiser leans forward, crossing his arms over the table. “I’ll do what I want, dar-ling.”

As if to disrupt the tension beginning to build between you two, a cheerful waiter immediately comes over to take your orders. The two of you exchange less than friendly glares as the waiter explained the contents of the chef’s recommendation tonight. Much to your annoyance, Kaiser also orders the chef’s recommendation and the exact same beverage as you.

“Don’t get all self-important, princess,” Kaiser continues as soon as the waiter takes his leave, “I’m wasting my precious time to come meet you too. Don’t you think I also have a say on how I want to spend it?”

“And how would you like to spend it, Michael Kaiser? With idle chatter so you can somehow charm your way into my pants?”

“Oh, ideally,” he says in earnest. “But that means I’d have to be attracted to you in the first place.”

Your nostrils flare at the insult but you recover quickly, another witty response already locked and loaded. “Good then. If you’re not attracted to me, marriage should be completely off the table and this date should be the first and last, yes?”

“Not exactly,” Kaiser says, to which you frown. “I want you to tell me things about yourself that your little get-up can’t,” he adds, vaguely gesturing to your appearance.

“What, you’re going to take this arranged marriage thing seriously? You’re looking to settle down?”

Kaiser shrugs. “Not yet. But who knows? Maybe you’ll change my mind.”

Clearly, you weren’t prepared for this. You part your rose-painted lips as if to say something, then purse them as if to change your mind. He can practically see the thoughts doing laps in your mind, and with the way you glance at him, then out the window before letting out a resigned huff of a sigh, Kaiser can’t help but think you’re kind of cute. There’s an obvious front you’re putting up and you’re somehow piquing his interest the more you talk.

“No snarky response this time? Aw, you’re not living up to your reputation, princess.”

In a show of giving up, you finally drop your poised act, shoulder slumping as you throw your weight back against the chair.

“What do you want, Kaiser?” you say, arms crossed your chest.

“As I said, to get to know you better.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. See, these arranged marriage meetings suck on their own, so there’s no reason to make it worse. If we have to eat at this shitty restaurant, with this shitty music, amongst all these shitty fake people, we might as well keep each other company.”

It takes Kaiser a moment to realize that you’re biting your cheek and looking out the window in an attempt to stifle your laugh. He’s fixated on what is probably a rare expression on you.

He leans over the table for a better look, cocking his head to the side. “What’s that? Did I make you laugh?”

“No,” you say almost too quickly, doing the most to keep emotion from showing on your face. You’re terrible at it though. “I just thought you chose this tacky restaurant. I hate this palce.”

“Well, there you go. The first thing we have in common: I hate this place too.” Then, after a moment or two, he adds, “actually, my old man must’ve made the reservation. It’s his favorite place, said he met my ma here.”

“No way… this was where my parents had their first date too…”

“Ah.”

The weird silence that came with finding out that he had something so strangely specific in common with you is, thankfully, disrupted again by that same waiter from before. He sets down your meals and beverages with a toothy grin, wishing you both a fine evening as he spun on his heel and left.

You’re the one to start the conversation up again, with Kaiser noting your voice lacked that tension he sensed in the beginning.

“How many times have you been on these kinds of dates?” you ask, gesturing with your fork.

“Eight. You?”

“Oh, wow. Only four but no one’s ever made it to that second date before. I think some terrible rumor about me is going around because my parents are having a tough time finding a willing sacrificial bachelor,” you joke.

“I’m the opposite. Everyone wants to tie the knot with me after meeting me but they bail when I tell them I’m infertile.”

You choke at that.

“I’m kidding…” Kaiser quickly says. The couple eating at the next table gives him a pointed glance of sympathy and he suddenly feels the urgent need to clarify his case. “That was a joke, I’m not infertile. I was kidding… Really, I’m not infertile, alright—”

“Okay! You don’t have to keep repeating it!” you hush.

A spring gushes forth in his heart when he notices you’re giggling, this time making no effort to turn your face away and hide it from him. It’s a sound he much prefers over the acoustic covers the restaurant speakers have been playing on loop and it makes him want to think of ways to hear it again.

“I wouldn’t mind infertility, I think,” you continue, completely missing the dumbstruck smile on Kaiser’s face as you poke around your food and casually take what he made as a joke into something to consider. “Kids seem like a huge responsibility. I’d never be a good mom.”

“Really? You look like you’d be great with kids.”

“No, I’d be a terribly strict mom. I wouldn’t let them eat sweets before bed, I wouldn’t let them play until they finish their homework, and I’d probably get mad all the time too.”

Kaiser waves his hand dismissively. “Sounds like normal parenting to me. I’d be the kind of dad that’ll sneak in the sweets after lights out, I’d help them cram their homework in the morning, and I’d rarely ever get mad.”

“You seem like the kind of dad that’d rarely get mad but would completely blow a fuse when you do get angry.”

“Yes, exactly like how my old man is,” he cracks a smile. “See? Wouldn’t we make a good pair?”

Kaiser can tell from just your face that you had no idea where he was steering this conversation and when the realization dawned on you, the sight of your flushed cheeks made him beam. So this is what you look like when you’re caught off-guard. It’s an expression no camera could ever capture, something that can never be feigned. You turn your attention back to your food before taking a long sip of your drink, hoping the time it took to empty the glass would make him forget how embarrassed you looked all of a sudden.

Unfortunately for you, Kaiser had already decided this isn’t something he’ll let go of easily.

“By the way, let me be the first.”

You look up at him, skepticism shining in your eyes. “First what?”

“The first to take you out on that second date.”

the second date.

To say you were nervous was an understatement.

It’s the first time someone your parents chose wanted to see you again after the first meeting, so the novelty of it all made you rethink your outfit a few times, exchange your bag for another, and go back and forth checking the mirror. Keeping up appearances was like second nature in your family, so you doubly made sure that you looked exactly the part you were meant to play since the day you were born.

The only reason the tension in your muscles begin to relax is because you remind yourself that it’s just Kaiser you’re seeing.

Yes, Michael ‘world-renowned professional soccer athlete’ Kaiser.

You met him once at a family friend’s New Year’s party a few years ago, though it seemed he hardly remembered you. You, on the other hand, had been left with a very strong first impression that made you all the more wary about meeting him again all these years later.

Kaiser was notorious amongst your circle as an arrogant, self-absorbed, elusive man who allegedly knew how to win girls over to get one thing and one thing only. A very common stereotype tacked onto good-looking figures of the public eye, such as celebrities and athletes. You knew he might be much different compared to what everyone was saying but after meeting him again, you couldn’t help but feel that his mannerisms and way of speech kind of lent to this image he had created for himself.

He was more a smooth-talker than you were prepared for too. Though the one thing that really caught you by surprise that evening was the fact that he wanted to see you again.

Whether it was a genuine wish or just an opportunity to toy with you, mother and father were delighted to hear that you’d be going on a second date. It was unprecedented throughout their laborious efforts to find you a husband, and so you went to see Kaiser again so as not to let them down.

Well, you’d be lying if you said that was the only reason you went.

This time, you chose the venue: a grill-your-own barbecue restaurant, a place not as fancy as that extravagant establishment you met him at two weeks ago but certainly a place worth visiting.

You climbed out of the cab just as Kaiser parked his car, and upon seeing you, he waited at the entrance.

“You’re late,” he says, mocking you from that first meeting.

“We arrived at the same time.”

“To be honest, I’m surprised you actually showed up.”

“So you weren’t serious about it? Fine, I can just head back home—”

“Not so fast now, angel.” Kaiser gently pulls you by the arm before you can completely turn on your heel, his fingers lingering on your skin long enough for you to notice before he lets go. “Do you get mad over every little thing?”

“Yeah,” you scoff, pushing past him as you enter the restaurant.

“I didn’t think you ate at places like this,” Kaiser says after you expertly recited your usual order at the counter. Since he said he’ll have whatever you’ll have, you had free reign over which cuts of meat and side dishes to order. You didn’t even need to read the menu to know what you wanted.

“Then stop making assumptions about me.”

“Don’t you have, like, a private chef or something to grill your meat for you?”

You roll your eyes, pouring some iced tea from the pitcher into two plastic cups. “We do, but I like doing it myself from time to time.”

Kaiser nods to himself, “I see. Miss Independent.”

Silence ensues for a moment. Though the crowd here is rowdier than at the fancy restaurant, you still find that the background noise doesn’t do enough to fill the increasingly awkward air between you two and for some reason, you find the despeate need to say something.

“Well… How was your week?”

You only realized how unnatural and lame of a conversation-starter that was until you said it. Even Kaiser’s brows knitted together, the hand holding his cup frozen in mid-air.

“Sorry, what?”

“I don’t know,” you begin to ramble, speaking a little too fast when you’re trying to disguise how humiliating that was. “This is the first time anyone’s wanted to go out again on a second date, okay? I don’t know what I’m supposed to talk about.”

Kaiser snorts at that, “wait, you were being serious? No one’s ever asked you on a second date?”

“You don’t have to sound so incredulous. Why would I lie about that?”

“Oh, angel, the world is full of people who lie. But anyway, you’ve got the looks, money, and status—what else could a man want?”

You can’t tell if he’s trying to comfort you or just make sense of something he sincerely can’t comprehend. The latter seems more convincing to you at this point. Even though you brought it up in lightheartedness, what you said was no joke or exaggeration; no man has ever wanted to see you again after the first date. You didn’t want to care about it, didn’t want to be bothered by something you didn’t truly expect in the first place, but being rejected like that still stung.

Father is convinced all men lack spines while mother pins the blame on the prestige of your family, saying that your social standing is too intimidating, too high up. You knew they were just trying to be kind without actually saying don’t worry, the one for you is out there somewhere! but with the few times that it’s happened, you can’t help but wonder if the fault lies with you. Maybe you’re just not desirable, or wife-material, or lovable.

The raw meat arrives in time for this conversation to end, much to your relief. You didn’t want to unravel such a subject in front of someone like Kaiser and a deep-dive into your insecurities certainly isn’t what you want to discuss over dinner.

Kaiser grabs a tong from the side of the table and immediately gets to work, the sizzling sound of the meat on the hot grill and the smoke rising from it filling the air. You reach out to retrieve a tong for yourself only to have Kaiser smack your hand away.

“No, I’ll cook.”

“What, why? I can cook too.”

“Let me cook,” he insists, adorning the surface area of the grill with slices of beef, chicken, and vegetables.

“You don’t even know how I like them done!”

“Then you can tell me.”

You frown for a moment, clearly annoyed that he’s grilling the meat with one hand and still blocking the utensils from you with his other. “You’re so stubborn.”

“So are you,” Kaiser chuckles. “But that’s good, we’re here to learn new things about each other, right?”

Up until this point, you were fully convinced that Kaiser was just seeing you to kill time or something like that. Surely he had other, more preferable ways of spending his nights rather than meet with a girl his parents set him up with. He already established early on that he wasn't attracted to you, so why was he going out of his way to—

"Medium-well or well-done?"

"I can do it myself," you mumble, making one last attempt.

"I said, medium-well or well-done?" he repeats.

"...Medium-well."

"I knew it."

"Sure you did."

"I did! That was what I guessed in my head!"

You hum, watching as Kaiser carefully transfers the meat from the grill to your plate. He lines up the slices of cooked meat neatly on your plate before filling up the sides with the vegetables he grilled as well, including carrot strips and garlic.

He’s surprisingly meticulous at this, double-checking each slice of meat to make sure it's not overcooked, keeping the juices from spilling onto the table, and pouring just enough dipping sauce into your bowl.

“Would you say you’re a tidy person?” you wonder out loud. Habits like these typically carry over to other aspects in life.

“Probably.”

“Do you clean your room and do the laundry and stuff?”

“Nah, we’ve got a maid for that.”

“Oh, right.”

“But my ma is kind of a clean freak. I used to help her vacuum around the house and wash the dishes as a kid. I did dumb shit like try to vacuum the cat’s tail and broke a few mugs by dropping them in the sink, but it’s made me pick up a good habit or two.”

The anecdote prompts the corners of your lips to twitch. Kaiser just gave you a brief glance into his childhood with so much candidness that it surprisingly made you more curious about who he was in the past; as a boy, a teenager, and all the versions of him that led up to the man who sat before you now.

When you shift your gaze to the table again, you frown at the sight of his empty plate. Foregoing the tongs and just making use of your chopsticks, you reach into the grill to pick up some slices of meat yourself. Before Kaiser can protest, you serve him the meat he's been so busy cooking for you.

"You should be eating too, stupid," you mumble.

The gesture stuns him for a moment before he takes this as a prime opportunity for more teasing, that sultriness dripping from his voice again.

"Mm, want to feed me one yourself, princess?" he says, leaving his mouth wide open. You search the table for a second before stuffing a piece of lettuce in his face.

"Oh right, I didn't get to answer before, but my week's been good actually. What about yours?"

Oh, you didn't think he was actually listening when you asked.

"My week's been g—" you stop short only to recall the dreary meetings, cranky clients, and half-assed reports you have to correct and potentially rewrite by the end of next week, all of which reminds you that it hasn’t been a good week. You correct yourself, “it was alright.”

"You hesitated," he points out.

"I mean, it was fine. Not terrible, not particularly good either."

"Any reason why?"

"Just the usual shitty stuff that comes with being a capitalist slave."

Kaiser chuckles, flipping another slice of meat all the while. "You, the daughter of an international conglomerate, being a capitalist slave?"

"We're the most dedicated slaves of all," you say dramatically. It makes him laugh and you have to remind yourself to keep talking so you don’t get caught staring. "People think my work is cut out for me because I'm part of this family, but in reality, they work me like a dog."

"Sounds rough. Do you like it though?"

"Well, I'm good at it."

"That's not what I asked, darling." Kaiser lifts his gaze from the grill to really look at you, the first time he's done so tonight. "I'm pretty amazing at soccer, but I also fucking love it. Can you say that about your work?"

Ignoring the way he so easily talked big about himself, you pondered his question for a moment. Truth be told, it left you stumped. It was one of those open-ended questions that could leave you thinking for days, weeks, or even months. Have you ever honestly asked yourself if you liked your work, much less loved it before? Did you genuinely enjoy what you've been doing? Or have you tricked yourself into thinking you do simply because you've got a knack for it? 

Actually, you've never even thought about doing anything else because you've lived your entire life with the understanding that you'll one day have to carry on the family business. There never seemed to be any space for what you wanted and what made you happy. But was that an issue? You do want to help your family and carry on a legacy that’s so precious to them. Should anything be wrong about that?

"Dar-ling?"

Kaiser snaps his fingers in front of you, effectively pulling you out of your reverie. You didn't even realize you'd slipped into such a daze until Kaiser repeatedly called your name.

He tilts his head to the side, a softened smile on his lips, "you don't have to think about it so seriously. Sorry if I overstepped."

There it is. That somehow kind and patient look on his face. It doesn’t surface often but when it does, it makes your insides go all tender. His apology tops it off all nicely as well, which makes you feel obligated to apologize as well. "Oh no, you didn't... overstep... I just completely zoned out, sorry."

"It's fine, by the way, I'll get to choose the place for our next date, right?"

Your eyes narrow in on him. "You want to see me again?"

"Of course."

"...I'm starting to think you're actually considering an arranged marriage."

"Don't flatter yourself, princess. I'm just killing time."

As you thought.

But the tone in which he said it didn’t sit right with you. You didn't know Kaiser well enough to confidently tell when he's lying or not, but you're somehow certain that what he just said isn't the truth at all. There's no way he'd make these softened expressions and speak to you so earnestly if he was just killing time. There’s no truth in that. And you don't know what to do with this information. Was it too conceited to think he might actually be interested in you? Was it pathetic that the thought makes you kind of giddy? 

You try to downplay your expectations, overwrite any thought that might disappoint you down the line.

"Fine. Where are we going next?"

"It's a surprise. I'll come pick you up."

the third date.

“You know,  you don’t actually have to go on five dates with me. I can make up some excuse so you don’t have to waste your time,” you say as soon as you climb into his car.

You’re wearing something fancy again, your shoulders exposed, a different tiny bag in your grip, your nails a lighter color, and your make-up as flawless as the last time he saw you at the barbecue restaurant. 

He hasn't told you where he's taking you and upon seeing how much effort you seemingly put into that get-up, he feels like he's going to get an earful when he does arrive at the destination. You haven't noticed his casual wear yet, perhaps because it's dark out, so Kaiser launches into a made-up explanation to distract you as he drives out of your apartment lobby.

"No, I've come up with a brilliant plan to keep my parents from arranging these things again."

"It sounds terrible already." 

"Listen, I'm going to go out on these five dates with you, I'm going to tell them we hit it off and that I think it might work out, they're going to be happy and I'm going to act like I'm so in love, and at the end, I'm going to say you dumped me—"

"What?!"

"—I'll go through this long period of devastation and they'd feel too sorry for me to make me meet anyone else."

"Wait, you can't tell them I dumped you. They're going to tell my parents and my parents will interrogate me over why I dumped someone who could stand going on three dates with me!"

"You know, you make it sound like men have to endure spending time with you. What'd you do to scare 'em off like that?"

"I didn't do anything..." you say, your voice trailing off. 

Kaiser notices a shift in the air and glances over to see a split-second of that dejected expression on your face. It's the same one you wore the last time you mentioned this and Kaiser is convinced the subject is more sensitive than he thought. You sink into your seat, face turned to the side so that you're looking out at the window. 

"Where are we going anyway?"

Kaiser hums, eager to change the topic as well. "Somewhere you'd never expect."

"Well, as long as it's not a McDonald's drive-thru or something,” you jest.

Kaiser bites his tongue to keep from bursting into laughter because when he actually does pull up to the nearest McDonald's drive-thru, as he planned to from the very beginning, you're already fisting his shirt in an attempt to throttle him.

"You jerk! Don't you know how long it took me to get ready?! If I'd known we were going here I wouldn't have gone through the goddamn trouble! I put this stupid dress on for nothing!"

"Nah, you can think of it as dressing up for me, princess," he says, playing with fire by sensually wrapping his hand around your wrist.

You let go of him immediately to escape his cheap advance. “Gross. You’re so infuriating, Kaiser, I swear to god—”

Good evening, welcome to McDonald's, can I take your order?

Kaiser promptly rolls down his window, completely ignoring your protests as he leans towards the speaker outside. "Yeah, I'll get a big mac."

Would you like a meal with that?

"Yep, upsized please."

Kaiser then turns to you with a pointed expression, silently asking you what you want to have. Your only response is to pout and frown in his passenger seat and Kaiser has to actively stop thinking about how adorable you look. Your silent protest ends when the lady on the opposite end of the speaker adds, is there anything else you'd like?

"A double cheeseburger," you say through gritted teeth. Just as kaiser is about to repeat your order, you add, in the smallest voice possible, "and 6-piece nuggets."

Kaiser chuckles, turning back to the speaker. "Yeah, also a double cheeseburger and 6-piece nuggets. Make them both meals."

Would you like those to be upsized as well?

Kaiser turns to find you vigorously shaking your head. "Yep, upsize them all, thanks."

"Ugh," you sigh.

Thank you, please proceed to the next window to make your payment.

Parked in the back of the McDonald's parking lot, with the engine off and the sunroof open to let the cool autumn air in, Kaiser watches curiously as you enjoy your nuggets. You’d both just finished your burgers and the only sound he hears now is your munching, as well as the brief hums that leave your throat. He knows you’ll never admit it in front of him, but you look pretty happy with your nuggets.

When you meet his eyes and notice him staring, you jut your chin out at him. “What?”

“I want one.”

“No.”

“Just one.”

“If you wanted nuggets, then you should’ve gotten your own.”

“Tch, you’re stingy.”

“Yeah, I'm a whole lot of things you won’t like, Kaiser.”

Kaiser reaches into the paper bag for the french fries. He pops a few into his mouth then, as if testing the waters, offers you one. He suppresses the smirk threatening to play on his lips when you eat it from his fingers. It’s like you didn’t even notice he’s feeding you. He eats one more fry himself, then gives you another.

"Yeah? What else then?"

"I'm impatient. Greedy. Sometimes possessive. Judgmental. I don't take criticism well, I bottle things up, explode at the worst possible timing, and I burn my bridges."

Kaiser nods. It sounds like a list you’re familiar with, as if counting off your worst qualities was a favorite pastime of yours. "Wanna know my worst qualities?"

"Ooh, I didn't know you're self-aware."

"I'm an egoist. Rash. Selfish, consumed by self-righteousness. I hate admitting I need help, I can be manipulative to get the things I want, and I get unforgivably frustrated when there are things I can't have."

There's not a hint of mockery in his tone and the quiet that follows is one born out of a shared understanding that you've just confessed the ugliest parts of yourselves. It hits differently in the privacy of his car, with the stars out, and a half-moon hiding behind a haze of clouds.

Kaiser's head falls against the leather seat as he turns his body to face you. "What about your best qualities? Tell me that."

"My best?"

"Yeah."

The doubt that fills your avoiding eyes tugs at his heartstrings. Why did you just laugh like it's a silly thing to ask? Why do you seem so hesitant, so reluctant? Why was it far easier for you to list off all the worst things you are compared to this?

"I can go first," he says, perhaps in an attempt to boost your confidence. He’s perfectly aware he can be a bit full of himself sometimes but he’s not stupid enough to know there’s also a way of talking good about yourself without sounding like a narcissist. "I'm dedicated. Attentive. Committed. I fulfill my promises, I don't give up on my dreams. I'm something of an optimist."

You don't make fun of him for it at all. In fact, you're nodding like it makes sense, like these actually are qualities present in him even though you've hardly seen evidence of it. 

"And you?" he says, reaching out to poke your nose.

You take a deep breath like a new student nervously introducing themselves to the class on the very first day of school. This is something that's taking a lot of effort from you, he can tell that much.

"I'm... uh, I'm... I guess I'm... hard-working?"

"Yeah, that's a good start."

"I'm compassionate, I think. A dutiful daughter. I'm... wise...? I don't know, this is too hard for me, Kaiser."

"You're a lot more than that, you know."

It takes longer than he expects for you to reply, and when you do, there's a distinct chill in your voice.

"You can save the pep talk, Kaiser," you say, faking a smile. "Sometimes, things aren't as cut and dried as they seem."

He knows what you're trying to say. There’s a resigned look in your eyes and a hint of indignation in your low voice. You don't want to talk about this anymore. Even Kaiser knows when not to cross the line.

So, he smacks a hand to his chest and dramatically throws his head back in a showy attempt to evade the topic altogether. Kaiser is a master of misdirection and he’ll make sure to breeze through this bump in the road with you. He won’t let this shift in mood mark this night.

"I'm so hurt!" he cries, "you're trampling all over my efforts to create an intimate moment with the prettiest girl I've ever seen!"

The deadpan expression on your face is priceless. "...You're overdoing it, Kaiser."

"Am I, mademoiselle?" he tries to take your hand, but you pull it away with a laugh before he can kiss the back of it.

"Wait, do you speak French?"

"Non, why? Does it look like I do?"

"It sounds like you do."

"Ah," he says, nodding to himself like a lightbulb lit up in his head. "You think French accents are sexy, don't you?"

You consider it for a moment. "Actually, I don't know. I've never thought about it."

"Good answer. If you had said yes, I'd be rushing off to learn how to speak with a french accent."

Your eyes twinkle in the dim lighting of the McDonald's parking lot streetlamp and Kaiser really needs to fight the urge to kiss you.

You sigh, tearing your gaze away from him. "You're such a sweet talker, you know that?"

"Is it finally working on you?"

"No."

"Damn, guess I gotta keep trying."

“Do you want a McFlurry, by the way?”

“You’re still hungry?” Kaiser asks.

“I have a separate stomach for dessert. If you don’t want any, I can go get my own—”

“Nah, it’s fine, I'll get it for you. Just wait here like a good girl.”

“I'm not a child.”

"Oreo, strawberry shortcake, blueberry?"

"Oreo, please and thank you."

Kaiser responds with a satisfied hum. “You’re cute when you’re polite. I’ll be back soon, don’t miss me too much!”

He can't even suppress his smile any longer, and you watch, with reddened cheeks and fumbling thumbs, as Kaiser makes his way inside the fast-food chain with an obvious skip in his step.

the fourth date.

After twenty agonizing minutes of arguing about who's going to pay the bill for your fourth date, you sit beside Kaiser with seething rage as you watch him triumphantly hand his card to the waitress. The card is swiped, his pin punched in, and the waitress leaves with a kind smile on her face, wishing you two a lovely night.

"Here, you can have this," Kaiser says, sliding the bill holder to you, which now contains a few pieces of mint candies in place of the bill. You noticed Kaiser also managed to swipe the receipt before you could even take a peek.

"Send me your account number. I'll transfer my share."

"Darling, you don't even know how much it even is."

"I can check the menu."

"Doesn't include tax and service charge."

"10 percent for tax because it's an upscale restaurant and an 11-percent service charge. I'm not an idiot."

Kaiser keeps silent for a moment. "Can you please just let me pay for your dinner?"

"No! I'm going to feel indebted—"

Kaiser holds his index finger up to stop you. The only reason you shut up is because his phone is ringing and you recognized the caller ID before he picked up.

"Hey, ma!"

If it was anyone else, you would have carried on with your argument, fighting to the death to pay him back. But because it's his mother, you'll resist, even if for a few moments.

"Yeah, we just finished," he says, glancing at you before pulling the receiver away slightly to tell you ma says hi.

"Tell her I said hi back!"

Kaiser makes a face at the innocent, demure tone you adopt, worlds removed from the aggression you spoke with just a moment ago.

"She says hi too, yeah."

You take one of the mints, ripping the wrapper open before popping the candy into your mouth.

"I'm just dropping her off at home, so it's fine. It's on the way anyway."

Kaiser taps you on the shoulder, pointing at the candy, then at himself. Do you want one? you mouth, to which he nods.

"So, laundry detergent, lemons..."

You unwrap the candy and hand it to him, but Kaiser shakes his head then points to his mouth instead. The sly man wanted you to feed him.

"No way!" you whisper.

"Chips? You sure, ma? Dad likes the salt and vinegar ones though?"

Kaiser takes matters into his own hands when he encircles your wrist, trying to guide your hand to feed him the candy. You resist with all your might but Kaiser, who’s obviously holding back his strength, keeps tugging you playfully.

"Ooh, okay, yep. Got it. Love you, ma. See you."

His casual expression of affection for his mother momentarily distracts you, and after hanging up the call, Kaiser takes it as a perfect opportunity to dive and retrieve the candy for himself.

From your fingers.

With his lips.

You freeze in shock for one second too long, which gives him the chance to kiss your fingers, his moist lips on the very verge of suckling your skin before taking the candy by his teeth. Goosebumps ride up on your spine as a result of it and you smack his arm.

“Kaiser!” you shriek, cheeks ablaze and your face red up to your ears.

Kaiser bursts out laughing at how bashful you look. He slips his phone back into his pocket and rises to his feet.

"C'mon, princess. I'll take you home. Oh, and do you mind if we stop by a grocery store on the way, though? Ma needs me to pick up a few things."

Your eyes instantly light up at that. This was your chance! Surely Kaiser couldn't do anything if you paid for his groceries to make up for dinner. After all, it’s only fair. 

The closest supermarket to your apartment happens to be a mega supermarket, a huge grocery store that operates 24-hours and probably stretches the length of an olympic-sized pool.

Kaiser enters without even glancing at the rows of trolleys or stacks of baskets.

"Do you have to get a lot of things?" you ask, barely keeping up with his long strides.

"Yeah, a handful."

"Don't you need a basket?"

"Nah, it's not that much. I can carry it."

After fifteen minutes and repeatedly turning down your offer to go fetch a basket, you watch him with an unimpressed look on your face as Kaiser attempts to balance a 1-liter bottle of laundry detergent in his elbow, a plastic bag of lemons in between his fingers, four bags of chips in his arms, two cartons of milk in his other hand, and a small pack of batteries on top of that.

He’s perfectly aware that you’re just watching him struggle without a basket, but he doesn’t say anything out of his pride.

One of the bags of chips then falls to the floor.

You sigh tiredly at this circus, bending over to reach for the bag, when Kaiser stops you.

"No, no, I got this," he claims.

When he lowers himself to the ground, the bag of lemons slips through his fingers, falling to the ground as well. The batteries then follow.

"For the love of god, just let me help you."

With the way his shoulders slump at the realization he won’t be able to pick things up from the ground, Kaiser almost looks like a lost puppy.

"...Fine," he relents.

For some stupid reason, Kaiser was stubbornly committed to not using a basket even for the rest of your trek through the supermarket. Employees approached the two of you more than once to offer the assistance of a basket, to which Kaiser turned down both. Now, you're both walking around the huge place carrying all your things in your arms, and picking up more stuff than what Kaiser's mother asked for.

You realized you needed a new toothbrush. Kaiser just remembered he ran out of shampoo. You're planning to bake tomorrow, so you need some yeast. Kaiser forgot his mother asked him to get eggs too. 

You wandered through the maze of supermarket aisles together, picking up things here and there like couples do. You can’t help but admit that you do quite enjoy the domesticity of it all.

At the cash register, you're hit with the reminder that you accompanied Kaiser here in the first place so you could pay for everything. You and Kaiser load all  your things onto the conveyor belt and wait patiently as the cashier scans the barcodes.

"Would you like to pay together?" she asks.

Kaiser steps forward, effectively blocking you. "Yep, all together."

You knew he would do this. If it was a battle of speed, you were likely going to lose against him as well. Luckily, after your last defeat at the restaurant, you have a contingency plan.

“Oh, Kaiser! I just remembered!” you search through the piles of things on the belt before picking up a yoghurt drink. “Could you get the blueberry flavor of this drink?”

Then comes a strategy you’ve employed more than enough times. You’d be lying if you said you’ve never used your looks to get someone to do something for you. You look up at Kaiser with big eyes, blinking slowly as your gentle plea leaves your lips. “Please?” you say, briefly touching his arm in a way you never have before. He looks at you before glancing at the yoghurt drink, and for the briefest moment, you think it won’t work.

It does though.

“Just one or two?” he asks, taking the drink from you.

"Just one is fine."

Kaiser takes off immediately, luckily already out of earshot when the cashier turns to you with a slightly apologetic look in her eyes.

“Oh, ma’am, I’m afraid we don’t have that drink in that flavor.”

"I know," you smile cunningly. "I just needed to get him out of here because I'd like to pay for everything, please."

The cashier looks surprised for a moment before breaking into a smile. "You two make a very cute couple."

"Is that so?" you laugh. "All he does is get on my nerves though."

"That's all love really is sometimes, isn't it?" the cashier says, scanning the last of your items. "It really shows in the way he looks at you, by the way."

The cashier doesn’t notice how that takes you by surprise as she bags all your items. The words sound like something straight out of a script for a romantic film, not something that could ever be applicable to your life. You don’t know how to respond except to smile, so much bashfulness contained in the apples of your cheeks.

"Here's your total! Cash or card?"

"Card please."

Kaiser takes his sweet time and returns empty-handed, as you expect. “Darling, I couldn’t find the blueberry one. I looked everywhere but all they had was…” his voice trails off as when he notices the bagged groceries and the paid receipt already stapled on the outside of one of the bags. “Did you pay for everything?!”

You’d have reveled in Kaiser’s excessive reaction, even taking pleasure at the victory you secured in paying your share tonight, while he went off on a rant about how it made no sense that you paid for the groceries when they consisted of things he picked up for his mother. But Kaiser’s ramble entered one ear and out the other as you both made your way back to his car, because all you can think of were the words of the cashier.

They continued to echo in your head until you fell back on your bed, staring up at the ceiling.

It shows in the way he looks at you. Did Kaiser look at you with love?

the fifth date (and the proposal).

Your nerves return to eating your insides as you make sense of the finality that comes with tonight being the fifth date, meaning it is the last of the arrangement courtesy of your parents and Kaiser’s.

Your parents have tried to pry in on the matter but you evaded the subject altogether. Partly out of sheer embarrassment and partly out of fear. Because what’s going to happen after, you didn’t know. You’ve been operating under the guise of the impression that the two of you were just fulfilling your obligations as filial children to your parents. You convinced yourself this was nothing more than just helping them out with a chore, like picking up their groceries or making them breakfast.

It should be nothing more than another task you can finally cross off your list… So why has there been a looming sense of dread haunting you since this morning? Why did you keep staring at the clock, waiting for 7 p.m. to arrive, and find yourself hoping the night will never come to an end?

Kaiser insisted he’ll plan this last date but he hasn’t told you about where he’s taking you, which you made sure he’d do so you can dress appropriately. But you’ve been so fidgety and on edge because Kaiser hasn’t texted you at all today. Not even his usual good morning ♡ or the occasional good luck with your meeting, darling!

You hated to admit that you’re waiting on him. You pace your room for a moment, distracting yourself with some work emails and going through documents that need signing, until your phone finally lights up with a notification you’ve been looking forward to.

Except it’s only disappointment that fills your chest when you read his words.

Practice is running late today, don’t think I can make it for the date tonight :(

That’s okay, we can resched…

You’re crestfallen. You throw your phone across your bed before dropping your weight as well. But you don’t get the time to reprimand yourself for such a pathetic reaction when your device lights up again. You move in reflex to check it.

I still want to see you though :(

Kaiser is always more honest than you could ever hope to be. You bite your lip, feeling your heart begin to race as you ponder the connotations of what you’re about to suggest. Oh, to hell with it.

You can come over, if you want. I’m staying up anyway to do a bit of work…

Kaiser replies to you immediately.

:O are you trying to seduce me?

You stare at his message long enough for your idle screen to lock, and in its reflection, you see the dumb smile spread across your face. You rollover onto your stomach to get a grip.

Never mind. Forget I asked.

I’ll head over as soon as I’m finished ;)

Rush-hour traffic had long subsided by the time Kaiser finally made his way to your place. He was initially frustrated that training was going to ruin his dinner plans—he was this close to ditching practice altogether and just brace whatever sanctions the coach would give him—but now that you’ve offered him to come over, he can’t help but think it’s a blessing in disguise.

After parking his car down the street, Kaiser walks into the lobby to find that the security guard recognizes him. The guard gave him access to the 42nd floor, which was one level below the penthouse but also consisted of one apartment unit; yours.

He waits patiently for you to open the door and all he feels are the jitters. It’s been a really long time since he was last this nervous. Seeing you late into the night actually kind of makes him feel like a rebellious teenager again and he wipes the sweat from his palms on the back of his trousers.

His hair is still slightly damp from the shower he took after practice, but he doesn’t even care at this point. He’s just so excited to see you that he feels almost dizzy. He knows he just saw you last week after the whole ordeal at the supermarket and yet, he wants to keep seeing you.

Tonight marks the last date of the arrangement, but Kaiser is confident he doesn’t want it to end here. It can’t. He won’t let it.

When you finally open the door, your scent brushing past him like a spring breeze, Kaiser immediately breaks into a smile. Of course, you look casual today, so uncharacteristically laid-back and relaxed.

“Missed me, darling?”

You click your tongue before letting him in. “Wipe that smug look off your face, Kaiser.”

Kaiser hums, carefully stepping inside as he inspects your home. Every corner of this space is filled with you and he wants to take in as much as he can to learn more about you. He whistles impressively at the grandiose unit; sparkling floor-to-ceiling glass windows on every side, sleek furniture all in tones of aquamarine and beige, a massive flatscreen TV that curves to accommodate your wide sofa, and a brand new playstation 5 sitting atop the console table under it.

“Eh? You game?” he says, pointing at the console.

“Sometimes,” you shrug. “It’s usually for when my friends come over.”

Kaiser raises a brow, turning to you. “Guy friends?”

“Is that jealousy I hear?” Kaiser purses his lips like he didn’t even recognize the implication of this question. You pay it no mind though, “it’s just girls. We mostly play horror games though.”

“Oh… okay, I didn’t see that coming.”

“Do you want to play?”

“Nope.”

You find his all-too-quick response humorous, laughing a little before turning on your heel to head towards the kitchen. It’s an open-floor space so you’re not going very far. Kaiser makes himself comfortable on the sofa, surprised that the velvet feels really soft under his palms.

“Do you want snacks? Water? Juice? Tea?”

“What kind of juice d’you have?”

“Orange, uh… cranberry, and mango, I think.”

“What’s your favorite?”

“Well, I like cranberry these days but—”

“Okay, cranberry it is then.”

Your head peeks out from behind the door of the fridge. “Why do you always have what I have?”

“Beacuse I always want what you want.”

From where he sat on the sofa, Kaiser notices a familiar blue and red device peeking out from the drawer of the console table.

“Is that a Nintendo Switch?”

“Yep,” you call from the kitchen.

“Sweet, let’s play Mario Kart.”

Kaiser gets up to turn on the console and find the controllers. When you approach, carefully making your way over with a tray filled with snacks and a pitcher of cranberry juice, Kaiser rushes over to help you.

“And here I thought you’d try to Netflix and chill,” you say, dropping your weight onto the fluffy carpet.

“You almost sound disappointed, angel.”

“Think what you want Kaiser, but don’t cry if I kick your ass at Mario Kart.”

“Ah, shall we make a bet then?” he taunts, reclaiming his spot on the sofa. He’s sitting close enough to you for his leg to brush against your arm and because you’re sitting on the floor, all it takes is a reach for him to ruffle your hair. “The loser has to grant the winner a wish.”

“That’s so childish.”

“So?”

“You’d wish for something dumb. Like for me to start calling you darling or something.”

“That’s not a bad idea. But hey, that means you think I have a chance of winning.”

“Yeah, right. You can’t win against me.”

“Then bet on it,” he says, leaning forward.

You don’t back away from his advance until Kaiser is leaning right into your face. “...Fine.”

“‘Atta girl.”

He falls back against the sofa as you reach for the TV remote on the coffee table, though in the process of looking for the device, you happen to glance at Kaiser’s phone, which coincidentally lights up at the same time. You don’t really pay much attention to who the notification was from, but something else does catch your eye.

“Your friends call you Mihya?” you ask, still staring at his phone until the screen goes black again.

“Ooh, so you’re the type to snoop around my stuff.”

“I wasn’t snooping…! It happened to light up while I was looking at it!”

He chuckles, subconsciously reaching out to smooth down the back of your head in some attempt of calming you down. “I’m just playing with you, princess. The passcode is 0-0-0-0.”

“I didn’t ask for your passcode. And don’t you think that’s a pretty weak one?”

“I’ve got nothing to hide.” Kaiser takes the remote from you to switch on the TV. “Oh, check out the latest photo in my gallery, by the way. My coach took it earlier.”

You don’t even know why you’re doing as told but you do feel hesitant about unlocking his phone, scared about what you might accidentally find. But upon unlocking it, all you find is that there’s nothing remotely personalized about his device. He’s using the default wallpaper, the default theme, and only has a bunch of health apps downloaded.

You open up the photo gallery only to immediately lift your gaze to look at Kaiser severely unimpressed.

“Kaiser. Why do you have so many shirtless photos of yourself?”

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t look. You did. For a second. Before averting your gaze. But that second was enough to burn the image of his glistening skin, likely from post-workout, the toned muscles of his arms and abdomen, and the striking vines and rose tattoo that spiraled up his arm and bloomed on his neck. It was an unexpected eyeful and you needed to clench your jaw to pretend you weren’t at all affected by it.

Kaiser’s eyes, on the other hand, search the ceiling in an attempt to deflect. You thought he might’ve owned up to the photos and brushed it off as nothing but his sheepish reaction makes you think he completely forgot those photos were there. And that you’d see them when he asked you to open up the gallery.

“Right,” he says, not knowing how to deflect.

“Is it for your personal interest…? Do you, I don’t know, send them out to anyone…?”

“No, no! It’s just… force of habit?”

He has a habit of taking photos with his shirt off?

“Right…”

“You can look at them… if you want,” Kaiser says, trying his best to muster up that confidence that usually comes so naturally to him. He doesn’t even know why the prospect of you seeing him like that makes him a little shy, but after finally noticing the way you’re tensing up makes him a little bolder.

“Kaiser, you are sorely mistaken if you think I’d be interested in seeing you shirtless and—”

“Oh,” Kaiser spots a window to tease you. “So photos aren’t enough? You want the real thing…” he purrs, slowly lifting up the hem of his shirt.

“Kaiser,” you jump to your feet with one hand grabbing for one of the cushions on the sofa. “I swear to god, I’m going to kick you out of here.”

Kaiser dodges your first hit with the pillow and seeing that he evaded your strike seemed to spur you on more. You swing again and Kaiser crawls backwards on the sofa, reaching for his own weapon of choice; a cushion slightly bigger than yours.

"No, not my face!" he cries.

You chase after him, climbing onto the sofa and advancing on your knees as you try to strike again. Kaiser shields himself and continues to back away until his spine hits the armrest at the end.

“Got nowhere to run now, huh?” you taunt, raising the cushion over your head. It doesn’t look like you’re teasing with the ambition burning in your eyes and out of genuine concern that you might actually whack him into unconsciousness, Kaiser goes for a weakness he’s certain you have.

He tickles the space between your waist and your hips, his fingers tenderly digging into your skin. You squirm immediately, a high-pitched yelp echoing in the room as you fall forward right on top of him.

Kaiser is prepared for this though. He catches you immediately, sturdy arms holding you tight before he flips you over. Now he hovers above you while your back is pressed to the sofa.

“That was a foul!” you complain.

“There were no rules, darling.”

“Still,” you pout.

While you proces the compromising position you’ve ended up in, you find yourself unable to move. Not because you couldn’t, but because you wouldn’t. You didn’t want to. This is the closest you’ve ever been to Kaiser and you felt him everywhere. He has your hands pinned to the sides of your head, gentle grips on your wrists. One of his knees presses in between your thighs. His warm breath fans your cheek with every chuckle that causes his shoulders to rise. With his hair falling to you, such a serene shade of blue coloring the tips of blonde, you get a better view of that tattoo on his neck. You want to touch it. You’re fighting every urge to touch it.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” you say instead, hoping that the more you talk, the more you’ll be distracted from your intrusive thoughts.

“Yeah?”

“Can I call you Mihya too?”

He looks taken aback by such an out-of-the-blue question. “Depends, only my close friends call me that.”

“I can be your close friend.”

He cocks his head to the side, an amused grin gracing his lips. “Is that so?”

“Yeah, we went to a McDonald’s drive-thru together after all, and did some grocery shopping. I think that constitutes close-friendliness.”

He hums thoughtfully. “Sure, if that’s what you want.”

“Mihya.”

Any thought Kaiser had at that moment turns into dust because all he can think is the sheer sweetness that comes with you calling him by his childhood nickname. It rings so familiar in your voice. You handle his name so gently and cautiously, like a kid carrying a wounded bird back into the house. It’s a name he doesn’t go by anymore, a name he won’t share with anyone, but hearing it from your lips stuns him into complete silence. It sounds like the call of a lover. It feels a lot like coming home.

Kaiser lets go of you, leaning back to sit on his heels.

“Mih-ya. Mihya~” you tease, sitting up in front of him.

“Don’t say it for no reason,” he says quietly.

“I like saying it though. It’s cute, isn’t it, Mihya?”

The look in Kaiser’s eyes changes and you don’t need to think long to know that it’s a look of desire. He locks his gaze on yours before glancing at your lips, your heart thumping in your chest so loudly he might be able to hear it.

“I’m going to kiss you if you keep doing that,” he says, again in a low voice like he’s mustering all the self-control that he can.

“You’ll have to marry me first.”

That calm, borderline teasing, response immediately snaps Kaiser out of his lustful trance. Common sense returns to him in an instant and he takes your words in earnest.

“Okay. I will.”

For some reason, his response now leaves you speechless. Your pupils shake as you try to mend the situation you didn’t intentionally mean to create. “W-what, wait, I was joking—”

Were you, though? Kaiser thinks. He knows how mockery sounds coming from you and it certainly wasn’t that.

“I wasn’t joking though,” he interjects. “Wasn’t that what these five dates were for? I don’t want this to end, I want to keep seeing you.”

He reaches for your head but you pull away, backing up to climb over the sofa’s armrest to stand on your feet. The skyline outlines your silhouette from where Kaiser is looking at you, your back to the large window.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” you say.

“I do. I want this. I want you.”

“You hardly know me.”

“I know enough to want to know you more.”

You back up when Kaiser also rises to his feet. “Kaiser, this isn’t funny.”

“I swear, I’m not trying to be or anything. I want to marry you. I was going to tell you by the end of the night.”

“You said you weren’t even attracted to me! That you were just killing time with me!”

“I was lying,” he reasons. “I didn’t know what to make of these feelings so I lied.”

“So are you lying about wanting to marry me then?”

“No,” he says firmly.

You hold his gaze for a moment that feels too long before shaking your head and walking away from him briskly. “We’d be terrible together.”

“No, we’d just be us.”

“We’d fight all the time.”

Kaiser follows you, “and I’d apologize.”

“No,” you turn around to find him right on your tail. You take one step back. “I’d be the cause of why we’d fight all the time.”

“And I’d still apologize,” he insists, ready to take all responsibility.

“...I’m everything you hate in a person.”

“You’re everything I want.” Kaiser makes a gentle grab for your arm before you can turn away again, this time holding you in place by the dainty skin of your palm. “Look, I mean what I’m saying. If you’re telling me I shouldn’t want you, I won’t listen. But if you’re telling me you don’t want me, I’ll back off. I’ll do anything you say.”

“Kaiser…”

“Tell me.”

Kaiser squeezes your palm ever so slightly, but you know that the moment you turn around to face him is the moment you’ll give in. You’re not ready to accept the fact that your heart already longs for him. It’s too much, because as soon as you acknowledge that you reciprocate, then you also acknowledge that this is real.

“Please?” 

It's his plea that gets to you, the broken down sound of his voice, the slightly weakened utterance that sounds so vulnerable at this time of night.

You turn to him and melt in an instant. “...I do want you, I want you so bad but I’d be the worst to you, Kaiser. The absolute worst.”

“You won’t.”

“I’ll bottle everything up and you’ll never ask for my help. We’d be so bad for each other.”

“Anything you lack, I’ll make up for. Anything I’m missing, you’ll fill.”

His arguments are winning you over. You can feel your bones softening by the second and all you want to do is collapse in his arms. But you steel yourself and try again, even if all you can muster is a weak excuse.

“...I’d be horrible with the kids though.”

Kaiser nods, a fond smile spreading across his face as he recalls that first meeting with you. “You won’t let them have sweets before bed?”

You nod, “and you’ll sneak them in after lights out.”

“And you won’t let them play until they finish their homework?”

“Because they know you’d help cram it the next morning,” you complain.

“And you’d get mad all the time?”

“You’d get so fed up with me.”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle, darling. We’ll work through it together. We’ll make each other better.”

Kaiser tests the waters and draws closer to you. When you don’t take a step back, he reaches out to cup your cheek, his thumb slowly grazing your skin. You lean into his touch a little and it makes his heart skip.

You let out a deep breath, your shoulders rising and falling in the process. “Oh no,” you mutter, brows knitted together. When you look into his eyes again, Kaiser knows what you’re going to say before you even say it. “I think I’m in love with you, Mihya.”

Kaiser can’t hold himself back anymore. He roughly wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. “Didn’t I tell you I’d kiss you if you keep doing that?” he whispers.