KIRA

Masterlist.

Chishiya x Reader.

You realise with heartbreaking clarity that Chishiya Shuntaro plans to sacrifice you to steal the cards. You rightfully distance yourself from him. After all, it was all manipulation, wasn't it?

Chishiya, having no intention of losing you, follows you into the Jack of Hearts anyway.

Hurt/comfort.

10895 words. (oops)

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Chishiya likes to test you.

You don’t usually mind, although you cursed at him after the first time he did during a game.

It started small. Which boardgame would you like to play? Which executive will go with which group? Which group should you join for your next game? He would make you explain it, and you feel like he’s more interested in your thought process than the answer itself. It annoys you that when he considers your answer wrong, he’ll correct mercilessly, often with a sarcastic comment. Never does he hold back in explaining your mistakes.

But then, one day, during a game, you’d needed just one more token to survive and time had been running out. He, already having his tokens, just pushed two of the available boxes at you, and shrugged.

It’d been a third box. You had been thankful for his correction then. You still cursed at him. He could’ve just told you.

But then he wouldn’t be Chishiya Shuntaro, would he?

And honestly, even if you would never admit to it, you like it. You’ve actually gotten better at the games thanks to it. It forces you to stop and think instead of going with your gut. 

The problem is that it has made you more paranoid. He likes making you check for an option not freely given. So you do. And you found something you’re not sure is another one of his tests.

You like Chishiya. You really, really, like him. He knows it, and while he doesn’t reciprocate the way most people do, he does treat you different than anyone else.

Proven by the way his eyes soften the slightest whenever they land on you, the way he actively searches you out, the way he puts energy into making sure you don’t die during the games.

But what if that was all just manipulation?

The thought hurts. But Chishiya’s tests have had the likely unintended effect of not only showing him how you think, but also showing you how he thinks.

And he does not mind using bait. You’ve seen him manipulate people into becoming a sacrifice. Bait.

You can’t help but think about his plan to steal the cards.

Chishiya’s plan sounds easy. Simple. Once, inevitably, Hatter dies and the militants take over, Chishiya will use the black envelope ceremony to learn the code after which you’ll use the chaos to sneak into Hatter’s quarters and steal the cards from the safe while he and Kuina will stand guard.

The flaw came to you when listening to one of Hatter’s speeches.

The man is paranoid. Maybe he hides it, but he is paranoid. Just like Chishiya has taught you to be. So the safe would be hidden well, right? You bet he would even have a dummy safe.

And you, using the chaos, would likely not have enough time to search Hatter’s entire quarters for a well-hidden safe while avoiding a dummy one.

This is Chishiya’s plan. Chishiya, who has tinkered on it for ages. Chishiya, who you’re pretty sure joined the Beach for the sole purpose of stealing the cards.

Chishiya, who has no problem using others as bait.

You hope you’re wrong. You really do. Because being right hurts. You thought…

You thought he liked you. That that’s why he spends so much time on you. That that’s why his eyes soften whenever they land on you, however miniscule.

But that’s naive, no? When it comes to someone like Chishiya Shuntaro?

Please just let it be another test.

You do the probably stupid thing: You confront him.

At least, you were planning on it. But sitting in your room across from him as he lazily shuffles a deck of cards, you find yourself lacking the strength.

You’re afraid of what will happen next. You want to be wrong. You don’t want things to change. You don’t want to lose him. What you thought you had.

“You’re distracted.” He sounds disapproving, as if he likes when your attention is on him solely. The way it always is.

You can’t. So instead of your carefully planned words, you blurt out. “Am I your bait for stealing the cards?”

He stills. The slight softening of his eyes is gone, leaving you to stare into his cold, devoid, eyes.

A shiver runs over your back at the sight.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” His tone is too nonchalant as he deals the cards in his hands. “The plan doesn’t require a sacrifice.”

He doesn’t ask for your thought process. That alone tells you all you need to know.

Your can feel your heart churn painfully in your chest as your vision gets blurry.

Chishiya stops dealing the cards immediately, cocking his head, deciding analysing you is the priority right now. He says your name softly, lowly. 

“You were actually planning on sacrificing me.”

There’s a pleading undertone in your words. You need him to deny it.

He doesn’t move for a moment, then lays the deck down on the table, his eyes finally off of yours. “Clever girl.” Your heart sinks into your stomach. “You know I enjoy testing you.”

You dig your nails into your knees. That’s a lie. If this was a test, his eyes would have had that satisfied glint in them. Instead, they’re so cold. So… empty.

“You would’ve actually let them get to me.” You whisper. You refuse to cry in front of him, but you’re close. Your chest has never ached so badly.

“The militants. Niragi. You would’ve let them…”

His gaze sharpens at that name. Then he sighs and stands up. “This shouldn’t come as a surprise to you. You know how I work. How I am. Did you think you were special?” His words are intentionally cutting. 

You take a deep, shaky, breath. “Get out!” Because yes, that was exactly what you’d thought. You’d thought someone like him could grow a soft spot for you.

Stupid.

“Don’t be irrational.” You’re not looking at him, trying (and failing) to hide your blurry eyes and your shaky breath, which causes you to miss how he’s frowning. How he’s more tense than he’d be usually. “We’ll get someone else for the role of bait. Arisu-” 

“Get out!” 

There’s a silence. Then: “We’ll talk when you can think clearly.” You can hear his footsteps receding.

Once you hear the door close behind him, you finally stop holding yourself together and cry.

Does he even care that he broke your heart?

You don’t let yourself answer that question. 

That talk doesn’t come, as you very much do not want to talk to him. Instead, you make sure to go to the places he dislikes, for once indulging in the beverages the Beach has to offer. Sometimes, you can feel his eyes on you. You move out of his view as soon as that happens.

It leaves you with headaches in the morning and sessions of hanging over the toilet, but at least you can pretend you’re not thinking about him.

You’re avoiding him. You should tell Hatter that he’s planning on stealing the cards, but you can’t. If they believe you, he’d be executed. Not willing to admit that you still care, you instead excuse it using Kuina. She didn’t do anything to you. She just wants to return to her mother. You can’t sell her out.

He tries to talk to you. But he uses his languid ways of hinting you to come to him, so they’re easily ignored.

You wish he’d just leave you alone.

You wish it’d go back to how it was before, except with it being real. With him actually caring.

You take another gulp each time you find yourself thinking that thought.

At least, you do until the day before you have to play a game. You refuse to let yourself die because of a boy.

However clever and infuriating that boy might be.

He’s not on the roster when the groups are made. But he is leaning against the car your group is assigned.

You can’t do much about it, with his status as an executive. You try to not sit next to him, but like often, Chishiya gets his way.

The forced skin contact in the filled car burns. You still want him, but you can’t get the image of his cold eyes out of your head. You still hear him asking you mockingly if you thought you were special.

At least he doesn’t try to talk to you with others here. 

What he does do is offer you one of the earbuds connected to his walkman that doubles as a taser, but you ignore him. He lays it on your leg instead, a silent offer you refuse to let yourself take.

The game is brutal. So brutal that you have to swallow your pride and team up with Chishiya, who has a satisfied glint in his eyes when you do so.

For the first game in a while, he doesn’t try to test you. He simply works on getting both of you out alive.

You momentarily wonder if it’s on him that the three other Beach members don’t make it. But he wouldn’t go that far just to talk in private when he could just corner you in your room at the Beach, would he?

He sits into the driver’s seat, but makes no move to actually start the car.

Damn it.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” His head moves to look at you. That softening of his eyes is there.

You want him to stop that. It causes your chest to constrict painfully. “I am.” Your answer is purposefully curt, not trusting your own voice.

“I thought you didn’t mind my tests.”

…Does he really not get it?

“Don’t act like that was a test, Chishiya.” You snap back. “You didn’t mean for me to find that one out. It was your plan for me from the start.”

He tilts his head, considering. “You’re upset because you believe I’d sacrifice you for the cards.” He says. “That I’d easily leave you to the likes of Niragi. Perhaps you also believe all of our interactions have been pure manipulation?”

“That’s who you are, isn’t it?” You repeat his own words bitterly.

The softening of his eyes is gone again, replaced by that carefully curated coldness. “I see.”

He abruptly looks away from you and starts the car.

“That’s all you have to say?” You immediately demand. You don’t want to talk to him. You do want him to say more than that.

“You’d simply assume anything I say is more manipulation.” He says, too calmly for your liking.

You scoff. He’s right, of course. But that’s only because you wouldn’t be wrong. How could you believe otherwise?

“Don’t join any more games with me.” You tell him. You imagine him tensing for a moment.

“You’re being irrational.” His tone is still maddeningly unaffected. “Your chances of survival increase with my presence. Don’t let emotions get in the way of that.”

“Do they? Or will you just use me for bait in a game now that I’m not in your plan anymore?”

You don’t think you imagine his jaw clenching. But instead of saying more, he starts driving. The ride is spent in silence. Fine by you. You keep your eyes on the surroundings so you don’t have to face him.

It’s only after he parks the car, when you’ve stepped out of the car to beeline for your room (and the shower you desperately need) that you hear him say: “I do not consider your death inconsequential.” It’s said slowly, like it’s difficult for him to admit even that much. 

But you cared about him. Care, even, however much you hate him. Inconsequential is below the bare minimum you’d hope he’d think of your death. So you walk to your room without looking back.

“Chishiya’s been moody.” Kuina tells you as she sits down on the beach chair next to the one you’ve been enjoying your cocktail on. 

You snort. “He’s heartless, Kuina. He doesn’t get moody.” 

“He is.” She counters. “He’s been having less patience with me or others. It’s subtle, but it’s there.”

“So? He’s not my problem anymore.” You take a big swig of your drink.

“I think it’s because he misses you.” Kuina keeps needling. “What happened between the two of you? He just tells me you won’t be part of the plan anymore.”

“He doesn’t miss me, Kuina. That would require him to care.” It surely is the alcohol that makes your bitterness clear. “I just had a wake up call about what he is. That’s all.” You wonder why he chose you for the sacrifice instead of Kuina. Is she more useful to him? Does he like her more? Gods, you shouldn’t feel jealous over him.

Kuina frowns. “Look, I know I’ve teased you in the past about your horrible taste in men. Or one man in particular. But he looks at you in a way he does at no one else. You must have noticed.”

“That’s all manipulation, Kuina.” You have had enough of this subject. “He was planning on sacrificing me.”

Kuina’s eyes widen in surprise. “How can a genius be such an idiot?” She wonders. “He’s definitely an asshole. Want me to get you another drink?”

The subject of Chishiya Shuntaro doesn’t come up again.

Hatter dies two days before your VISA is due, so you don’t get to know whether Chishiya would’ve complied to you telling him to stop joining your games. 

Not having an in with the executives anymore, you only learn of his death during Aguni’s so-called speech.

You immediately go for a supply run. You’re well aware that Chishiya’s plan will be executed now, and you have no interest in being caught in the crossfire.

Has he found new bait? He’d mentioned Arisu. As you sift through food that might or might not be rotten, you can’t help but keep thinking about whatever is currently happening at the Beach.

You know Chishiya’s plans. Surely he’ll be fine. What are you thinking? It’s Kuina you care about making it out. Not him. 

You stand up abruptly, taking your gathered food with you in a bag as you make for the car.

Stop thinking about him.

You drive faster than quickly necessary. Only to slow down as, instead of the yellow light of the Beach, there is a red glow coming from its direction. The red glow of a fire.

Cautiously, you park the car, walking the last bit. 

Oh.

You’d imagined Aguni’s leadership would lead to ruin. You hadn’t imagined this.

You’ve played enough games to recognise the aftermath of one.

The, what you assume, survivors are staring at the fire. There are so few of them.

You spot Arisu, beaten but alive. You spot Kuina, sitting at the side of the pool. You’re relieved to see that she made it.

You spot Chishiya as well. His head shifts as he looks over the crowd, as if searching.

You have no interest in being spotted. You have no interest in a post-game Beach. So instead of learning about what happened, you make your way back to the car.

The interlude terrifies you. When there are no games to be found the first evening, only screens pronouncing said interlude, you worry about your VISA. You only have tomorrow left. 

Your fear eases a bit when at midnight no lasers are to be seen. Is this actually a break?

You don’t trust the gamemakers to be that generous. So you search to no avail for a game again the day after. It’s ironic, you think bitterly. How desperate you are for one considering how much you hate them.

There is no game to be found.

You go to sleep before midnight, aided by sleeping pills you’ve scavenged. If the laser comes for you, you don’t want to be awake to feel it. Still, fear tinges the edges of consciousness as you slip away.

You wake up. It’s late in a day, sunlight slipping past your curtains as they lit up the room.

You’re alive.

Alive, and alone. 

You shake that feeling off.

An interlude. You have no idea what that means. Maybe all the games have been completed? What else could it mean? Was the game at the Beach the Ten of Hearts? What comes next?

Did Chishiya have his complete deck?

Not for the first time, you miss him. His intelligence, you correct yourself. 

He’d have theories. He’d want to hear yours first, find the flaws in your thinking progress, and then ruthlessly dissect them before finally telling you his.

But he wanted to betray you. That’s not something you should be willing to forgive.

With no supervision, you don’t take the risk of intoxication again. Instead, you bury yourself in books. The smart thing would be to find some medical books. Survival ones, mayhaps. But instead you’re reading novels. It’s easier to lose yourself in them.

It’s the third evening that your TV turns on. You jump up at the scare, already halfway to the kitchen where a block of knives lies, when you realise there’s no danger.

It’s not even a game. You watch silently as the reporter, clearly scared for her life, introduces the King of Clubs. 

It doesn’t surprise you to learn of the existence of dealers. What does surprise you is that, unknowingly, you’ve been competing against them.

And now you’ll compete against the citizens.

The face cards. Likely harder than any game you’ve played before.

You watch on the roof the next noon as the zeppelins each stop above a different location one by one. The King of Spades doesn’t stop moving, but you have no interest in competing against a king, so you’ve got no interest in where that particular venue will be. 

No, you’ll choose a jack.

You’d rather not compete alone in a game more difficult than any you’ve played before. But you’ve got no choice, have you? After the interlude, you’re not sure what the situation with your VISA is. Better be safe than dead, and play today.

But which one?

Not diamonds. Chishiya will choose diamonds. What then?

The closest jack is the Jack of Hearts. Why not? You’re not bad at reading people, as proven by you catching your role in Chishiya’s plan. And it’s not like you’ve got anyone to lose, going in alone.

Your heart is already broken. It can’t be made worse.

Chishiya won’t be there. He finds heart games tedious.

You second guess your decision as you realise the venue is a prison. But you ignore the ominous setting, and walk in. You don’t hesitate as you put the collar around your neck.

There are twenty people needed. You are only the fourth. You avoid eye contact with the three people already there.

This is a hearts game. You’re not here to make friends.

A blond man is analysing you, as you’d bet he did with everyone. Even though his eyes are kinder, you avoid him specifically. The calculating look reminds you of Chishiya. 

Slowly people tickle in as you wait for the full twenty. It was noon when you entered, and now it’s almost evening. It’s boring, but you use it to observe people. One of the men starts to chat up others, like a salesman. Another has the robes of a priest. There’s a brute that’s already threatened someone before the game has even begun, so you make sure to stay clear of him.

You definitely stay clear of the man you overlooked when you walked in. While you’ve forgotten his name, you recognise him from the newspapers. He’d killed people. In the real world. Woman, specifically. Given your gender? Staying clear is definitely the best move.

The most excitement while waiting is when suddenly a loud moaning fills the rows of cells. You watch as a few people rush to help, led by a man with an afro. You don’t. After a stay at the Beach, the sound of sex doesn’t confuse you with the sound of someone hurting anymore.

Due to the distraction, you almost miss him walking in. His footsteps are slow as always as he walks through the entrance.

Lead courses through your veins when you spot him.

Your first thought is that the collar looks good on Chishiya. The second is a string of curses.

Why is he here? He shouldn’t be. He loathes the concept of a human heart. 

He cocks his head as he takes in all the participants, his eyes sliding over you as easily as they slide over the others. Still, for a brief moment, there is eye contact. For a brief moment, you can see his smirk. Do you imagine the relief?

There’s no way he’s here for you. There’s just not. He might know the days on your VISA. He might know how you think. He can’t be there for you. Why would he be?

Yet he isn’t in some diamonds game like you predicted he would be. He is here.

And currently pretending he doesn’t know you as he finds a corner to lean against.

Smart.

Annoying.

You force yourself to look away from him, at the man in a suit who gets looks from the people around him. Behind him is the woman he was just with, slowly paling as she realises what she’s done. Where she’s done it.

There’s rattling as another woman enters the venue. She’s wearing a hoodie with soft looking ears attached. The gate behind her closes with a clang.

Finally, the game will start.

The announcer cheerily tells them the name of the game. Solitary confinement. A door, with a timer of an hour above it, opens, showing a row of solitary cells, for exactly twenty people, as the emo guy helpfully notes. 

You should’ve chosen a different game.

That feeling worsens when the rules are explained. Guess the suit on the back of your collar in your solitary cell at the end of the hour. It will change each round after that. The Jack of Hearts is hiding amongst you. To win, he has to die.

There is an obvious, smart strategy here. There is someone who you know for sure isn’t the Jack of Hearts. And Chishiya is smart. He’d never lie about your suit to you, as he knows you’d never lie about his suit to him.

You don’t actually want him death, betrayal or not.

The game is about how much you can trust each other, the announcer said. You don’t trust Chishiya, not anymore. But you hate that you know you can, at least, trust him in this game.

There’s some discussion before the salesman suggests to work together. Afro immediately agrees. suggesting to form a group. His reasoning is sound: With group confirmation, no one can lie. 

“Yeah! Super idea! I’m in!” The woman with the hoodie is clearly enthusiastic about the idea. Two men join as well. Chishiya just watches, so, perhaps unwisely, you step forward. A group sounds like a better idea than pairing up with some stranger. “I’m in.”

Afro, Ippei you learn his name, seems surprised by the few people that join. When a young boy suggests that whoever entered the game first or last has a higher chance of being the Jack, both people who immediately joined the group, most people walk off. In the end, there are only six of you.

Ippei wants to get you to know each other, and you suppose building trust is important, so you introduce yourself. 

The group explores the venue. It’s quickly clear that there is nothing that could give a reflection, to the point of tomato juice coming out of the tap instead of water. While foreboding, the months worth of food in the storage room is a bright point in this bleak game. You’re enjoying your favourite candy as the woman in the hoodie, Urumi, smiles at the lot of you.

You don’t trust that smile. It’s meant to portray innocence, but her eyes are anything but. 

Still, she suggests to start sharing suits. “We trust each other, right?”

“Hearts.” You tell her with the rest of the group.

You’re a clubs.

You’ve been observing the others. Currently, the players are divideable in three groups: Those on their own, those with a partner, and those in your group.

It surprises you that Chishiya is alone. He surely knows that that’s stupid, right?

If it is because of you, he hasn’t approached you. And you sure as hell won’t approach him.

You watch as, in the first round, the first lie is told. You don’t blame the man: The brute had been beating him up to the point of blood running down his chin. Unfortunately for him, the brute knows he’s lying. You glance at Chishiya, unperturbed as ever, when you look away.

You don’t want to see this.

The beaten up man tells the truth after that. Ippei, kind as before, immediately helps him up as the brute walks away. Offers to let him join the group, and oh, some of the others aren’t happy with that, Urumi on forefront. They, understandably selfishly, don’t want the attention of the brute on themselves.

You stay silent. It doesn’t really matter, does it? There are already cracks forming in your group. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea, teaming up with scared strangers. Maybe you should-

No. You won’t approach him. He’ll have to make the first step if he wants to team up.

You deserve that much if you’re forced to play with him.

The first round ends with not a single death.

For a bright minute, people are happy. The rich woman thanks your group profusely for telling her her suit, and joins up. But the mood dies when the brute finds his victim, Seto, again.

Ippei, who you’ve started to like, steps in this time. Unfortunately, it only means he gets beaten up too.

You stay silent as Urumi declares Seto has to leave the group, seeing Ippei’s bruises as proof his presence is a danger. “If you won’t cast him out, I’m leaving the group!”

She’s not alone in that sentiment, as others agree.

How selfish. A group against a single man, brutish or not, would prevail. Yet you don’t say a word either, do you?

At least you have a reason, you try and convince yourself. It wouldn’t be smart to let someone who’s shown to be willing to lie in the group.

Circumstances or not, if you lie once it’ll be easier to lie again.

No one dies this round either. But the third round?

There is a furious scream, pulling the attention of everyone. It’s the brute. From his back, there’s a knife sticking out. It seems like his victim fought back.

But he has no chance against the brute. The man stops pulling his punches, throwing Seto on the ground as he bashes his face in gruesomely.

You wince as a loud boom reverberates through the building.

It’s against the rules to kill someone. 

Ippei doesn’t take Seto’s death well. He isn’t the only one, as suddenly people are reminded of the stakes of the games. People whisper that someone, likely the Jack, had to have told Seto to fight back, and so distrust is sewn. 

At the end of the third round, three people give the wrong suit. All loners, leaving Chishiya, the priest and the salesman as the only ones left without a group or partner.

You don’t worry for him. He doesn’t approach you. The priest does, desperate to join your group now that his disciple has fallen. But then one man almost tells another the wrong suit. “S-sorry, we couldn’t bring in any metal, so I don’t have my glasses.”

You don’t like the calculating look in Urumi’s eyes.

It doesn’t surprise you when  she goes around the group, convincing everyone to lie. This time you do protest. “Once the trust is broken, it’s only a matter of time before the group falls apart and we all die.” You argue. 

Urumi, with that bright, faux-innocent smile, lies anyway. Ippei, surprised and shocked, can’t react in time before she moves on to the next person.

You, hopefully subtly, walk after the man without his glasses. “You’re hearts.” You tell him, very aware of Chishiya’s eyes on you. “Urumi lied. She wants to get the game moving.” There are visible drops of sweat on his forehead and his eyes widen, but the announcer goads you to your cells before he can react.

A loud boom announces his death.

That round, Urumi smiles at you as she claims “Hearts!”

Ippei is trembling. The priest seems nervous and some of the others refuse to meet your eyes.

Is she lying?

They’re all eager to move to the next person. Too eager.

Fuck.

You distance yourself from the group. They’re lying to you because you refused to lie. How could they all be so… idiotic?

What are you supposed to do now? The round is almost over. Maybe you should try and isolate Ippei. He wouldn’t lie, even if he’s a pushover. Maybe you should get over yourself and-

Fingers brush away your hair from your neck, leaving a smouldering track in their wake. “Diamonds.” Chishiya’s voice is much closer than needed, the feeling of his breath against your neck causing you to shiver.

“Or did you truly think they told the truth?” His fingers linger longer than necessary. Is he doing that on purpose or is it his usual slow movements?

You turn around. He truly is close, but you refuse to back away. It maddens you that his eyes still do that thing where it looks like they soften. “I noticed that much.” He’s smirking. As if nothing happened between the two of you. Did he wait for this? An opportunity to tell you the truth after others lied?

Clever asshole.

“Then, if you don’t mind?” He turns around. You brush the hair that’s covering his suit aside. He is your surest way out of this game. Now that he’s approached you first, you’ll allow him to team up with you.

Even if your chest still hurts.

“Spades.” You keep your eyes on his, trying your hardest to remain a poker face.

You wouldn’t lie. It’d be stupid. 

But that doesn’t mean you don’t want to see him hesitate.

He doesn’t grant you that gratification. You’d forgotten this was Chishiya you’re dealing with. He simply puts his hands in his pockets, nods, and makes for the solitary cells.

“I could’ve lied.” You try. “You know I have all the reasons to want you dead.”

He glances over his shoulder. “Then I suppose I’ll die.” He doesn’t seem all that bothered by the thought.

Is he trying to prove something to you?

Or is it just his normal level of not caring about his own life?

You’d scolded him for that once before. He hadn’t shown it again around you.

Is he trying to get you to scold him again?

You don’t get him. You thought you did. But why hasn’t he left you alone after you realised the truth of your relationship? Surely it’s easier to manipulate someone new for whatever he wants.

That round only the rich girl dies. The group told her the truth, so she must’ve figured if they were willing to lie to you, they’re willing to lie to her.

You would’ve told her the truth if she asked.

You can feel Chishiya’s presence behind you after you step from your cell. Urumi is frowning, the rest of the group nervously glancing at each other. 

They’d expected you to die. They’d wanted you to die.

You ignore them as you walk past them. As far as you’re concerned, they’re just ghosts. Still lingering, but dead already in practice.

They wanted you dead. You won’t bother helping them stay alive.

“It was so stupid.” You grumble at Chishiya as you walk, trying to divert your feelings. “Surely they realise they’re just killing each other off. Including themselves.” It’s better than acknowledging the spare time this game grants you with him.

“They’re playing the numbers game.” Chishiya dryly explains. He’s not pushing you to figure it out yourself. Is that his way of being careful with you? “Kill as many people as they can and hope the Jack is one of the victims before they die themselves. Besides, they’re scared of protesting. You proved that it would paint a target on their back.”

“Sheep mentality.” You’re still pissed.

“Yes.” Chishiya takes a seat in the cafetaria. “But you’re not a sheep. And you’re smart enough to know that, in spite of your feelings, I’m your greatest chance at survival.”

“I’m alive, aren’t I?” Because you believed him without question when he told you your suit. He doesn’t have to tell you that. You add, a bit smugly: “I am your best chance of survival as well.”

“That you are.” He doesn’t bother denying.

It does bother you a bit. He’s smart, manipulative, enough to have had a partner he could trust from the start. Yet he took a gamble and risked his first rounds, even when the players got paranoid, to wait for a moment you would have to accept him.

While you’re certain he won’t lie, the same can’t be said the other way around from his point of view. You’ve made clear you’re furious with him. So he took a risk to team up with someone who might kill him anyway.

You can’t think of a plausible reason he would do so except…

He’s manipulating you. You remind yourself. He doesn’t care. Not the way you do. You’re not sure he can.

But what could he be manipulating you for?

Ugh.

“I’m going to get some snacks.” You announce, leaving him behind.

Only to almost immediately bump into someone as you round the corner. It’s the emo guy.

“Sorry!” He stammers. Huh, the killer isn’t with him. Those two seemed to stay close most of the time.

“Don’t worry about it.” You say, starting to walk past him.

He looks at you for a moment. “I’m Matsushita.” He introduces himself. “Um... Could I ask you my suit?” 

Oh? You glance back at him. “Don’t you trust your partner?”

“I’m scared of him.” He admits with a wry smile. “He’s the one who gave Seto the knife.” Interesting. That was what started the paranoia. “You’re spades.” You tell him. There’s no reason not to tell him, is there? 

You still as he reaches to brush your hair aside. Unlike Chishiya, he’s careful to not touch your skin. “You’re hearts.” He says. 

“Thanks.” You continue towards the storage room. There was no need for him to tell you, but you take it anyway. 

Maybe it isn’t the smartest to interact with someone else now that you have Chishiya. But unlike your blond, you do want people to live. If they ask you for their suit, you’ll tell them honestly.

When you return to Chishiya with chocolate chip cookies, which you know he dislikes, he confirms that you’re hearts. 

That round, four people die. The group's paranoia got most of them killed, including Urumi, leaving only Ippei and the priest. Chishiya smirks as he walks with you to the cafeteria.

You feel conflicted. They’d lied to you, but they’re still people.

The salesman was amongst the dead. Now there are only duos left.

“Ippei doesn’t seem to be holding up well.” You are slightly concerned. He seemed like a good man, but one who took on too much. “You think the psychological strain of the game will get to him?”

“He should’ve expected it from a hearts game.” Chishiya mocks. “He could’ve prevented deaths if he’d stood up when the group lied instead of being shocked to silence.” He glances at you as if to remind you that if it wasn’t for him, you’d have had trouble finding your true suit that round. 

It’s almost like everyone if the group genuinely irritates him. 

“I suppose.” 

You find yourself yawning. “Just a few more rounds.” Chishiya says nonchalantly as if he isn’t reassuring you. 

“It’s dawn. I haven’t slept since last night.” You hope he is right about the game lasting just a few more hours. You are getting tired. “You don’t seem that tired.”

That seems to amuse him. “I’ve had longer shifts at the hospital. Sitting around and observing is less taxing than dealing with patients or surgery.”

“So you are a doctor.” He never admitted to that before, even when he’d masterfully stitched up a cut you’d received during a spades game.

“Medical student.” He corrects you. “There are energy drinks amongst the supplies. You could use them.”

You down a can at the spot when you find them. 

“You’re clubs.” You look up to see Matsushita next to you. Huh, you hadn’t heard him get close. He is quiet. 

You didn’t agree to an alliance. But you resolved you’d tell people who asked. “Clubs as well.” You say.

Chishiya’s leaning against the wall when you come back, his eyes thoughtful on you. He still touches your skin as he brushes your hair away. Your skin still traitorously burns. “Clubs.” 

When you make your way back to the solitary cells, the blond who reminded you of Chishiya is waiting, together with his partner, the priest and Ippei. 

“I have an announcement to make.” He says when everyone has returned. “The four of us will make a new group.”

The man in the suit, Yaba, snorts. “Another group, huh? Didn’t you see how the last one ended?”

“That group was lacking a mission.” The blond retorts. He goes on to explain his plan. 

They want to stay here. For months. No lying, no treason. No killing. Even if the Jack of Hearts is in their group. Until the food runs out.

Months of living without worrying about your life in the Borderlands? That might as well be eternity.

But… “You think sleep deprivation won’t be a factor?” Chishiya seems amused at what he perceives to be idioticy. 

“I always assumed you three would never agree to join. But your hangers-on can join anytime.”

You bristle. “Chishiya does not control me. But your plan seems unrealistic.”

You’re right.

While this round, no one dies, the next round all four in the new group do.

Yaba uses his physical strength to keep the blond’s cell door closed once the round starts. If he can’t leave his cell, he can’t receive his suit.

You only watch to see the blond’s partner threatening violence, but being stopped by Yaba’s woman’s knife. He does point out that it’s against the rules to obstruct someone’s entrance into a solitary cell, so Yaba lets him in. Fool.

You’re gone by the time he gets locked in as well. The rules don’t say anything about preventing others from leaving their cell. The rules also state that, at the end of the hour, when there are two or more players in a single cell they’ll receive a game over.

This time, Matsushita comes to find you when Chishiya is away for food.

“You say you’re not his hanger-on.” He asks you after exchanging suits. “But you look at him like he hurt you. Deeply. Yet you’re still partnering with him.”

“That’s none of your business.” You snap back, perhaps a bit too harshly. But you’re running on fumes at this point, and you’re not interested in explaining Chishiya.

“I didn’t mean to insult.” He holds his hands up placatingly. “I just… It seems like we’re both partnered up with people we’d rather not, aren’t we?” He walks away before you can answer.

You can understand how it looks from the outside. It’s just… Chishiya’s complicated. You know he won’t lie to you.

About your suit, at least.

Unfortunately for you, the priest decides to pay you a visit as well. His movements are frantic, clearly betraying his desperation. “You’ve shown mercy on others.” He begs you. “By telling the poor soul the group condemned what his true suit was. Have mercy on me too.” Doesn’t he have Ippei to trade suits with?

“Ask Ippei.” You say curtly.

“He has wandered away from the light.” His voice is trembling. You shift awkwardly. This man tried to kill you. It might’ve been a group decision, but he very much was part of the group.

“So you ask the one person alive you tried to kill?” You remind him.

“Even men of God can sin.” He’s begging you. “Let me atone for what I’ve done.”

“Pathetic.” Chishiya’s leaning against the entryway. He pushes himself away from the wall, walking up to the man as if the priest isn’t much larger than him. “Does your God allow harassing a woman you attempted to murder?” He places himself next to you. 

“I was weak.” The man begs, now directed at Chishiya. “The spirit of the game tested me, and I failed.”

“You haven’t even apologised.” You look away, but you do catch Chishiya glancing at you. He hasn’t apologised either.

“Damn it all.” The priest drops his mask. “I don’t want to die here. Don’t let me die here.”

You have no interest in killing someone. But you won’t help someone live when they tried to kill you. So you stay silent.

“Sure.” The cruelty in Chishiya’s voice is evident. “You’re spades ~♪”

The priest, breathing heavily, takes a few steps back as if hit, realising he won’t get his answers here. He all but runs out of the room. In doing so, his back is turned to you, unintentionally showing off his suit.

Spades.

“You told the truth?” For a moment, you’re surprised. Then you realise. “Oh. He will think you lied.” His guess will be any suit but the right one. “Are you not scared that getting a priest killed is bad karma, Chishiya?” You present it like a tease, but you want to know his answer.

He doesn’t normally bother to actively get someone killed.

He scoffs. “A priest? He strikes me as more of a cult leader. There was no belief there. It’s the only way he knew to manipulate anyone.”

The priest dies with the rest of his group. You never even knew his name.

The next round, you’re back in the storage room in search of more caffeine. Matsushita is waiting for you.

“I’m scared Banda will lie to me.” He admits to you. “How do you know Chishiya won’t hurt you again?” You don’t. “He won’t. Not in this game. He’s smarter than that.”

“But he’s arrogant as well.” Matsushita pushes. “Why should we be stuck with people like them any longer? We could get free.” Whoa. You hadn’t minded the suit-exchange you’ve been doing, but what he’s insinuating?

“We have very different situations. Chishiya isn’t a serial killer, to start with.” You say frostily. 

“Think about it.” He tries. “He’s heartless. Don’t make the mistake of thinking you’re special.” You freeze at that, the unintentional repeat of Chishiya’s question feels like a stab through your heart. “You’re hearts. I’ll ask you again next turn.” 

“You’re hearts as well.” You murmur, the word special ringing in your ears.

Chishiya has started to slowly stroke his thumb against the nape of your neck as he tells you your suit. You haven’t commented on it, not willing to admit you like it. You blame the sleep deprivation.

His breath ghosts your ear as he tells you, shamelessly leaning in. “Clubs.”

You freeze immediately, the icy feeling like lead flowing through your veins.

He notices, of course, stepping in front of you, his hand moving to your chin to make you look into his eyes as he considers you. “Did your friend tell you otherwise?”

He’d noticed? But that’s not the important thing right now.

Matsushita hadn’t seemed like he lied, had he? But you’d been distracted.

“How do I know you won’t hurt me again, Chishiya?” Your voice is vulnerable.

His hand moves back to his pocket. “You don’t. But that’s what this game is about. Trust.” He cocks his head. “And you do know me better than that.”

“Do I? Everything you do is confusing me. Why did you join this game? You were supposed to focus on the diamonds games.”

“You weren’t amongst the survivors of the Beach. I’d assumed you went out after I noticed you leave during Aguni’s speech. I wanted to confirm your survival.” There’s an unreadable tone in his voice that can’t be what you think it is.

“Why?” You press. You don’t get why. If you hadn’t uncovered his plans, surely you’d be dead or worse.

“I’m not apologising for my initial plans.” His face is so frustratingly emotionless. “It is only human to do anything to survive. But I do apologise for how I handled you finding out.” His eyes soften. “You are special. I never meant to imply otherwise. I’ve never had anyone else so insistingly stuck in my thoughts.”

Your breath quickens. That’s exactly what you want to hear, but how can you believe him? “You still tried to throw me to the wolves.” You repeat, your breath quickening.

“I was. At first.” He hesitates. “I had been searching for a replacement when you found out.”

Your head shoots up. “What?”

“I’m aware it sounds like a lie.” His eyes haven’t turned away from yours for even a moment. “But you affect me in a way no one else ever has. The cards weren’t worth sacrificing you.”

“Chishiya…”

“If you’d only waited a bit. Then you’d have seen that I officially replaced you with Arisu. But no, you had to be clever.” He sounds almost fond.

This is Chishiya. He doesn’t do fond.

“Don’t believe Matsushita over me. Inconsequential is the least of what I’d find your demise.” 

“Why would he lie?” You’re not sure whether you can believe Chishiya, but at least you know he wouldn’t lie about your suit. Still, you want to know.

“He’s the most likely candidate to be the Jack of Hearts.” He explains without a hint of his often used condescension. “He’s partnered with Kotoko as well. And it takes a certain type to partner with someone like Banda Sunato.”

Oh.

“…I was focused on surviving.” You admit. You haven’t really been looking for the Jack of Hearts, have you? You’d been more occupied by making sure you had someone tell you your true suit. And you’d been distracted by Chishiya.

“We’ll talk about that strategy when you’re not mad at me anymore.” When. Not if.

It maddens you how presumptuous he is.

It maddens you how it calms you a bit. It reminds you of before.

You can’t continue your conversation as you have to return to your cells. But before you step into yours, Chishiya meets your gaze. “Don’t be a moron.” As if he’s actually worried.

Even if it wasn’t strategically better to believe Chishiya, you want to believe in him.

So you don’t hesitate.

“Clubs.”

You close your eyes as you wait for the timer to hit zero. The sound of an explosion reverberates through the prison, but you’re aware of it. You’re alive.

Of course you are. There was no reason for Chishiya to lie about your suit.

Did he lie about the rest?

“Time’s up.” The announcer chimes. “Out of six participants, the number that has survived round ten is… Five.”

“Wh… What happened? There must be a mistake!” You hear from outside.

Matsushita.

You step aside, just to see him gaping at Banda and Yaba. “This can’t be! How are you still alive?”

“The next round begins.” The announcer interrupts. “Trust your partners, and good luck.”

“How sad.” Banda says. “I thought we could be friends. But you betrayed us. Did fear drive you to do it? Or… could it be that you’re the Jack of Hearts?”

“C’mon.” Chishiya nods towards the exit as Banda continues. “This won’t be pretty ~♪”

And he’s right. The two of you wait for the hour to tick down in the cafeteria, which has the most possible walls between the solitary cells. Still, Matsushita’s screams reach you.

“It’s a shame metal wasn’t allowed for this game.” Chishiya muses. “My walkman could’ve dampened that noise.” Because, while he’s calmly eating a bag of biscuits, you have your hands clamped over your ears.

Luckily, the torture only lasts one round. It’s been hours since dawn, and you eagerly leave the prison, only to walk right out into the rain.

“A typhoon.” Chishiya seems insistent on walking next to you. “Interesting timing.” You don’t deny him.

You do send him an irritated glare when he touches your arm, as if to correct your direction. “I suggest we avoid the King of Spades.” 

The blimp is indeed in the direction of the apartment you camped out in. “So? We just won’t enter the venue.”

“It’s still moving.” He points out. “I’d rather we avoid it. It’d be a shame if the King of Spades is a free roamer.”

“We?” You’re too tired and annoyed that he’s right again.

He simply raises his eyebrows.

“Fine. We. Your place should better be close.”

It is, relatively. The apartment he leads you to is white and barren. You don’t care. You go straight to opening doors until you’ve found the bedroom, where you dress down to your underwear, too exhausted to tell an amused Chishiya off but still refusing to sleep in drenched clothes, putting on the first shirt you can find in the wardrobe.

You fall asleep the moment your head hits the pillow, only vaguely aware of the bed dipping beside you.

You sleep past the day, well into the night.

When you wake up, you’re hyper aware of warm skin that’s resting against your hand. The contact is small, just the side of his hand against yours, but it’s there.

Chishiya is sleeping next to you, on his back, his face unusually serene. 

That ache in your chest is still there, yet you don’t move away. 

You are special.

You want to believe that so badly.

Now that you’ve slept, you glance around the room. While barren, there is a hint to its previous owner. The medical books on a shelf.

This is Chishiya’s apartment. 

Chishiya’s room.

You’ve slept in Chishiya’s bed. Next to him.

You find yourself heating up as blood rushes to your cheeks.

You undressed in front of him in his room. And proceeded to put his shirt on.

You look back at his sleeping face.

His muscles are completely relaxed, his mole accentuating his features.

Was he affected by the sight?

Damn it. He’s still Chishiya Shuntaro.

Affection and hurt are warring in your chest.

A rumbling coming from your stomach gives you an excuse you readily take to get up.

As you’ve got no interest in wearing your dirty, still damp clothes from the day before, you begrudgingly take a pair of pants and a shirt from Chishiya’s wardrobe.

You glance back as you make for the door, only to be greeted by Chishiya’s open eyes. There’s an unreadable look in his usually empty eyes. It takes you a moment to recognise it as contentment.

“I don’t remember agreeing to sharing a bed.” The contentment makes place for his Cheshire smile. “I wasn’t about to sleep on the couch in my own home.” He drawls out your name. “And unfortunately I lack a guestroom.” He expectedly doesn’t seem sorry at all. “Do I need to ask compensation for letting you sleep in my bed and wear my clothes?”

You glare at him as you step out of the bedroom, glad to find canned food neatly stacked in a cupboard in the kitchen.

You’re not sure what you’re doing. Well, you know how to make yourself breakfast, that’s not the issue.

But Chishiya?

Logically, you should leave him behind. He, admitted by himself, tried to give you to the militants as a traitor. His words during the Jack of Hearts could very easily be lies.

But he’s Chishiya.

The same Chishiya who, back at the Beach, noticed when a game was too much and stayed in your room until you fell asleep (under the excuse of working on his plan). The same Chishiya who taught you to be better at the games.

The same Chishiya who you fell for. Who you, if you allow yourself to admit it for a moment, still have feelings for.

You don’t want to leave him.

He notices your conflicted feelings of course. But he doesn’t press. No, Chishiya is patient,

He lets you snark at him over minor things without responding in kind during the day. He doesn’t call out your staring.

He knows he’s on a thin line. But he also seems aware that you’ll forgive him if he behaves while time passes.

How irritating that he’s right.

You’re only vulnerable again that next evening. Laying in bed, your voice is barely audible. “…Did you lie during the Jack of Hearts?”

“No.” His reply is immediate, his hand brushes against yours, just the tiniest bit more touch than yesterday. “Truth was my best strategy there.” Then, more quiet, as if he’s talking to himself: “I’d have told it even if it wasn’t.”

You don’t pull your hand away. This night, you’re aware of his touch for every single moment.

The problem with him being passive, you realise, is that you want him to cover the first step. It’s really nice that he’s being overly careful not to press past your boundaries, but he hurt you. 

So when you find a deck of cards, you start playing solitaire on your own. But when Chishiya nudges you to join him at mahjong, perhaps recognising your need for him to reach out, you don’t make him work for it and simply agree.

He doesn’t subject you to even a single test.

Still, progress is slow. 

You feel like you’re going mad, one side of you wondering why you can’t just forgive him already, while the other still remembers how cold his eyes had looked when you called him out. How your heart broke.

“You are special.”

His eyes hadn’t looked cold then. No, there’d been fondness in them. 

You like when he looks at you like that.

You like the moments he seems content even in this awkward routine.

You’re not sure what he wants from you. You hope it’s the same you want from him.

It might be, right? He doesn’t let anyone else get close to touching him, yet his hand is resting on yours each night.

Until one morning, when you wake up to a cold hand.

Immediately, you sit up. The space next to you is empty.

He’s not elsewhere in the apartment either. Instead, on the counter, is a letter in perfect kanji.

He’s out. To play games. Even when his VISA is far from expiring.

The letter tells you he’ll be back before dinner.

You hate him. 

The way your heart pumps quicker in concern calls out that lie immediately.

You should’ve known, honestly. The Jack and King of Diamonds sat unbeaten, and Chishiya does appreciate an intellectual challenge.

Did he go to the Jack or the King?

You spent that day on the roof of the apartment complex, ignoring the rain that’s still pouring down. Few games are left. Just the Queen of Hearts, King of Spades and the Jack and King of Diamonds.

The Jack of Diamonds goes down during the afternoon. Each second feels like hours as you wait for him to return.

He doesn’t.

After an actual hour, you can’t take it anymore. You make your way in the direction where the blimp was before it crashed.

You find yourself in front of a mahjong parlor. Your hand is trembling as you open the door.

There’s a hole in the ground. Perfectly cut around a table where the remains of a game lay.

Chishiya is good at strategy games. He might not have played mahjong much, but he’s good at it. Please…

The corpse your flashlight first uncovers has long dark hair. The second has glasses.

It takes you painstaking long moments to find the third and last. Short, dark hair.

None are Chishiya.

Why didn’t he come back?

Oh. Of course.

The King of Diamonds hasn’t been beaten yet, and Chishiya can’t just let anyone else beat the king of intelligence, can he?

You can just spot the burning blimp between buildings when you step outside.

The King of Diamonds has been beaten.

No way it’s anyone other than him. Right?

The Chishiya Shuntaro you know is untouchable when it comes to intellect.

You hurry as you make your way.

The Supreme Court has four corpses. But unlike the Jack of Diamonds, these are unrecognisable, blackened by what you assume to be acid.

The winner must have left already. Chishiya must have left already.

He can’t have died like that. Not so painful, not without you being able to recognise his body.

Surely he wouldn’t take on the Queen of Hearts or the King of Spades, right?

He must’ve gone home.

You barely register your surroundings as you make it back, until you instinctively lurge behind a car when sudden gunshots ring out.

You force yourself to breathe as you take in the situation. 

The gunshots sound again. Not close, you realise. But right between your location and the apartment.

Chishiya wouldn’t, right?

Surely not?

You cautiously make your way there anyway, even if it goes against any instinct you have.

What once used to be Shibuya crossing is now overshadowed by another burning blimp stretched across the streets.

You don’t care for that.

You care for the speck of white sagged against one of the cars.

“Chishiya!” All caution is thrown to the wind as you rush towards him.

His usually impeccable jacket has two slowly growing red spots on it.

No.

You frantically cup his cheek in one hand as your other presses against one of his wounds in a faint attempt to limit the bleeding, causing him to slightly grunt.

“Ah. So you do care.” The affection in his eyes is the strongest it has ever been. “Don’t bother. The internal damage will do me in long before loss of blood will.”

“Of course I care!” You snarl back. “Tell me what to do.”

He says your name in the softest tone you’ve heard his voice. “There’s nothing you can do.” His hand takes yours off his wound and squeezes it. “I need professionals and working hospital equipment.”

“But you can’t die.” You beg him frantically. “I was supposed to have time. Time to forgive you. Time for… us. You’re a constant. You never get hurt. You can’t be hurt.”

“And you went after me anyway, didn’t you? So impatient.” He clicks his tongue, amused. As if he doesn’t care for his situation at all. “I’m human. Of course I can get hurt.”

“You said you’d be back by dinner.”

“It appears I was wrong.” He brings up his hand to your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin. He’s wiping a tear away, you realise.

It’s too much. You don’t just care for this man, you fell for him. You loved him, and you know with time you’ll love him again. So you lean in closer and capture his lips with your own.

His lips are dry but it doesn’t take away from the moment in the slightest. He’s still for long moments quickly spent as you are kissing Chishiya before his lips start to move against your own. His hand moves to your shoulder, his thumb on your pulsepoint, while his other hand lies on your waist. His grip is loose, no squeezing, no pulling, as they simply rest there. 

It is enough. For a moment, you forget your drenched clothes. For a moment, you forget his blood-soaked jacket. For a moment, all that exists is him. His lips against your own.

Just for a moment.

Then he pulls away. Just enough to tease.

“I correct myself. You do more than just care. Could I assume this means you’ve forgiven me?”

You glare at him before you soften. Damn it. “…Yes. I’ve forgiven you. Just don’t die. Please.” The way your voice breaks proves how you mean it.

“Arisu and Usagi are taking on the Queen of Hearts. It should be our final game.” He tells you. “There’s a reasonable assumption to be made that we can go back to our former world after that. If so, I will make it to a hospital in time. With my parent’s positions in the hospital, my care will be top priority.” The hand resting on your waist slips beneath your jacket to find a sliver of skin. It doesn’t explore further, content to just feel.

“…You really think so?” You know it’s a stupid question. Chishiya doesn’t say needless things. But the hope slipped past your lips before you could stop it.

For once, he doesn’t mock you. “Yes.” He simply confirms. “Guarenteed proper treatment is one of the few perks I’ve received from my family.”

“I’m more worried about the going home part.”

He considers that a moment before answering. “Even if we don’t, it’s likely there’s a system in place for citizens. It’d be a shame to lose a king the night before stage two due to a heart attack.”

“I hope we’ll be able to go home.” You admit, calmed a bit by his conviction. “Before, I’d often imagined how it’d be like to be drifted into another world. But now that I have, I just want to go back.”

He’s silent after that. You sit there, just taking in his presence, taking in the realisation that you do in fact forgive him. That you kissed him, and he’d kissed you back.

He can’t die now.

“I’ve got not much to go back for.” He finally admits. “I’d like to stop wasting my life.”

“You’re a medical student.” You point out. “Objectively, that’s not a waste. Even if your motivations aren’t the reasons society prefers.”

His smiles wryly. “Ah. Society might think so. But my occupation is not what made my life a waste.” He tilts his head. “What is your living situation like?”

You blink at the, in your eyes, sudden change in subject. And then you immediately attempt to think of ways to divert it.

He’s a future doctor. His parents are implied to be doctors. You’ve seen his apartment, the neighbourhood he lives in.

You know what he’ll think of your meager place.

“Mine then.” Chishiya finds your moment of hesitation answer enough.

“Yours?” You ask.

“Yes. We’ll live at my place, since you don’t consider yours up to my standards.”

Hold on. “You want us to live together? In the real world?”

You imagine it. You’d continue to sleep in his, your, bed for the foreseeable future. You’d have his intelligent support for your daily struggles. More importantly, you’d have him. There’s nothing in the real world he could betray you for, so you’d truly have him.

You could trust him.

“Yes.” He confirms, again without mockery. “I’d be a fool to let you slip away twice. And I do so despise being foolish.”

You kiss him again. How could you not? He’s just admitted, in his own way, that he wants to have you too. That he intends on making sure your futures intertwine.

In his own way, he assured you that he won’t hurt you again. Never you.

You do worry during the next few hours. Chishiya’s poker face doesn’t let you get a good gauge on his condition. He’s a medical student, you remind yourself. And his personality doesn’t let him soften the truth.

He’d tell you if he wouldn’t make it.

Still, you anxiously await for whatever will happen once the Queen of Hearts is cleared (and it will be cleared. As soon as possible. There is no other option. Chishiya doesn’t have another option).

What you were waiting for turns out to be fireworks. You could’ve guessed: There were fireworks when you entered the Borderlands. There were when the second stage started. So there are now.

“Congratulations! The players successfully completed all card games.”

You grin. “We made it, ‘Shiya.”

“Shuntaro.” He corrects you mindlessly.

Your grin takes over your whole face.

The fireworks are beautiful.

“I deny citizenship.” You say confidently before the announcer has even finished their offer of more games. Denial means home, it has to be. And home means a future with Chishiya, Shuntaro.

“I don’t want it.” Shuntaro’s eyes are on you as he says it.

The fireworks get brighter. Bright enough to swallow your whole vision. 

Chishiya Shuntaro’s face is the last thing you see.

Masterlist.

Chishiya x Reader.

You're pleasantly surprised by a feline visitor in your apartment. You're even more pleasantly surprised by his owner.

I decided it was high time I threw a cat at Chishiya.

4629 words.

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You’re grumpy and running on fumes after a long day of studying when you come home, kicking your shoes off before making straight for the kitchen, dropping your bag on a chair without even looking. You can empty it after you’ve eaten.

You don’t make it to the kitchen before you’re interrupted by an indignant mraow, making you freeze before looking back at the cat who narrowly avoided your bag.

“Oh I’m so sorry!” You drop to your knees, holding out a hand. “I didn’t see you! I’m sorry!”

The cat hisses at you.

You grab your bag back, pulling out your left-over lunch and hold it out towards the cat. “I’m sorry, see?”

The cat hesitates, before cautiously moving closer, sniffing at the rolled egg before deeming it acceptable, grabbing it gracefully from your hand and jumping back on the empty again chair, where he eats with a satisfied look on its face.

It’s only then you remember that you do not own a cat.

He’s light gray with darker stripes all across its body, blue eyes and it wears a sleek white leather collar, which somehow seems pristine.

Huh.

You do recognise the cat, he used to be a stray you’d slowly won over using scraps of food before he one day disappeared, leaving you worried over his fate.

Looking at his clean, kept fur and his collar, it seems like someone took him in.

Good. You’d wanted to do so yourself, but your apartment complex has a strict no-pets policy.

“Seems like you found someone who takes care of you.” You tell the cat. This time he lets you reach out as his egg is finished, and sure enough, there is a tag on the collar. “Cheshire.” You read out loud, ignoring the phone number beneath it. “Fitting. You look healthy.”

Suddenly, your mood is a lot better. You’re relieved; you genuinely had worried about the animal.

He seems to have forgiven you for the bag incident as he allows you to pet him. “How did you even get in?” You muse as he begins to purr. 

As he’s a cat, he does not answer.

You grant yourself a few minutes before you pull away. “I have to eat myself.” You explain defensively as Cheshire looks indignant at that.

You keep an eye on him as you heat up your ramen. Would it be considered against the lease to have an animal as a visitor? You certainly didn’t let him in.

Cheshire stays until you’re done with eating, and while he pretends to not pay attention to you, you bet he’d been hoping for a morsel.

“Too many spices.” You apologise. “This wouldn’t be good for you.”

Once he realises there is no more food for him to find, he struts over to your front door, and loudly meows to get your attention.

He slips out without looking back the moment you open it for him.

You smile. That unexpected visitor certainly made your day a lot brighter.

He visits more often after that. Even though he slips inside without your help just fine (seriously, you can’t figure out how he gets in), he always meows for you at the door whenever he desires to leave.

You don’t mind. Technically he’s not your cat, so you’re not breaking your lease (you’ve decided), but you do buy a bag of kibble for him. And a bowl. And some toys.

You might have a soft spot for the little beast.

One day, you realise that while he might have once been a stray, he very much does have an owner now. Who might like to know that their cat is being fed by a stranger.

You have a phone number, but that’s no fun. Instead, you tear a piece of paper from your textbook. Then you crumple it in a ball, dissatisfied with what you wrote. You go with your third attempt.

“Hello! To Cheshire’s owner: he’s been visiting me for a few weeks now.

I’ve been feeding him as he’s very persuasive. I realised you might want to know (:”

As you wrap it around Cheshire’s collar, you realise the tag isn’t the only thing attached to it. There is what you assume to be a tracker as well.

You get your answer a day later. There is a piece of paper, non-teared, on Cheshire’s collar the next day. The kanji is neat, the words as straight as if they’d been on lined paper.

“There is a phone number on the nameplate you read. What kind of food? Specify the brand.”

Even though it impolitely lacks a greeting and the words are curt, you smile. You can feel the sarcasm coming off of that first sentence.

“I know.” You write back. “This is more fun.” But you do add the brand of kibble you’d bought. Then you add another smiley face.

Cheshire just lets the wrapping happen, although he does flick his tail to show his displeasure.

The next day as you come home from your studies, there is a plastic grocery store bag hanging from your doorknob. The handles are tied together with a piece of string, where a piece of paper is attached to as well.

You take it off right there in the hallway.

“Don’t feed Cheshire that anymore. Use this instead. Please update me on how much he’s eaten.”

Sure enough, inside the bag are cans of catfood stored. Wet, high quality, expensive catfood. 

You take it inside after some hesitation.

“How the hell does your owner know where I live?” You demand from Cheshire, who’s innocently cleaning his fur on the chair he’s claimed as his own.

You open one of the cans anyway, causing Cheshire’s ears to perk up at the familiar sound.

You tear another piece out of your notebook as the cat begins to eat, but you take a long time before you finally decide on what to write. The tracker might’ve given it away, but you live in an apartment complex. How could they know which floor?

You decide to be direct.

“How the hell do you know where I live?”

As you wrap it around Cheshire’s collar, you murmur: “I really hope you haven’t gotten me a stalker, Ches.”

The reply comes a day later on Cheshire’s collar. 

“You might have noticed Cheshire’s collar has a tracker.” Yes. You did. “That’s almost enough for your location, only the exact floor is lacking. But it’s simply resolved by noticing which floor Cheshire waits for me each day at the end of my shift.”

Oh.

That’s… fair enough.

And cute.

“You wait for your owner's shift to end?” You ask a Cheshire who ignores you as always.

There’s more on the other side of the paper. “I’m not interested in you at all, if you’re worried about a stalker. If I had been, I’d know your phone number by now. Yet still we use this inconvenient way of communication.

Please do add what you’ve fed my cat this time.”

Strangely enough, while the words are a bit short and direct, they assure you. Whoever wrote this isn’t acting affronted or diminishing your concern. Instead they wrote facts. With an air of smugness, yes, but it’s better than if he’d filled the note with insincere assurances.

So you decide that, while you will keep an eye out, you won’t assume malicious intent.

And they seem like they care about Cheshire. Enough to strictly control his feeding. You glance at the cat. He’s at a much healthier weight than he was as a stray. So clearly the owner is doing it right.

When Cheshire later that evening meows at you at the front door, you quickly attach your new note.

“He ate one of your cans both today and yesterday :) dw you don’t seem like a stalker. Don’t change my mind on that. Btw, doesn’t that imply you live here? I thought the complex doesn’t allow animals. My lease at least doesn’t.”

You wonder if you have to change your mind when you receive a response.

“It’s not allowed. Blackmail brings one far.”

It’s a joke, right? Surely they wouldn’t put it on paper if they actually blackmailed the landlord?

“I’ll ignore that.” You write back. “I bought Cheshire a ball that rattles when he pushes it. He’s so cute. He ate another can today.”

“You seem naive.” You get as an answer and… well. This person really doesn’t pull their punches, do they?

You like it. You often overthink how people perceive you, but not with Cheshire’s owner. They clearly would just tell you if they have a problem.

…Maybe you do overthink the limited contact you’ve had if you assume those kind of conclusions already.

There is a blot of ink on the usually flawless paper, indicating they hesitated before their next words. “Have you bought much for my cat?” 

Why is that something they hesitated on? Should you not have? Or maybe it’s because it’s the first time they inquired you about something unnecessary?

“Just a bowl.” That’s reasonable, right? “And some toys. I just couldn’t help myself. And I’m not that naive. I did not tell you my name.”

“I know your name. It’s written on your postbox, like with all residents. You spoil my cat.”

…Oops. “Then it’s only fair if you tell me yours. Cheshire deserves to be spoiled <3.” After some consideration, you add: “I used to feed him when he was still a stray. I’m happy he found someone who cares for him, so thank you for that.” 

“There is no reason for me to tell you my name. Nor is there to thank me. The cat simply appeared inside my home and neglected to leave.

~Chishiya Shuntaro.”

You feel giddy at that one. It’s silly. Very silly. But what information you got from the few notes tells you that this is someone who doesn’t open up easily. Yet he (assuming his gender on the name) still told you a tidbit he didn’t have to. He still gave you his name.

The next weeks, his notes, short and stilted as they are, keep being something in your day to look forwards to, together with the feline visitor.

You’re open in your own messages, adding smiley faces and telling Chishiya about something Cheshire did, or, after a few weeks, telling him tidbits about yourself.

He very rudely tells you he can’t care less, yet he keeps responding, so you keep writing.

Cheshire is purring on your lap as you’re pondering what to write this day, when suddenly, your room lights up yellow, and you look up in instinct to see the source. 

There is a huge ball of yellow and orange and gray growing in the direction of centre Tokyo. You don’t have time to comprehend, to believe, what you’re seeing before the shockwave hits you.

You pull Cheshire to your chest as you make yourself small when the world trembles around you and glass shatters and furniture is pushed away.

For long moments the world is silent. Then sirens ring in the distance and Cheshire scrambles out of your arms, ears flat against his head.

What just happened?

Was that a bomb?

Who the fuck would bomb Tokyo?

You stare at your broken window in disbelief, before you realise you’re bleeding.

The next few hours are hectic. You clean the (luckily shallow) gashes the glass gave you, before subjecting Cheshire to do the same. All the while you’re frantically attempting to call your family and friends, but no call goes through. A small, logical side of your brain reminds you that likely everyone is attempting the same.

It’s only then that you remember television exists, and you turn it on hastily.

A meteorite.

A fucking meteorite.

You stare in disbelief as the reporter starts to name suspected casualties. Thousands of people at least. Many more wounded. They’re talking about containing the fires, possible evacuations…

You’re not in those zones. You’re so very thankful you’re parents live on the city’s edge. 

Some of your friends don’t.

You don’t linger on that.

You leave your apartment, glass shards still scattered over the floor, as you hastily make for your parent’s place, leaving Cheshire outside to go to his owner’s place.

It’s late in the evening when you come back, your parent’s luckily alright. You spend the day helping them clear up the glass and blocking the holes in their walls that used to be windows.

The moment you step inside your apartment building, you’re greeted by a frantic meowing.

“Cheshire?” The cat presses against your legs before you reach out to lift him into your arms, petting him in an attempt to calm him down.

A foreboding feeling fills you.

And sure enough, over the next few days, Cheshire leaves your place often but always returns quickly. The only notes he brings you are ones you wrote yourself, containing a simple “Are you okay?”

You don’t catch the name of Chishiya Shuntaro on the endless list of deceased, but you don’t listen to the reporter droning on names after one of your friends is named.

You sit in your apartment, Cheshire on your lap, staring at nothing.

It feels so… surreal.

It takes days before phones work again. The first number you call is the one written on Cheshire’s tag.

Voicemail. Cheshire’s ears perk up at the low male voice that boredly tells you to call back later.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper towards the cat. What are you supposed to do with him? Your landlord won’t have suddenly changed her mind. Maybe your parents could take him?

For now, you’ll use the chaos to keep him for a bit. Maybe, just maybe, Chishiya Shuntaro is one of the wounded. Maybe he’s just not currently capable of picking up the phone.

Maybe he’ll return.

You don’t believe it, not with how many people you know are suddenly gone. Your next weeks consist of many funerals. It's weird, whenever you're out on the streets. Everyone around you knows someone who's suddenly and violently lost. It's like the air itself is more heavy with the weight of what happened.

It’s more than a month after the disaster that your doorbell rings. Looking through the peephole, you don’t recognise the man.

He’s handsome, long blond hair and dark brown eyes, a mole beneath his left. He’s wearing a pristine white jacket.

There have been a lot of desperate people ever since the impact. While this man does not look like one, you’d rather not open the door.

Until you realise Cheshire is meowing at your feet, scratching the door frantically.

Oh.

The moment you open the door, Cheshire is gone, purring loudly. The man, now fully in view, slowly looks down at the cat pressing himself against his legs, hand in his pockets, before his face changes into slight fondness.

“You’ve missed me, have you?” He crouched down, pulling one of his hands out of his pocket to hold it up towards Cheshire who immediately pushes his head against it, purring even louder. 

“Chishiya Shuntaro?” 

He lifts his head to look at you, slowly taking you in, as if considering something, still staying in his crouched position. “That is me. I assume you believed me dead?”

So he is as brazen in real life as in his messages. You smile, a rarity in the past few weeks. “I did. Do you want to come in?”

He tilts his head. “It’s not like I have anything better to do.”

You lead him towards the couch, where Cheshire can purr on his lap before you disappear into the kitchen to offer him a cup of tea.

“I called you.” You tell him before you sit down opposite of him. “You didn’t pick up.”

That seems to amuse him. “So it takes a meteorite for you to use a phone.” His next words are as nonchalant as if he’s naming groceries. “I got pierced by rebar here-” his hand goes to his shoulder, “and here.” It lowers to his abdomen. “It took out my phone as well on top of inducing a cardiac arrest. But it seems I’m one of the ‘lucky’ ones.” The word lucky is clearly mocking.

“I’m glad.” You tell him. “Scratch that. I’m happy. Really happy. That you’re alive.”

His eyes are on you, considering you. “You really mean that.” He muses, interested as if you’re an anomaly. “That makes you the only one.”

You blink. That can’t be true, can it? Does he not have parents? Friends? That’s not exactly something you can ask. Instead you say: “That’s not true. Look at how happy Cheshire is.”

His gaze lowers from your face towards the cat as he gives him a single pet. His purrs intensify, melting into Chishiya's touch. “That he is.” Then his gaze is back on you again. “Did you get hurt?”

“Just some scratches. Long healed.” You gesture towards the now-fixed windows. “There apparently have been reports of glass shattering even outside of the city limits.”

“There have.” He confirms, his eyes roaming the room as if calculating how the damage might have looked. “Did Cheshire get hurt?”

You blush slightly as you remember how you protected the cat with your body. “Just a single scratch.” You dismiss. “He was more scared than anything else.”

“Good.” He nods. Then, changing subject: “Do you have any games to play?”

The man is scarily smart, you discover after you pulled your favourite boardgame from your closet. It’s a game you’re used to winning in, yet you don’t stand a chance against Chishiya. He claims it’s his first time playing, yet he comes up with strategies you haven’t seen before.

It only makes him more attractive in your eyes.

You can’t help yourself. You’d enjoyed the notes, sure. You had fantasised a bit about the person on the other side being attractive, as it’d be a great meet-cute. 

You hadn’t expected him to actually be your age. Nor to be handsome. Even less to be this clever.

Worse, Cheshire is still sitting in his lap, and so now and then the man absentmindedly gives the cat a single pet.

It’s attractive. Very attractive.

It might just be your brain grasping onto anything good after the catastrophe, but you can’t help yourself.

The feeling grows worse when, during the next few weeks, Cheshire isn’t the only one who shows up in your apartment whenever you come home. Chishiya isn’t cleared to return to his shifts as a medical student (even more attractive) so that apparently means lounging around your space. He doesn’t even always come to interact with you, instead simply taking his studying material with him, reading and taking notes at your desk.

When you ask him why, he simply responds smugly, knowing the answer: “Do you want me to leave?”

Obviously not. It’s nice, coming home to someone else. 

You learn about him. He’s cold, stand-offish and often sarcastic. He has no qualms in telling you when you’re wrong.

Yet his sarcasm makes you laugh. His cold demeanor just means you melt whenever he crouches down to pet Cheshire. And you’ve spent a lot of time around people who say one thing but mean another. You don’t have to play that game with Chishiya.

He confides in you. Apparently, he’s felt different ever since his cardiac arrest. He wants to stop wasting his life.

You don’t see how he was, but you keep that to yourself. When you ask him how you can help him, he dismisses you. “You already are.”

As he does not elaborate, you have no idea how.

Until you remember he told you you were the only one happy he survived. 

Is it the friendship you offer that helps him?

That theory gets blown away when one day he shows up with a tall woman next to him. For a moment, you’re overcome with jealousy. Unfortunately, Chishiya definitely caught that, the corners of his lips going up in amusement before he introduces you to each other.

“This is Kuina.” He tells you. “She’s been hounding me ever since we met in the hospital. She claims we’re friends.”

“We are.” Kuina corrects him, smiling boisterously at you. “He just refuses to admit it. You know how he can be. He promised to show me Cheshire, but apparently his cat resides at your apartment during this time of the day. Can we come in?”

You let them.

Kuina is fun. You like her. “Chishiya has told me a lot about you.” She chatters. “Well, not that much. But for him? Definitely a lot.” You like her even more when she starts talking about this ‘Ann’ she clearly has feelings for, causing Chishiya to sigh.

Now you know why he brought her here: He, not so subtly, steers the conversation your way the moment Ann comes up. 

You fondly think of him an asshole.

“You could watch a movie with a sapphic couple in it to see her reaction.” You suggest when Kuina protests about simply asking her out, not even knowing if Ann falls for women. There’s something else she’s not saying that bothers her, but you don’t press.

Chishiya clearly has no interest in this, cutting Kuina off. “How about a deal? You ask Ann out and I’ll take her on a date.” He nods towards you.

You have to take a moment to make sure you processed that right, long enough for Kuina to answer. “In front of her? Really? That’s dirty, Chishiya.” Was that why they’d talked about you?

You hadn’t considered Chishiya being into you as well.

You’re proud of how even your voice is when you look at Kuina. “Please take that deal. I want him to take me out.”

Smugness radiates off of Chishiya. And sure enough, he turns up at your door a few days later, hands in pockets like always, and simply informs you he’s taking you to an expensive restaurant. Apparently Kuina successfully managed to ask her crush out.

“You’re not even asking?” You lean against the doorframe. 

“Why would I? You’d say yes.”

He’s right, of course.

The restaurant he takes you to is picture perfect, romantic with vines and candles. The food looks good, a wide assortiment of sushi is available.

You’d bet Chishiya did research. Or maybe Kuina gave him the spot. He’d never choose this place on his own.

As he’d hate it.

You know him well enough to recognise the hint of discomfort in his eyes.

You don't know him well enough yet to be sure as to what causes it. The other people? The setting? The date itself?

But you know he’s feeling it, so you get up from your chair. “Let’s leave.” 

He stills. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes. We’re both supposed to enjoy this. You clearly don’t. C’mon.”

He’s silent for a while as he walks behind you. It’s only when he sits down in the passenger chair of the car that he admits, his voice unusually low, “I don’t know how to do this.” You glance at him. His eyes are already on yours. “I’ve never even had a friend before you.”

“Dating doesn’t mean doing things you don’t enjoy, ‘Shiya.” You tell him, the nickname rolling off your tongue without a second thought. “Romantic settings are only enjoyable if we both enjoy them. How about we just get some take out? Our apartments are better than some cozy restaurant anyway. Cheshire is there.”

That hint of discomfort is gone, replaced by his lazy cockiness when he orders the food in the drive-through.

It’s only now that you realise how different he looks when not talking to you or Cheshire. You hadn’t noticed before how cold and empty his eyes can be.

Cheshire is waiting for the two of you at the door to the building, walking in front of you with an air that tries to suggest he’s just coincidentally going the same way.

“He’s supposed to be an indoor cat. Statistically indoor cats have a longer lifespan.” Chishiya confides in you as he opens the door to his apartment. “I haven’t managed to figure out how he keeps escaping.”

“Wait, really?” You step into his white and barren apartment. The only signs of personality are in the medical textbooks on the shelves, a single deck of playing cards on a table and some very out of place cat toys. “You can’t figure it out?”

Chishiya nods, closing the door behind you. “I put locks on the doors and the windows. There shouldn’t be anywhere else he could get out.”

You look at the cat, who blinks innocently in your direction. “I’ve never figured out how he got into my apartment either.” You admit. “I figured I was just overlooking something.”

“I’ll probably put up a camera.” He shrugs, putting the food on the table. “I would’ve done so earlier, but before the meteorite I was busy with my studies.”

He does not mention why he didn’t afterwards. “You don’t have to.” You start to unpack the food. “I enjoy him coming over. And I enjoy his owner following him.” You smile at him.

His eyes soften. “That doesn’t negate that there is a spot in my apartment I don’t know about that’s large enough for a cat to get in and out.” There is an undernote of humour in his voice.

You find the extra piece of salmon you’d ordered, feeding it to an expectant Cheshire while ignoring Chishiya’s tch. You innocently take a piece of maki yourself, as if you didn’t just feed the cat during dinner. “I don’t feed him human food for a reason.”

“He’s cute.” You argue. “I can’t say no to these eyes.”

“The fact that you ordered a loose piece of salmon meant this was premeditated.” Chishiya dryly states. 

“That only means I knew beforehand that I couldn’t say no to these eyes.” You shrug. Chishiya only clicks his tongue in answer.

You eat in silence for a while, simply enjoying each other’s company. It’s nice how comfortable it feels.

Chishiya is the one to break the silence. “I’m not a good person.” His tone is as casual as ever.

You blink. You did not expect that. “Not will I be a stereotypically good partner.” His eyes meet yours lazily. “I’m not romantic, and I have limited patience for touch or warmth. I’m certainly not particularly emotionally available.”

You frown. “Are you trying to scare me away?”

“No. I’d rather not, but you’ve only seen a limited side of me. It's better to lay the facts out upfront.” He puts his chopsticks down, his movements very carefully nonchalant.

You take his hand in your own, gently squeezing it. His head tilts, a curious look in his eyes as he observes you. It’s a similar look you’ve seen on Cheshire when the cat’s not sure what you’re doing.

“I might’ve seen only a limited side of you, but I really like what I’ve seen so far.” You run your thumb over his knuckles, enjoying the warmth coming off of his skin. “I don’t care whether you’re a good person, Chishiya. I care whether you’re good for me. Give me the chance to find out whether you are for myself. I have a feeling you will be. Flaws and all.”

Chishiya studies you. Then, slowly, he brings your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your skin while maintaining eye contact. 

“Okay.” It’s all he says. Just a single, simple okay. But the soft look in his eyes, a stark contrast to the cold and empty look he’d given others earlier, is all you need to see.

Stiles Stilinski x FemReader

You’re Beacon Hills High’s golden girl. Popular, polished, besties with Lydia, and secretly obsessed with the one boy no one else sees the appeal of - Stiles Stilinski. When a biology partnership forces you together, your carefully hidden crush spirals. One night, one assignment, and one very overwhelmed Stiles later, you finally get exactly what you’ve been fantasising about.

Warnings: sexual references, smut, kind of fade to black

———————————————————————

You were halfway through telling Lydia about the absolute dumpster fire that was yesterday’s physics quiz when the sharp crash of textbooks slamming onto linoleum echoed down the hallway. Lydia didn’t even flinch, but you did. Your head snapped toward the lockers, and there he was.

Stiles Stilinski. In all his lanky, chaotic, flannel-wearing, graphic-tee-underneath, frazzled glory.

He was kneeling on the floor, scrambling after a rainstorm of books and loose papers that had spilled from his locker like it personally hated him. His backpack was half unzipped, one shoelace untied, and even his buzzed hair somehow looked messy. In other words, he looked perfect.

You felt that familiar, shameful little kick of attraction deep in your stomach. The one you never admitted out loud, not even to Lydia. Especially not to Lydia.

summary: you had always adored damian… till you overheard his complaints to his brothers on your clinginess. so why was it that when you decide to give him what he desires, he is the one trying to close the gap he desperately wanted?

pairing: damian wayne x fem! reader

content: hurt-comfort, angst+fluff, hea, grovelling+yearning, desperate damian who bites his own words that make him go through it, reader with boundaries

“She’s clingy.”

Damian’s voice is unmistakable. Cut-throat, swift in its delivering blow. Even with his back turned to you, you could recognise it in a heartbeat.

“C'mon, Dames.” Dick teases. “You enjoy her company.”

A cold, scathing scoff echoes. “Her smothering can barely be considered company. Consuming my entire week—then coming along to the gala just to torment me further? You're mistaken.”

Pressing the gap of the door shut, your numb fingers dig into the wood. His bitter admission parted from his lips so easily. His harshly thrown words didn’t just shatter your heart physically into pieces—no, there isn't a harsher tidal wave crashing over you than the realisation that whatever bond you shared with Damian was a complete, utter lie.

John Price core.