𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖…
𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖…
+ itoshi sae x f!reader | wc 2.5k | content: fluff, pining, mentions of fake dating, jealousy, reader is kind of an idiot, sae loves to tease, best friend otoya, cussing
notes: hello hello i’m on board the sae love train once more , are you guys still with me ^_^
summary: what do you do when your best friend kind of sort of forces you to confess your two-year long crush when you’re not ready to? pray and hope for the best.
“i could just tell him for you.”
“eita, fuck no,” you throw him a warning glare as you chop the vegetables up with scary precision despite not having an eye on them. only because you know if you don’t explicitly tell him not to, that he’d think it’s no big deal and do it anyway.
and let’s say, you’d rather die than let that happen.
sure, you and sae had been closer back in high school; he sat behind you and entertained the secret notes you passed to him, he used to ruffle the top of your head whenever you pouted, he used to buy food for you during breaks.
but that’s all in the past and somehow, the both of you had drifted since then.
otoya deadpans, an unamused pair of eyes looking back at you from their spot across the island. “it’s been what, four fucking years since you graduated? grow a pair,” he retorts, attempting to steal a carrot but getting a slap on the back of his hand instead.
“bold of you to say that to a girl with a knife,” you snap at him, pointing the blade at his face.
to which he merely rolls his eyes, using two fingers to push it aside. “not like you’re that good at using it.” but he sighs when you silently turn your attention back to chopping vegetables. “does that mean i have to put up with your miserable face even longer?”
you and otoya continue to bicker, and you’re beginning to wonder how you’ve tolerated being best friends with him for the past four years. he’s a real piece of work.
“fine, fine,” otoya grumbles after you’re done with lunch, bangs over his eyes. “i promise i won’t tell sae anything, okay?”
that’s after you threatened not to let him hijack your house anymore for food. for someone who’s earning big bucks being a famous soccer player, you can’t make sense of why he won’t just get food delivered. maybe he just likes to annoy you.
“good. or else i’ll kill you.”
your crush on itoshi sae has been somewhat dormant for the past few years. and by dormant you mean that you haven’t tried making any moves because you’re too scared.
itoshi sae. one of the most famous international breakout stars in soccer. one of the most talented playmakers the world has ever seen. that comes with its own sets of pros and cons.
pros? he definitely doesn’t seem like he has much trouble doing anything he wants. he gets paid for every game. he gets paid for gigs. he gets sponsorships all over the place. which basically means that financially, he doesn’t need to give a shit.
cons? the media can be brutal. sae does something that’s remotely questionable and they’re all over it. he doesn’t thank a waiter that one time? automatically labeled as a rude brat by the paparazzi. and not to mention—the amount of girls he’s forced to fake date just for the sake of publicity.
you’re mostly pressed on that last part though, because they’re all supermodels or olympic stars or rich socialites. and compared to them, well, you’re just someone who happens to be in the same friend group and hang out together every once in a while when he’s back in japan. sae doesn’t even hang out much with the group, to your dismay.
it’s a pain, or so he says.
you wonder how you drifted in the first place. maybe it’s just the fame. you wonder if he thinks of you too sometimes.
must be your wishful thinking.
kind of makes you wonder whether he does have a secret girlfriend that he’s keeping from everyone. you wouldn’t really put it past him. it’s not like he has any super deep emotional bonds with any of you (that you know of). eita says he’s definitely single, but you think he’s just saying that to appease you. he already has his hands full having to watch you mope whenever you see news of sae and another girl and yet another dating rumor.
just as well. you think sae could do better than you, spending your friday nights at home, washing dishes at the sink and looking out at the tokyo skyline instead of out partying and living life with countless friends.
you don’t think you’re too shabby though. you’re a fresh graduate with a job at one of the most prestigious companies in tokyo you can think of. it’s not bad. but you can’t help but feel it’s worlds away from the one sae lives in.
the doorbell rings, snapping you out of your thoughts, nearly dropping the white marble plate you’re washing. your eyes snap to the clock in the living room. it’s almost 9pm—right about the time when eita usually comes knocking and asking you for supper.
groaning, you wash whatever’s left of the dish soap away from your hands and sloppily dry them against the bottom of your shirt, grumbling out loud about how you really should stop coming here whenever the fuck you want, eita while you stomp over to the front door.
you open the door, messy hair and bare face and baggy clothes, fully expecting to smack some sense into otoya eita when you feel yourself freeze up at the pair of eyes looking back at you.
they’re teal and framed by pretty long lashes and definitely don’t belong to your best friend.
what the fuck is he doing here?
this is one of the rare times that you’d actually prefer to see eita at your front door instead.
sae raises a brow, giving you a once-over. of course, he’s never seen you in this state—hair disheveled, clothes wrinkled, not a trace of makeup on your face. you’d made sure that whenever there was a possibility that sae would see you that you dressed yourself up as nice as possible. if you’d known he was coming over, you’d have at least dressed decently. definitely not baggy shirt and pants that you can barely see.
“uh… w-what are you doing here?” stupid, but the best you can manage.
he has his hands in his gray sweat pockets, and fuck him for wearing a black compression top. you can just make out the outline of his abs under there, the muscles on his arms already much too obvious with those short sleeves.
“dunno, eita said there was an emergency and i needed to get here,” sae says, wholly unbothered, monotonous as usual. he lets himself in, toeing his shoes off at the entryway, positioning them neatly beside your everyday sneakers.
fucking eita.
judging by what you know, sae was probably on his way for an evening jog when otoya called him. he still has his wireless earbuds in. you wonder if anything’s even playing.
sae takes it off once he catches you staring.
he’s not carrying anything. it’s just him. you wonder if anyone managed to catch him coming over. is his most recent pr stunt already over? won’t do either of you any good if he’s labeled as a cheater.
“so? what is it?” sae asks you, again, while he walks himself inside, curious eyes looking around your apartment, and suddenly you’re hyper aware. you hope to god you didn’t leave any of your inner wear lying around at random places.
in a panic, you rush over to him, blocking his path inside, both hands on his chest as you attempt to push him back to the front door. unfortunately for you, sae’s much stronger than you are, his body not budging an inch.
“it’s nothing, he made a mistake,” you sigh, giving up when you figure that sae’s only going to move of his own accord. “he’s probably just playing a prank on you, that’s all.”
you’re hoping, praying, wishing that sae will just take your word for it and go. because that’s what he does; he doesn’t hover much, doesn’t care about anything much at all. you don’t even know the last time he’s asked about how any of your lives are doing.
the world must hate you though, because sae only offers a grunt in response before looking towards your kitchen (you’re internally sighing in relief, glad that you cleaned your kitchen up before this). “i’m thirsty, you have anything to drink?”
you blink at him, stumped that sae is wasting his precious time in your apartment, but who are you to say no to sae, of all people?
“yeah, sure, juice?”
sae shrugs, “whatever.”
you turn your back on him, slowly taking your carton of apple juice and finding the nicest glass that exists in your cupboard, cursing yourself internally for not preparing for unexpected guests enough. you do this slowly partly because you’re trying to calm your stupid heart down, still not fathoming why on earth sae’s wasting his time with you.
carefully, you rehearse yourself in your head, where you’re going to step, how you’re going to walk over to him—you really are just hopeless. count it your bad luck that the moment you turn around, you nearly drop the glass because you’re forgetting a really fundamental issue here: your merch.
“no no no, uh—” you leave the glass on the countertop, scurrying over to where sae’s staring and thumbing at something on your coffee table.
sae looks at your flustered reaction, giving you way to grab your things off the table and stuff them in the drawer where they’re out of sight. he blinks at you, a slight amusement bubbling inside him.
“wow, big fan, huh?”
you don’t know what’s worse: you being your most unpresentable self right now or that sae just caught you having some of his merch.
“so you have some of eita’s merch lying around too or is it just mine?”
you could die of embarrassment right now.
back still turned to sae, you desperately search your brain for answers. thinking on the spot doesn’t seem like your strong suit right now.
“it… was a gift.” believable, right?
sae hums, as though he’s contemplating. “why just mine then? why not oliver’s or my brother’s?”
fuck.
“i don’t know, maybe yours was the only one that wasn’t sold out.”
“ouch.”
you didn’t mean to indirectly insult him but what’s a drowning girl to do?
sae sighs when you keep quiet, still staying out where you are, trembling too much to move. “didn’t know you were in love with me.”
this time, you whip your head around to face him—that same stoic expression of his unchanging on his face. “am not!”
his brows shoot up. “but you bought some of my merch.”
“i told you, it was a gift.”
you need to get paid for still standing up on your own two feet right now. your head’s way too giddy from the interaction, considering.
“even that figurine over there?” sae’s finger points to a small toy just barely visible behind the nooks of the bookshelf. it’s a small figurine; something sold a few years back when sae was just first starting out. you’d bought it because, well, you’d thought chibi sae looked cuter than actual sae. (especially now when he’s just staring blankly at you.)
“that was…”
“a gift?”
you think he’s making fun of you now at this point.
“anyway, we’ve established that there’s no emergency here so why don’t you just go?” you’re pretty sure sae won’t ever talk to you again—not after coming across what he did tonight. he probably thinks you’re a freak, probably questions why he even considers you his friend (to which you’re now wondering if that’s even true at all).
you make a mental reminder to yourself to kill otoya eita tomorrow.
sae lets you push him towards the entryway, apple juice long forgotten on the countertop, collecting condensation with water pooling below the glass.
“you must like me a lot, huh?” he ponders out loud as you continue pushing him towards the door. you see a hint of cockiness in his stare now, the slightest tug of a smirk on the corner of his lips.
“i do n—”
“be careful what you say,” sae cuts you off, toeing his shoes back on, looking glamorous as ever and you nearly forget that he looks straight out of a magazine even in his sportswear. “‘cause i’ll believe you.”
part of you wants him to just go already so your knees can buckle under, but part of you wants to ask him what he means. what’s he insinuating? isn’t the answer clear enough.
but now it’s way past nine and he’s all ready to go yet he’s still standing at your doorway, waiting for your answer. you want to scream no, you want to keep your secret safe, you don’t want him to know about the crush you’d been harbouring. but he told you to be careful what you say because he’ll believe you.
“s-so what if i do?” you stutter, failing to look him in the eyes, your stare focused on the air in between you.
sae’s features soften ever so slightly, like he wasn’t expecting you to give in so quickly, but it isn’t one of disgust. it’s more like one of pleasant surprise.
after what seems like an eternity, sae finally opens his mouth.
“you must’ve gotten jealous a lot with all those girls i’d gone out with.”
your fist instinctively connect with his arm, his stoic finally giving way to a grimace, palm rubbing his triceps in pain. out of all the things to say, he chooses to say that? you think he deserves it.
“you know what, sae? you can go back to your fake girlfriends, i could care less,” you snap at him, pouting. you hate that despite how ignorant his words are that you can’t find it in yourself to hate him.
sae exhales sharply, chuckling softly when he sees your pout, and you feel as though it’s the first time you’ve seen him like this even though it’s not. his hand comes up to ruffle the top of your head gently, and you’re reminded of when he did this to you back in high school.
“can’t do that, can i?” he tells you, that soft disposition gone and the stoic mischief coming right back. “not when i’m in front of who could be my real girlfriend.”
your heart might’ve forgotten how to beat.
sae leaves you standing there, left to your own devices as he exits your apartment, fully aware of his effect on you.
not long after he leaves (while you’re still standing in the doorway), your phone buzzes in your pocket. you fish it out and see his name there for the first time in a long time.
you smile to yourself as you read his message. okay, so maybe you’ll spare eita’s life for now.
More Posts from Nightmareluinor and Others
˚୨୧⋆｡🍓˚ in which: itoshi sae feels inferior to itoshi rin; even if for just a moment
includes: itoshi sae! x reader. 1.7k wc. fluff and humour (i promise the title is just dramatic). silly itoshi brothers but we love them. kind of ooc rin. includes some swearing but it's meant to be lighthearted <3
itoshi rin being sick was somehow more of an inconvenience to sae than it was to rin himself. his brother falling ill during his stay at sae’s place was already a disgusting coincidence. now, sae had to watch the unfortunate scenes unfold in front of him without a choice.
“woah, you’re burning up, rin,” your voice filled the room, holding the thermometer up to check it again, your voice laced with concern. rin only nodded, his quiet nature amplified by the haze of his fever. his half-lidded eyes and flushed cheeks made him look pitiful, almost drowsy.
to sae, it was nauseating how pathetic he looked—and worse, how effective it was.
“here, i got you medicine,” you said, helping him sit up from a lying position. “say ahh,” you sang sweetly, holding an ibuprofen capsule to rin’s lips and following up with a glass of water. he obediently parted his lips without a word, swallowing with a slight grimace but no complaints.
meanwhile, sae stood in the doorway with his arms crossed, scowling like a cat. rin must have it so damn good right now, he thought bitterly. crashed out on his bed, coughing like a mess, and worst of all—being pampered by you! him spreading germs all over the room was annoying enough, but the fact that you were doting on him? that was the real problem. sure, rin was sick, but did you have to treat him like royalty? it made sae feel almost childish how much it irked him. he knew you were just being you—kind, caring, and attentive. you weren’t a complete jerk like sae; of course, you’d take care of your boyfriend’s little brother.
but still, the sight of you meticulously adjusting rin’s pillow, tucking him snugly into the blanket you and sae usually shared, and gently brushing his hair out of his face like he was some spoiled kid—it was enough to drive sae up the wall. and if all that wasn't bad enough, now you were feeding him. feeding him.
rin opened his mouth again without so much as a sigh, his quiet compliance somehow making the scene even worse. sae glared as you dabbed the corner of rin’s mouth with a tissue, your expression always remaining soft and tender.
sae’s patience finally cracked as he scoffed. “pick up your own damn spoon,” he muttered under his breath.
you finally tore your gaze from rin to look at sae, laughing lightly. “it’s okay, sae. he’s sick. it doesn’t bother me.” it didn’t bother you, but it sure as hell bothered him. watching rin quietly accept another spoonful while sae fumed in the corner felt like a fresh insult every second.
“is the soup good? i tried my best,” you asked, giving the bowl another stir, awaiting his answer. your expression was so stupidly expectant that it effortlessly tugged at sae’s heart. rin, naturally, noticed the way his older brother’s jaw tightened from the corner of his eye, sae’s glare sharp enough to cut through steel—nonverbally screaming at him to be nice. rin wasn’t dumb—he knew better than to even consider giving a bad review of your cooking, especially with sae simmering in his spot by the door. and besides, the soup was actually delicious. “it’s good,” rin said, glancing at you. he took another spoonful for good measure, his movements deliberately slow, before adding, “it’s like our mom’s cooking.”
your face lit up instantly, a warm smile spreading across your lips. “i’m glad! good thing i asked for her recipe,” you shared, feeling accomplished. then, after a thoughtful pause, rin continued, “nii-chan should try some.” that last line, paired with the smallest, almost imperceptible smirk tugging at rin’s lips as he subtly shifted his posture toward sae, was so perfectly calculated it could’ve been a soccer play. rin didn’t even bother looking at his brother; he didn’t need to. the strained silence from sae’s corner was reward enough.
sae’s knuckles flexed against the doorframe, his patience wearing thinner than ever. try some? was rin actually inviting him to participate in this ridiculous display? no way in hell. you turned to sae with an inviting smile, completely oblivious to the brewing tension. “sae, you can have some if you want. i made more just in case…” his eyes flickered to you for a moment, and he opened his mouth to respond, but all that came out was a quiet, disgruntled, “i’m fine.”
rin didn’t look up, but his breath released ever so slightly faster—barely perceptible—like he was holding back laughter. and yet, rin wasn’t done being petty. he shifted slightly under the blanket, letting out a low sigh that seemed almost contemplative. “my back hurts.”
he murmured quietly, drawing out the words just enough to give them weight. his gaze flicked briefly to sae—long enough for him to notice—before turning to you with a soft, almost too-casual tone.
“i think i need a massage.”
before sae could even process the audacity, you were already setting the soup aside. “oh no! here, turn around—” “it’s fine,” sae absolutely snaps, stepping forward and snatching you up from the bed. he firmly guided you toward the door. “i got him. just bring a hot towel, will you?” “huh? oh, okay…” you blinked, a bit startled by his sudden intervention, but nodded. “if you need anything—anything—just call, okay?”
you shot rin a sympathetic look as you left, sae’s hand still firm on the small of your back until you were out the door.
the moment the door clicked shut, it was as if rin’s back was in pristine condition—like he was born with the perfect spine. he sat up straight, stretching with ease, his back suddenly requiring nothing but a headboard to rest on. sae responded with nothing except his expression, his eyes narrowing as he stepped closer. without a word, sae lifted his leg and dug a kick square to rin’s back. “what the fuck?!” rin hissed, flinching forward. “back pain, huh?” sae asked flatly, mocking his claims. “you’re too old to be attention-seeking, dumbass,” he said, giving him another shove with his foot. “go back to okaasan, since you like being babied so much.” “fuckin’ hypocrite,” rin kicked back with both legs, shoving sae’s leg away with surprisingly good strength for someone whose supposed bones were crackling just a second ago. “you’re the one fuming for her attention.” sae rolled his eyes, unable to accept the fact that he was probably right. “she’s my girlfriend, you fucker,” despite the possibility, he defends, his voice sharper now. “and yet here you are,” rin said smugly, leaning back against the headboard, “competing with a sick kid.” sae opened his mouth to retort but froze. damn it. he was competing. and somehow, rin was winning.
“here’s the towel—” you finally walked in, but not without sensing the tension hanging in the air. “did something happen?…” you quickly remarked, in a suspicious manner. “no.” both rin and sae responded in perfect unison, their tone almost too quick, too practiced. you couldn’t help but feel like you were the only one who wasn’t in on whatever strange, silent competition they were having.
“rin’s feeling better,” sae suddenly spoke out, his voice way too casual, as he bolted for the door. “call if you need anything.” “ah, okay…” you blinked, eyes lingering on him watching him go before shaking your head. maybe you did imagine that awkwardness.
you quickly turned your attention back to rin and handed him the towel. “you should get some rest. i’ll attend to some chores.” rin gave a quiet nod, already looking more comfortable with the towel draped over him. you gave him a smile, relieved to see him at least looking better, before stepping out of the room. you found sae in the kitchen, carefully dishing out a bowl of soup. the act was too adorable; you couldn’t resist. you snuck up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist in a gentle backhug. “what do you want?” sae asked, his voice trying to sound neutral, but you could hear the softness underneath it. you rested your chin on his shoulder, feeling his warmth, and smiled. “why are you sulking?” you asked softly, your tone full of concern. “i’m not,” sae replied, though the words came out more quietly than he intended, a little hint of frustration still there. you could feel his tension, so you just squeezed him a little tighter, letting the silence settle for a beat. “i know you’re worried,” you said, voice gentle and sincere, “but it’s okay. he’ll be fine. i’m making sure of it.” sae remained quiet for a moment, but there was something different in the way his shoulders eased under your touch. he wasn’t used to this kind of reassurance, but somehow it always worked.
there was always something disarming about your presence, the way you seemed to understand him without asking for anything in return. he didn’t quite know what to do with this feeling—this overwhelming need to just be close to you. without making any effort to break the hug, sae's hands gently moved to rest on yours. he turned slightly so he could look at you, his eyes soft and filled with something tender you couldn't quite place. there was a subtle shift as he leaned in, his breath warm against your skin. he paused, just for a moment, before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. the kiss lingered longer than usual, a silent reassurance in the simple gesture. “i’m not worried,” sae whispered firmly, trying his best to rely his feelings. “since you’re taking care of him, i’ll just take care of you.” you blinked, your chest tightening with warmth at his words. it was rare for sae to lose his guard, and in these moments, his affection always spoke far louder than anything he could say. you could feel the space between you narrowing as he moved even closer, his lips brushing near yours. “isn’t that right?” he whispered, his voice low and filled with a quiet confidence.
AH-CHOO! a loud sneeze rang through the hallway, shattering every sense of peace in the house. sae froze, his entire posture stiffening, as he shot a death glare toward the room where rin was.
god he’s gonna kill him.
a/n: this is such an old draft omg...finally got inspired to publish it bcz i currently feel like sae lmao. still figuring out my writing style so i hope nobody minds the randomness of my works T-T
Enhypen: Tropes & Parallels
Synopsis: Love portrayed in different kinds of ways and worlds.
🥀 Heeseung: Sanctuary (Love Epiphany)
genre: angst, smut, fluff
"Will you believe me if I told you that you're my whole sky? Dazzling like the orange sun, prettier than the sinking sunset over the glistening cerulean sea. You are my calm during the night. Will you believe me if I said that from the start to finish, you're the one I've prayed for?"
Preview
🌌 Jay: Chatoyant (Soulmate)
genre: angst, fluff, smut
"Every waking day, I asked the sun to look after your well being. Every sleepless night, I wished for the moon to let you be safe. I implored the whole universe to guide you back to me. Here, in my arms. So I could marry you like I always promised. So you could love me like how I deserve it."
Preview
🪐Jake: Idyllic (Mutual Pining)
genre: fluff, angst, smut
"How many times do I stumble down this dead end? How many times should I meet all these wrong people just to meet the right, destined one? Tell me, how long should I tolerate more of this suffering? When will I be able to leave this hell hole? When the sweet happiness finally has turned into an ugly resentment?"
Preview
❄️ Sunghoon: Quintessence (Forbidden Love)
genre: angst, smut, fluff
"Do my words mean nothing to you unless they are on an old paper, written metaphorically? Are any of my sentences and paragraphs trash just because they don't rhyme poetically? Then, what if we let the stars align tonight, by chance, by fate, by destinies and against all odds, will you allow me to enter your life?"
Preview
🤍 Sunoo: Labyrinth (Unexpected Love)
genre: fluff, angst, suggestive
"These pretty faces won't be the reason why I'll let myself fall in love again. I will not accept someone who brings an unreasonably expensive bouquet only during special occasions. I can't make any promises anymore, not in a tranquil and joyful way. Please forgive me, because if I open my heart again, I don't think I will be ready for it to bleed until I die."
Preview
🍀 Jungwon: Ephemeral (Second Chances)
genre: angst, fluff, suggestive
"Were your feelings truly genuine or you just weren't patient enough? Did you really love me or were you in love with the thought of having someone kiss you during your darkest nights, or having someone hold you during your coldest days? The chances that weren't given to you, you only chose me for that, right? Successfully distracting your heart that wasn't meant to take a risk."
Preview
🪷 Riki: Paradox (Enemies to Lovers)
genre: angst, fluff, suggestive
"No, not once did I question the moment where I felt like drowning when you decided to walk the other way, turning your back on me. Surprise was the last emotion I felt when someone took my spot once I'm out of the picture. The only thing that is wrong here is me. I made the mistake of asking you the truth, then choosing to believe the untrue."
Preview
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a/n: again, another one that's in my drafts for so long, i had to post this and add to the masterlist ig. feel free to message, send an ask, or comment under this post if you want to be added to the taglist :3
⌇ WANNA BE A WINNER 𓄹
❪ ꕤ ❫───엔하이픈 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒 𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝖾𝗍
OR. he is used to you chasing after him . . . so what happens when the tables are turned ? && crush!en- x f!reader % hc format ( jealousy, pet names, mention of food, kissing )
𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆 doesn't think twice when he sees you on the bleachers at his basketball game, because he's gotten so used to seeing you there, cheering him on whenever he scores and waving enthusiastically when he looks your way... only to find himself doing a double take when he notices you talking to the members of the opposition's team. stands there for a while with a tilted head as he wonders why it is you're giggling and twirling your hair, batting your eyelashes at whatever it was the guy was saying. and he really shouldn't have been so annoyed, seeing as you're free to talk to whoever you like... but for some reason, he finds himself purposely missing a shot and causing the ball to roll over to where you and your friends are sitting, just so he has an excuse to walk over there after your pick up the ball, before kissing you on the cheek as he takes ball back. "thanks, baby," he says, before walking away again.... but of course, not without one last cocky smirk to the other guy when he sees your flustered expression, and a promise to ask you out properly after he wins this game.
more under the cut !
𝐉𝐀𝐘, who has gotten used to seeing snacks on his desk along with little notes whenever he wakes up from his nap, feels like he's been thrown into an alternate universe when he looks up one day to find that his desk his completely empty. looks around, and asks his deskmate if you came by today, only for them to shake their head and say that they haven't seen you all day. doesn't think too much about it at first, thinking that you may be busy... only to notice that it continues a few days straight. decides to walk to your class one day, completely forgoing his usual nap, just to see if you're okay, because as much as he wouldn't admit it, anyone could tell he was worried about you. so imagine his surprise when he walks up behind you while you're talking to your friends, just to learn you've been doing it on purpose to make him miss you. crosses his arms and leans down to your ear with a smirk, causing your heart to fly out of your chest when you realise he was there all along. "okay, you win." because he really did miss you... maybe even more than you had planned.
𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 probably takes a while to figure out that you're avoiding him, but only because he genuinely believes you when you say you're busy when he asks why you can't make it to his soccer game. he knows that you have a life outside of school, so he can't feel upset... but everyone (his teammates, his friends, his coach, his neighbour, his dog...) notices that he is walking around the field like a depressed puppy whose owner doesn't want to play with him, and it's all because you're not in your usual seat, cheering him on while wearing his number like you usually do. and it makes him realise just how much you were becoming his lucky charm, just as you had boldly proclaimed you would be. and so that's how he finds himself waiting for you after you're finished your classes for the day, before wrapping his arms around you in a hug, not caring about the wolf whistles and the cheers coming from all the students and teachers who stood watching around you, or the way you stuttered his name in protest because of how he was acting in public... all he could think about was how he was a fool for not making you his to begin with.
𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐍 can't remember when you haven't been next to him. from the first day of school, you were the one beside him, helping him in class whenever he had to catch up on work that he missed because of his figure skating career, saving him a seat on the bus because you knew he would always end up being five minutes late out of class. so when he comes back from a week off from school, he is visibly taken aback when you walk in and take a seat at the front of the classroom, next to some other guy who he didn't even know existed until now. doesn't buy it for a second when his new seatmate explains that you had to switch because you had trouble seeing, and burns holes into the back of your head for the entire lesson, intensifying his glare when you and your new seatmate are a tad too close for comfort, heads bumping against each other as you whisper about the answers to the questions, like you used to do with sunghoon. can't seem to catch you alone for the rest of the day, so he waits for the end of the day, when you guys catch the bus together, and makes sure that he gets there before you do... so that when you try and sit next to someone else, he pulls you down in the seat he saved next to him, before leaning his head on your shoulder, his hand wrapped around your smaller one. "stay here, please..." because you’re the only one he wants beside him, and he wants to be the only one next to you.
𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐎𝐎 knows immediately that something isn't right when you don't ask for his help with your club projects. being in the photography club, you love to remind him how he is your favourite model, and you make it painfully obvious whenever you beg him to let you take his pictures. imagine his surprise and offense when you no longer seek him out first, but some other guy in a different class, who you keep positing pictures of on the school newsletter, where you used to post his pictures instead. he instantly makes a plan to win you back and become your favourite once again, even going as far as to rock up to school the next day with blonde hair that makes everyone stop and stare... except you, the person who is usually the first to jump on the train of people to praise him. he realises at that moment that this goes beyond just his pride; he genuinely just wants to be able to make you smile like before. so imagine your surprise when you open the newsletter for the next week, to find a candid photo of you looking at your camera, hair blowing in the wind and a smile on your face, with the caption "prettiest girl in our grade" followed by, "taken by kim sunoo".
𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐖𝐎𝐍 does not beat around the bush. so the first time you walk by him in the hallway without so much as uttering a "hi," he immediately knows he needs to confront you about it, because not a single day has passed in the time that you've known each other where you haven't jumped on him (figuratively, of course) whenever the chance arises so you can chat his ear off about something or other. and he doesn't like the feeling he gets seeing you give him the cold shoulder for reasons he has no idea about. so the next time you pass him by without saying anything, he's grabbing your wrist and tugging you down the hallway, ignoring the squeals from your friends as he pulls you into the janitor's closet. "why are you avoiding me?" he demands, frowning. but then the two of you are rendered blushing incoherent messes when you try to escape the room... only to trip on your own two feet and fall into his arms, your lips bumping against each other in the process. (but even though it's an accident, jungwon thinks that he really likes this feeling alot.)
𝐍𝐈-𝐊𝐈 is an absolute menace, and you are probably one of the only people in the world other than his mother that can put up with him. it really surprises people to see you follow him around, cooking him bentos and fixing his tie for him because he always fails at doing it himself, only to find out that you're not his girlfriend. ni-ki himself probably doesn't even realise how much you've been taking care of him until you stop showing your face around his classroom at lunch, and no longer nag him about his uniform or his hair being messy. instead, he's left to watch as you turn around whenever you see him, purposely changing paths so you don't bump into each other. no one is surprised when he jumps over a fence just so he can catch up to you after you try to run away after making eye contact with him for the hundredth time. you end up blurting your feelings for him before he can ask, and while you brace yourself for rejection, he's already kissing you like he hasn't seen you for months... and wondering why he never did it sooner.
© CHACONNENHA / dividers by v6que
ness, who last felt love in the warmth of his mother’s womb, feeling cold no matter the weather. he seeks that same warmth again; in kaiser, where he can be needed for the gentleness of his passes, but not cherished as the sweet, yet lonely child he is.
and when you finally meet his kindness with kindness in return, he’s instantly addicted again. that same warmth he’s craved for nineteen long years. in your embrace, he finally feels the comfort of summer, after being out in the cold winter snow for so long.
he can’t let you go now, not when he’s finally found what he’s hungered for— that drowning feeling of sweet syrup, causing his heartrate to skyrocket.
ness, my sweet little crack baby.
you got me — l.sh
one shot ⭑.ᐟ synopsis⭑.ᐟ you just can't help but play along when the cute pizza delivery guy attempts to prank you. content warning ⭑.ᐟ smut! minors dni!, pizza delivery guy!sohee, fem!reader, pet names, oral (f. receiving, m. receiving), protected sex word count⭑.ᐟ 3k+
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the newly opened pizza place down the street just finished their first year with a bang. the boys were all lucky enough to have customers that appreciated fun, ordering from them and letting them prank them from time to time. you weren’t safe from those pranks as well, remembering when you received a pizza without toppings after your second order.
because of sohee’s low sales, the boys all bullied him into taking every delivery for the day. there were more than ten lined up but luckily all of them were around the area. the prank they all cooked up for today was a bit more devious, since it was meant to be a punishment for sohee in the first place.
it all started when seunghan proposed the idea to the guys, without sohee knowing. once he heard of the prank, blood drained from sohee’s face. he was not whipping his dick out for random people that just want to buy pizza. but the boys were all well-prepared, sticking a dildo to an empty pizza box. anton threw in a condom as a cherry on top, thriving to see sohee suffer. sohee discreetly stole seunghan’s nametag to prepare for what’s about to happen, something he obviously does a lot.
when sohee was on his last delivery, he immediately dreaded two things: it was the dildo box and you were the recipient. he followed his usual routine out of habit, putting you last on his list. sohee’s crush on you wasn’t a secret to anyone, not even to you. it became more obvious when he’d be the one showing up your door whenever you ordered from them, chuckling to yourself whenever you fell victim to their pranks.
sohee always liked seeing the smile on your face whenever you got a stupid order, it didn’t matter if the box just had an uncooked pizza or one filled with tons of cheese— wonbin was obviously very creative with his pizzas. sohee always made it up to you specifically, giving you another one as an apology, the main reason why he had low sales in the first place.
after sohee stepped off of his motorcycle, he found himself nervously fiddling with the box he had on his hand. he didn’t have an extra pizza for today, already suffering from his low sale record and with the dumb prank the guys all cooked up. sohee just desperately wished you wouldn’t buy pizza from them today. and yet here he was. “just tell her not to open it and run back,” he repeated to himself quietly as he walked up to your unit.
you opened the door with a huge smile on your face, contrary to sohee’s ghastly pale complexion as he nervously smiled back. you were all dressed up for a party you planned on going for tonight, planning to bring pizza for some friends you haven’t seen for a long time. you knew ordering from them was a huge risk, but you didn’t care, their pizzas were actually good if you got lucky.
”looking forward to today’s pizza,” you grinned, reaching out to take the box sohee had in his hands. he grabbed onto it tightly that you had to tug on it a few more times before looking back up with a confused look on your face. “u-um,” sohee looked at you nervously, “d-don’t open it!”
he might not know this but that only intrigued you even more, still staring at him as sohee finally let go of the box. you immediately figured out from the expression on his face and the lack of warmth emanating from the box that it wasn’t the usual ones they give. “p-promise me you won’t open it?” you bit back a mischievous smile, nodding obediently as sohee began to turn around.
there was no way you’re not opening it now.
sohee hesitated to leave, constantly glancing back at you just in case you go back on your word. you let out a loud laugh when you opened the box, alarming sohee to run back to your unit. he watched as you laughed at the transparent dildo and condom inside the box, gulping nervously— he didn’t even know there was a condom inside.
”you got me, this is a new one,” you wiped the tears forming on your eyes, grabbing the heavy toy with your hand. seeing as how sohee was still around, you could tell he was worried about the aftermath of it all. you chewed on your bottom lip, “but, this isn’t how it goes, right?” your voice dropped, smiling when you saw the cute boy in front of you swallow audibly.
you hummed, closing the box with a playful frown on your face, “you should do your prank properly.” sohee was beet red at this point, thoughts swirling in his head as you smiled at him so prettily. he couldn’t help it, you were standing in front of him all dolled up and smiley— there was no way he’d say no if you’re the one asking.
”c-can i?”
you bit back your laughter, staring at sohee in fascination as he watched you cutely. you stepped back, gesturing for him to come inside your place. sohee hesitated at first, stepping inside and letting out a deep breath at how good you smelled now that he was nearer to you.
”well? do i have to spell it out?” sohee shook his head, fiddling with the button on his pants. you giggled, leaning closer to give him a peck on the cheek. sohee was adorable, and he was even more adorable when he’s flustered like this.
“u-um, this is legal, right?” you laughed at his choice of words, nodding quickly. sohee took that as a sign of consent, clammy hands reaching out to hold your waist. you let out a soft chuckle when sohee began to close the space between you two, lips trembling as he first pressed a kiss against your lips. you smiled, returning the kiss happily as you let him lead the pace. the kiss felt awkward at first, sohee’s lips trembling uncontrollably and your noses hitting a few times before you two even got it right thanks to your intervention. you placed your hand on the side of his neck, guiding him properly as your nails teasingly graze over his skin.
sohee began to drown in your kisses, getting swept away by how sweet you were. he could taste mint in your mouth, it didn’t take long for him to get needier, plump lips moving desperately against yours. sohee pushed his tongue inside your mouth, groaning when you playfully pushed his tongue away with yours. he kept biting your lip, drawing out soft moans from you as you hold onto him tightly.
sohee ran his hands all over your body, squeezing down on your waist as you began to feel weak against his touch. you tapped his neck, signaling that you were running out of air. sohee pulls away, looking at you with huge eyes, chuckling when he saw how he messed your pretty lipstick up. your lips were all swollen and sore, parted as you tried to catch your breath.
you smiled mischievously when sohee ran his tongue through his bottom lip, bringing attention to how your lipstick rubbed off on him as well. you leaned in to place a wet kiss on his neck, eliciting a low moan from the cute boy in front of you. sohee held your neck, stopping you from teasing him. he took a deep breath as he looked at you with wide eyes, “you still up for that offer?” you felt shivers when he spoke with a low tone, nodding without much thought.
sohee undid his pants immediately, grunting at the painful tent he had between his legs. you licked your lip, getting in position as sohee rubbed himself through his briefs. he swallowed thickly, watching as you looked up at him with a huge smile on your face. he pulled his hand away, staring in anticipation when you drew your face closer to his bulge.
the cute look of anticipation on his face made you want to tease him, placing a small kiss against his leaking tip, leaving a faint mark of your lipstick on the fabric. sohee shuddered, biting back the needy whines that threatened to spill out his lips. you teasingly licked his tip, getting a taste of his bitter precum.
you finally slip his briefs off, sohee’s cock springing out without warning, almost hitting you in the face. you giggled, “i think it’s happy to see me.” sohee nods, not thinking much of what you just said as he finally felt your hands on his bare cock. you licked the underside of his cock, giving extra attention to sohee’s crying tip. he let out a pained moan, brows furrowing as he watched your every movement intently. sohee wasn’t the type to have sexual fantasies about you because he always viewed you as an innocent, little crush so having you look up at him while playing with his cock drove him insane.
”you look so pretty,” he sighed out, making you smile in appreciation. you were so sure you looked like a mess right now, and yet he was calling you pretty. you envelop your mouth around his tip, sucking on the sensitive part before bobbing your head down. you easily take his length in, playfully focusing more on his tip because of the reactions you drew out of him. you begin to pump his cock with your hand with the intention of teasing only his tip.
sohee was a moaning mess, breathing heavily as he leaned against the wall for support. you were taking him so well, he couldn’t help but wrap his hand through your hair, wanting you to go deeper— he needed to feel you deeper. you looked up at him, pulling away to drag his tip against your tongue. he groaned at the sinful sight, “can i move you?” you smiled in response, wrapping your mouth back around his cock.
sohee gently grabbed your hair, watching as you moved according to his pace. you didn’t know if it was on purpose, but he kept hitting the spongy part of your mouth. it was making you gag and tear up but you didn’t complain. with bleary eyes, you could tell sohee was focusing on his pleasure, plump lip in between his teeth and his breathing getting more uneven.
you couldn’t help but look forward to what he was going to do when he cums. you didn’t mind it if he spilled inside, wanting to give him the pleasure of watching as his cum drips down your tongue. so it took you by surprise when he pulled away with a loud moan, running his hand against your head in an attempt to soothe your poor scalp as his cock twitched almost painfully after being denied. you couldn’t find the words, just staring up at him as he obviously tried to contain himself.
”get up for me, baby,” it took you a while to register his words that sohee had to pull you up from your knees to push you against the wall. he pushed your dress up, exposing a cute pink pair you had on. sohee lets out a chuckle, “you’re so cute.” everything was moving so fast that you can’t help but feel flustered as you got swept away. sohee held you up, lifting your thighs up as you wrap an arm around his neck while your other hand stayed on his chest for stability.
”needed to feel you on me before i cum, is that okay?” he muttered softly, one of his hand busily moving around. you nodded, staring curiously as he somehow rolled a condom over his cock, moaning softly as he pumped himself. sohee sighed, easily sinking his tip inside. you breathed shakily, reveling at how sohee slowly stretched you open. you wanted to moan out his name, but he never introduced himself so your hand by his chest played with the nametag he had on.
”seunghan?” sohee froze, face contorting in disgust at the mention of his friend’s name. you were confused, wondering why he stopped midway when you’re sure you were taking him properly. sohee stared at you with a frown, “that’s not my name.” you almost wanted to laugh at the stern expression he had on. “that’s what it says here, though,” you muttered defensively, tapping on the nametag he had on. he let out a defeated sigh as you laughed at his face.
”i’m serious, it’s not funny,” sohee pouted when you smiled. “it’s sohee,” he whispered against your ear but before you could repeat his name on your lips, he thrusted inside you roughly, making you cry out from the sudden action. “s-sohee,” you whimpered, nails digging against his clothed chest as he chuckled darkly. sohee hums, biting on your ear, “yeah, fuck, my name sounds better when you say it.”
”sohee,” his name rolled off your mouth perfectly as he moved deep inside you, consistently teasing your deepest parts. “fuck, you sound so pretty too,” sohee groaned, brows furrowing as he bucked his hips, drawing out whimpers from your lips as he thrusted back inside. the intensity made you slip down from the wall but sohee caught you in time, your hips floating midair as your hands grab desperately onto sohee so that he won’t drop you. sohee himself didn’t know where he got the strength, all he knew was that dropping you and stopping would be the last thing he wanted right now.
sohee’s pace began to get rougher, your body now angled up to hit your sensitive spot, making sohee smile as he leaned in to bite on your neck. “it feels good, sohee,” you cried out, clawing your hands down to his stomach. sohee shuddered at the contact, biting on your lobe, “yeah? am i doing good?” you bit your lip, glazed eyes trying to meet sohee’s eyes as you nodded dumbly.
your whole body began to tense up, orgasm approaching quick as sohee also started to thrust mindlessly, moaning softly against your neck. “are you close?” you whimpered, earning a choked yes from sohee. you licked your lip, desperately wanting to see sohee cum. “show me, sohee,” you whispered and sohee moaned softly as he focused on his orgasm, wanting to cum for you.
”cumming— fuck!” sohee cried out, sinking his body against yours as he spilled inside the rubber, the intensity of his orgasm making his head spin. you followed soon after, shuddering against him when he moved around. he almost lost it when you played with his hair, whispering praises against his ear. he looked up at you, feeling apologetic for cumming before you did but the playful smile on your face somewhat reassured him.
the two of you sank down the floor, giggling as both of you looked at each other. sohee had a cute smile, eyes disappearing and his adorable fangs popping out as he grinned. your eyes wandered towards his lips, and sohee took advantage of it. he leaned in to give you a kiss, already pushing his tongue inside while you struggled to keep up. sohee pulled away abruptly, grinning widely as he ran his hands up your thigh, “can i return the favor?”
you stared at him, your clouded mind trying to make sense of what he meant. before you could even answer, sohee slipped himself down between your legs, mischievous eyes looking up at you. his thumbs spread your folds apart as his arms push your tired thighs open for him. you gasped when sohee’s fingers played with your clit, feeling his tongue run up and down your slit.
sohee let out a groan at how sweet you tasted, desperately needing more from you. he lapped his tongue against your clit, eyes peeking up to see you propping yourself up to watch him. sohee smiles against your skin, placing a quick kiss on your folds before spreading you open. he bit on his lip as he unhooded your clit, your thighs trembling from sensitivity. “you look so pretty down here, too,” he whispered breathlessly before latching his mouth onto your throbbing clit.
”fuck— sohee!” you cried out, hips jerking against his face when sohee sucked on your clit. his thumb played with your dripping slick, moaning at how wet you got. sohee inserted his fingers inside, curling them against your soft walls. you whimpered, feeling your orgasm approaching once again as your walls clench down against sohee’s fingers. you breathily chant his name, hands reaching down to grab a handful of his hair. sohee kept his eyes on you, hands moving faster and tongue flicking against your clit as you slowly lose your mind. sohee was making you feel too good that you can’t speak straight, dumbly crying out for sohee’s name over and over.
with a flick of his wrist, you came undone, seeing hot flashes of white as you pull on sohee’s hair. you came a bit too intensely, all strength in your body leaving you as your orgasm washed over. sohee chuckles softly when you left a huge mess on your floor, licking his lip as you breathe heavily, head tipped over and eyes fluttering shut as exhaustion came over.
sohee lingered around a bit more, still watching over you as you laid on the floor. he didn’t quite know if he can go further inside to help you clean up or if he should just leave. “you okay?” you opened your eyes to see sohee hovering over you, his hands gently holding yours. you let out a broken laugh at how lost he looked. sohee nervously played with your hands, “can i help you clean up?” you simply nodded and sohee disappeared almost quickly, coming back with a wet towel.
after getting cleaned up, you sat up and groaned at the pain you felt everywhere. sohee looked at you with concern and you knew he was waiting for you to ask for his help, not wanting to cross a line and misread everything, “can you help me get to my room?” sohee practically beamed as he nodded, hurriedly lifting you up as he stumbled around your apartment. you let him go around corners and go back out, giggling as you used this to your advantage and rested your head against his chest.
”oh, it’s not here,” sohee mumbled under his breath, still trying to find the way to your bedroom. when he finally found your room, sohee placed you down your bed, making up his mind to leave afterwards but the gentle tug you give his hand made sohee hesitate. sohee stared at you expectantly, wanting to hear you tell him to stay— because he will.
a small smile formed on your lips when sohee spoke before you, “if i ask to stay, will you let me?” you giggled at his question, nodding, ”please do.”
since that day, you haven’t been ordering pizzas but that didn’t mean sohee doesn’t come by from time to time—
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Early bird gets the worm!
Pairing: Kyoya Ootori x reader Warnings: 18+ mdni, smut with fluff, creampie, morning sex, hints of overstimulation, praise.
It had been known upon Kyoya's friends and family that he was not, by any means, an early riser. Whenever bothered in the early morning, or any time before he had wanted to wake up (even if it's 4pm in the afternoon), Kyoya was always grouchy. Spouting cynical and rude comments, glowering and mumbling at whoever even thought of disturbing his sleep. Everyone had taken note to never bother him in bed.
However, in his second year of college, something started to shift.
Mori and Haruhi had taken note of it first- Kyoya had gotten progressively more polite. You could even go as far to say he had become an early bird, his second semester of classes mainly consisted of 8 or 9 am lectures compared to his 2 to 3 pm classes.
Kyoya had claimed it was because of the length of the classes- and it was better to go to one long class in the morning twice a week rather than five short ones in the afternoon. It had convinced most of the group- knowing he always had an efficient strategy in order to maximize anything for his benefit. In typical Ootori fashion, Kyoya had a logical reason for everything.
Tamaki had wondered what it was. A newfound maturity? He started going to bed earlier maybe. What if he started to become an insomniac and was actually never sleeping in the first place, and he started becoming kind as a result of his delirium?
Haruhi had crossed off the last option, rolling her eyes at his ridiculous assumption. She didn't really care why, but Tamaki never leaves things alone. Rejecting Tamaki's idea of watching his every move, Haruhi had opted to just ask Kyoya in order to settle Tamaki's nerves.
"Kyoya-kun, I've noticed you've been more of an early riser, is there any reason as to why?"
Kyoya tilts his head, looking up in contemplation before smiling to the side. "I've had more to look forward to in the mornings than I did before." His gaze follows you, observing your face as you animatedly tell the twins a story. Your eyes meet his for a split second, smiling sweetly at him before turning your attention back to the twins.
Haruhi immediately understands and looks at Kyoya as he admires you softly, a small smile gracing his lips as you laugh at the twins' responses. Tamaki, however, cannot accept the answer, and can't help but press more.
"What could've possibly transformed your nasty attitude into such a morning person?"
Kyoya pushes his adjusts his glasses before looking to the side, pausing as he stirs his tea to think about the answer. There were a couple of reasons, really.
You had started small. Giving him sleepy teas at around 8 pm, offering him a massage or inviting him to watch a movie with you. Goading him into sleeping earlier in the night. Slowly helping him loosen his tie and removing his shirt as he typed away at his laptop, peppering kisses along his neck. He could feel you practically smirk as his typing slows, more and more typos progressively pop up on his screen before he finally shuts the laptop shut to give you his full attention.
You'd tire him out before he could open his computer again, panting heavily against him as you bounced on his lap, his hands digging into the plush of your ass as he slightly guided you back and forth. A filthy combination of your slick and his pre making a mess on his lap, the lewd sound of skin slapping echoing in his room every time you sank further on his cock.
"m' close," He whispers, gripping you harder as he moves you faster. His lips latch onto your neck, his left hand moving to circle your clit in tight circles, earning a pathetic whimper from you in return.
"Come on, pretty girl, I know you have one more in you."
"Kyo- I can't, s'too much-" Your hips stutter against his, head falling into his neck as you try catching your breath. Kyoya is unrelenting, however, quickly speeding up his work on your clit while thrusting up into you as you gasp in pleasure. The heat in your gut turning into a tight coil as you spasm around him, kissing him through the overstimulation of him thrusting into you through your orgasm.
Kyoya returns the kiss deeply, his hands now gently rubbing your sides as he cums inside of you. His thumbs circle your hips, soft lips muttering praise as you both come down from your high. You groan slightly in response, glancing to the side to see a bright green "9:51" back at you, smiling softly before turning back to him.
"You have me beat. Let's take a shower in the morning together, yeah?"
Kyoya can't help but agree as he cleans you up with a warm rag, fighting the fatigue so that he can savor the moment of you in his arms before nodding off.
You'd work your magic until he'd slowly, but surely, started waking up earlier and earlier. His mood, however, had yet to change. A snappy mumble and slight glare still ever present as you slightly shook him awake.
Mornings were a lot slower, instead of shaking him awake, you'd started to wake up slightly earlier, lightly massaging his head to ease him out of sleep before getting up to start your own routine. You brush your teeth and get dressed and cook a simple breakfast, bringing the plate back to his room before resuming his head massage, sweetly cooing at him to wake up.
"Kyoya, it's time to get up. I made you breakfast."
His brows furrow before shaking his head slightly, pulling up the covers to his chin before turning towards his pillow.
You roll your eyes, leaning down to kiss his cheek, 1, 2, 3. The smile on his face slowly grows for every smooch you pepper on his face. How could he be mad when his sweet girlfriend is waking him up so kindly?
The blanket suddenly shifts, his bare torso revealed as he gets up to kiss you back. He rubs his nose against yours affectionately as he looks you in the eye.
"I know what you're trying to do."
You don't seem to feel guilty, instead landing another kiss on his lips with a dramatic "mwah!". A teasing smile on your face. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Kyoya indulges nonetheless, and now he finds himself waking up earlier than you do. Admiring your figure in the soft morning sunlight as your chest rises and falls with your breathing. His arm lazily hands around your waist as he caresses your back, appreciating the glow that highlights the tip of your eyelashes to the cupids bow of your lips.
When you do wake up, you cling closer to Kyoya, muttering a soft "g'morning." as you kiss his shoulder, slowly trailing down his torso to his briefs. You lightly palm his bulge before affectionately leaning on it, hot breath ghosting over the fabric, making his breath hitch as he lightly grasps the sheets.
Nimble fingers yank the band of his briefs down as you kiss the tip affectionately, looking up at him as you kitten lick his shaft before taking him in your mouth.
Kyoya sighs, hand finding purchase in your hair as you bob your head along his length, slowly going up before slamming your head down. His tip bruising the back of your sensitive through as your tongue flattens against the vein on the underside of his dick.
He's whiny in the morning, you note. Slight sleepiness making him more sensitive to your touch. His breathe hitches and small moans escaping through his praise as he throws his head back in pleasure.
"Fuck, feel so good around me. Love waking up like this." His hand in your hair grips tighter as he quickens the pace, reveling in the way you gag around his length. His harsh pace was a stark contrast to his hand on your shoulder, gently rubbing your shoulder as he roughly fucks your face.
You moan around him as you play with your tits, one hand pinching your nipple as you look back up at him, his normally icy glare gazing at you with adoration. His cock twitches at the eye contact before his spills into your mouth. You take it all, swallowing before disconnecting with a small "Pop!", a string of saliva connecting from his tip to your mouth.
His breathing is heavy before he brings your face to his, gently kissing you as he catches his breath between kisses. He pays you back, gently fucking you from behind in the shower. Goosebumps scatter your skin as he presses you harshly against the cold glass, watching as the water splashes around his hips with each thrust.
One would think it's greed. His never-ending greed to have you prettily whimpering in his room every time he wakes up, face buried against the base of his cock, or when he slowly cuddle fucks you as you whine against his soft satin pillows (a purchase he made just for you). He can't help it- it's hard to resist when you look so gorgeous in the early mornings. He feels rejuvenated after seeing you breathless and panting with his cum seeping out of you, whining at the loss of feeling full.
Soon enough, you'd successfully gotten Kyoya's sleep schedule on track. A healthy balance of cardio and rest, and Kyoya had never worked so efficiently. He almost wonders how he was able to acheive so much without you there.
The specific reason was far too intimate to share- especially to someone as dramatic as Tamaki. So instead, he shrugs and takes a sip of his drink.
"I got a better alarm clock."
i don’t smoke (except for when i’m missing you) — taesan
taesan x reader
wc — 2k genre & warnings — angst, situationship, smoking, alcohol consumption, unedited playlist/inspired by — supercut by lorde // i don’t smoke by mitski // focus by niki notes — remember folks! communication is always the key. (that way you can manage your expectations.) if you enjoyed reading, please do reblog and leave feedback! request to be part of the taglist! masterlist
synopsis — a drunken phone call leads you and taesan to unpack what was kept under wraps, and you both don’t know where to stand on your relationship.
there’s a thumping in your ear—maybe it’s from the bass that sounds through the walls or the jumping crowd that shakes the floor. the flashing lights have turned into hazy streaks of red and the smell of sweat seems to stick. yet, despite how uncomfortable the club has gone at this hour, you stay in place, swishing the contents in your cup before downing it.
you let out a quiet exhale, senses numbing and faltering the more you drink. but the thumping remains, and you don’t know where it’s coming from.
“y/n!” your eyes snap towards julie whose eyebrows are scrunched in worry. “are you okay?”
you straighten your back against the wall. “me? yeah.” you lift the cup to her view, giving it a small shake to show it’s empty. “i just finished my drink, so i was letting the alcohol sit.”
julie chuckles before grabbing it from you. “okay, that’s enough drinking. you,” her finger jabs at your chest, “need some water.” despite the groan that leaves you, she latches onto your arm before dragging you away.
as you make your way back to the booth, the music seems to drown from the volume of your friends. taerae’s laugh overlaps the melody and gunwook’s complaints take over the vocal chops. “oh, there you are!” jaehyun calls out the moment he spots you. “i thought you went to the washroom.” you plop down beside him. “maybe even went for a smoke break.”
“hey, i don’t smoke anymore,” you defend yourself.
“anymore, you just said.”
you roll your eyes before mumbling. “i don’t even think i’m a smoker.”
before jaehyun can argue, julie leans over towards you two. “i’m going to get you water.” as she’s met jaehyun’s intoxicated grin, she sighs before standing up straight. “maybe i should be getting you some, too.” once julie takes her leave, you both erupt into drunken giggles.
the rest of your friends continue to enjoy the night; some continue to down more shots while others share the latest gossip. you and jaehyun don’t exchange a word, shoulders pressed to each other as you stare off into nowhere. and while you attempt to enjoy the shared silence, the thumping in your ear remains.
“what’s on your mind?”
“nothing.” you look over at jaehyun. “just alcohol.”
he frowns. “you just… i feel like your mind has been going off somewhere this whole night.”
“literally, i’m just spacing out.” you rip your gaze from him before you sink into the seat. “nothing to get too worried about.”
a beat passes.
“are you sure?”
with jaehyun’s persistence, you get off your seat. “i’m going to find julie.” despite his protests, you make your way through the crowd until you find yourself by the bar. you call on the bartender and ask him for another glass of whatever he gave you then. at his nod, you lean on the table as you wait for him to mix up another concoction that would keep your mind busy.
beside you are seats filled with flirting couples, whispering sweet-nothings and getting handsy in public. it seems that more people behind you are having the time of their lives chatting and grooving on the dance floor. yet, here you stand, hoping that the next glass would allow you to give you the enjoyment you’ve been craving this whole night.
you thank the bartender the moment your order is served. before you can drink, someone shoves against you, causing it to spill. “hey, watch where you’re going!” as soon as you catch sight of the person, your stern expression suddenly shifts into shock—because he looks like him.
“sorry about that!” the stranger is quick to apologize, a regretful smile resting on his lips—and it reminds you of his smile, the same one he would shoot at you at every party, every late night out, every time he managed to upset you. the person throws a quick glare at his friend before saying, “i hope i didn’t spill your drink.”
at your silence, the stranger takes it as his sign to continue partying, but you remain frozen, staring at him. the similarities are uncanny; the same cat-like features with the exact fashion style that he has. and suddenly, it’s a supercut in your mind—of every stolen glance, of every hand held, of every lean in as he tries to listen to your whispers, of every short distance and shared silence spent staring into each other’s eyes.
yet, those moments seemed like nothing to taesan.
once you down your drink, you move past the crowd until you finally exit the club. even outside, the thumping in your ear remains. the moment your hand rests on your chest, you feel the pounding in your chest—and you realize that it’s been your heartbeat all along.
you dig through your bag until you manage to fish out an opened pack of cigarettes, and you don’t even think twice about asking a group of strangers smoking to light up your last cigarette.
first drag. you shut your eyes close as you lean against the brick wall.
second drag. your brain has turned cloudy and your heart rate has slowed down.
third drag. you still think of him.
you pull out your phone, greeted by multiple missed calls from jaehyun and julie, but you ignore them as you scroll through your contacts for taesan’s name. as soon as you spot him, your thumb hovers over his phone number.
and the next thing you know it, your phone is pressed against your ear as it rings.
your friends would’ve shouted at you if they knew what you were doing. at first, they seemed to enjoy hearing the first few escapades you would share with him, until they asked you what you two were. they found out you were entangled in a life of mixed-signals, and your distress had only made them beg you to cut him off. you should’ve listened to their advice. after all, they pointed out all his red flags in every problem, every story, you shared.
but you did none of the sorts.
the ringing goes silent. you almost think the call was dropped until you hear him clear his throat from the other line. “hey, how’s my sweetheart?”
you thought it was a common thing taesan did with friends but it came to your surprise that it’s the first time jaehyun has heard him refer to someone with that nickname. you don’t know why he calls you that, and you never complained—until now.
“why do you call me that?”
“sweetheart? because the first time i met you, you were sweet to me. you’ve always been sweet to everyone.”
you shake your head. “no, not that.”
“what?” taesan’s confusion only has your heart rate racing once more. if he couldn’t even understand what you’re referring to, what more did he think about where you two stand?
“why do you call me yours?”
it’s silent for a moment.
wind grazes against your skin as you take another drag. “why do you do that? why do you always reach out for my hand whenever we walk? or always wrap your arm around me?” when he doesn’t say anything, you take that as your sign to continue. “why is it that you always bring me back to your place? why do you tell me to stay for the night? and why do you hold me so close every night?” you exhale. “why do you do all that?”
taesan continues to remain silent. “i just,” you slide down the wall, crouching as you look down, “you say all these things… do all these things, and i get confused. whenever i’m with you, you always seem to get touchy with me, and you don’t care whenever i say that your friends might get the wrong idea.”
it never helped that he boiled your statements into shame—because you could never be embarrassed of him. yet, he could never define what you two were. what didn’t help is that he would always answer jaehyun with, “just friends,” whenever his friend asks about you two.
“and taesan, i was willing to keep up with it until you wanted something more official. but the months kept going, and suddenly i was suffering from every moment you grew distant from me or i saw you getting touchy with someone else.”
you take another drag, and taesan still refuses to say anything.
“everything you do makes me think that there is something going on between us, and maybe i am getting the wrong idea, but i’m begging that you tell me that i’m not just someone you’re just looking to have fun with. i can’t continue with this if we don’t settle on what we are.”
as seconds go by, you almost think that he dropped the call on you. but you know he’s still there. “taesan.”
“yeah?” he finally speaks up.
“i’m only asking you one thing. what are we?”
and when you’re met with silence once more, you realize the answer all by yourself. if you two were something, he would’ve interrupted you as you list down your questions. if you two were something, he would’ve had no problem telling jaehyun what he thought about you. if you two were something, he would’ve been able to answer you in a heartbeat.
“y/n, i enjoy your company. i like having you around and all, and you seem to understand me in a way that my friends don’t.”
despite the seconds of silence that pass, you know there’s another half to the sentence.
“but i’m not looking for anything serious right now. i’m sorry you saw it that way.”
your friends are right. you should’ve known better than to expect something out of this. it was doomed to fail from the start. maybe if you listened to your friends earlier on, you wouldn’t have found yourself in too deep with someone who could never understand the boundaries.
“maybe it’s best that we don’t see each other anymore,” taesan says.
it pained you to hear him say that because at the start of each day, you would seek him out knowing you’d end it with him. it almost hurts imagining what tomorrow would be like knowing you wouldn’t see him anymore.
but for once, he was doing something right.
you nod before saying, “okay. i’m sorry for thinking that.”
the call drops. he didn’t bother to say goodbye.
as you take another drag, you stare off into nowhere while you’re left to replay everything that went down between you two. maybe you should’ve done better to uphold those boundaries, ask him earlier on if he was interested in being in a relationship, and you could’ve avoided wasting your months on someone who couldn’t imagine something with you.
you should’ve been mad that this is the outcome.
“there you are!” you whip your head to see jaehyun with a worried expression. “i’ve been looking for you everywhere! you weren’t picking up your phone. what are you doing outside?”
then, jaehyun sees the cigarette in one hand and your phone in the other, and his frustration dissipates. you rip your eyes from him, avoiding eye contact as you recount what went down within those months with taesan. when your friend crouches beside you, you try to keep your feelings at bay. after all, it’s better to keep everything to yourself.
yet, it takes jaehyun’s hand against your back for the tears to finally come out.
you disappointed your friends as you continued to see taesan without their knowledge. you disappointed yourself by thinking something could come out of your months spent with him.
but most of all, you disappointed taesan by becoming another person who caught feelings.
(and what’s worse to say is that you hold out hope that he’d come running back to you. you’d forgive, and forgive, and forgive. you’d accept him back with open arms no matter what.)
(so for now, you’re left looking for anything that could fill the void that he’s left until he comes back.)
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“Just one more,” you mewl.
“Oh my god.”
Sae has to leave. It’s past the point of him responsibly leaving, to now, where there’s no choice of him having to leave now, if he wants any chance of making it to practice on time.
But you, however, are seemingly far from getting your Itoshi Sae fix, not wanting to be far from him at all: you whimpered and whined when he got up for his run, you snuck into his shower with him, you looped your arms around his waist while he made his lunch, now you’ve got his face gripped in your hands, sponging kisses over him.
At first, sure, he loved the attention.
But Itoshi Sae has to leave. Four minutes ago.
“Hey,” he sighs softly, trying to push your shoulders back to peel you off of him. “You know I have to go. Don’t make this harder for me.”
“You don’t have to go,” you say simply. “You and I can just be hermits forever, hide here for the rest of our lives and cuddle forever.”
Tempting. Not that he’d ever tell you that.
“Don’t you want to stay here forever with me?”
He clicks his tongue, “you know I absolutely would if I could. But,” he makes a move to step away, and you whine and squeeze tighter. “I have to go. Then, when I come home, I’ll be able to tell you all about my day while we lay down. You like that.”
“I know I do, but,” you peer up at him with your lethal pout, “I like you being here more.”
Sae looks at the clock on the stove. Then back at you. Then he sighs and leans down to steal another kiss from you, slotting your lips with his. They move in harmony, eliciting small pants from you, and his hand cradles the back of your head lovingly. You mewl and rest your hands on his hips, letting the few seconds of heaven be savored between you.
When he finally pulls away, you’re smiling dopily, giddily, and Sae knows he hit the nail on the head.
You’d wanted a goodbye kiss. Sae always knows what you want from him, and in the morning, it just so happens to be a firm, loving, assuring goodbye kiss.
“Okay,” you purr, letting your hands roam over his back, compliant and melted in his arms. “You can go now. I’m happy.”
“You’re done with me?” He asks.
“Yeah, until tonight anyways,” you hum, kissing his chin. “Better go before I change my mind.”
He cracks a smirk, “you’re a real piece of work, you know that right?”
“What can I say?” You sigh dramatically. “I know how much you love a challenge.”
You’re right.
He really, really does.
꒰ 𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐍𝐘 𝐍𝐎𝐒𝐄 ꒱ 章昊
summary : your boyfriend is denying he's sick, until he can't anymore
genre : cringely sweet fluff, hao x afab!reader, drabble, established relationship tws : pet names, mentions of being sick, pouty hao author notes : not even i can resist princess hao, im not the strongest soldier word count : 1.2k
you approached the man in the kitchen, he was making a tea you could smell from where you happen to be studying. lucky for you, hao knew you well enough that he had two mugs set out on the counter top. he was bobbing the bag as you came up behind him, wrapping your arms around his front gently.
“oh, hi!” he said after coming down from being startled. hao let go of the string, and turned around so now you were leaning against him leaning against the cool marble. you kissed the nape of his neck. “i was just about to bring this to you, how’s studying?”
“why’d i ever take environmental chemistry and biology.”
“because you’re a woman in stem!” he explained adamantly. “my woman in stem.”
you rolled your eyes, noticing the puffiness under his—that wasn’t usually there. you also spotted a light tint to his cheeks, it being darker on his nose. your eyebrows creased as you began connecting the dots.
you hadn’t noticed when he briefly came to say hello shortly after showing up to your apartment. and even if you noticed then, you would’ve brushed it off as him just being out in the cold. but now that you were up close and personal, you couldn’t only feel his warmth, but see it splotching his skin.
“hao…” you trailed off, backing off him, and leaning back to island. “why are you making tea? you don’t even like it that much. are you sick?”
he found it strangely odd that you could see through him so well, when his members were almost none-the-wiser to it earlier. he thought he was playing the roll of being healthy exceptionally, not even sniffling though he felt the crushing need to.
you watched as your boyfriend didn’t twitch, didn’t even flinch and definitely didn’t look guilty, but still you knew something was up. so you pressed on, quickly bringing a hand to his forehead—to which he almost instantly tried to dodge—your tell that he was lying through his teeth.
he caught your wrist. “y/n, i’m fine. really, it’s nothing. i just thought tea sounded good, and you just got a new one.” your eyes burned into him. “you know i like whatever you like.”
“yeah, but…” you gave him one last look, him dropping your hand in the meantime. “are you sure you’re feeling well?”
“yes.” he replied simply. “i’m okay, really, y/n. you worry too much. maybe you should’ve been a pre-med student instead.”
“oh, absolutely not.” you laughed, taking the mug he was holding out towards you. “i’d have no time to see you.”
“wow, you really love me, huh?”
you took a sip, mint and ginger lacing your tastebuds. you hummed in approval, wrapping your other hand around the warm ceramic.
“yes, which is why i’m not convinced you’re not sick.” he scoffed, turning his head to the side in disbelief; but he knew you were beyond stubborn when it came to him. “but, i’ll let it go, only until you can’t deny it anymore.”
you left him in the kitchen, going back to your spilled out notebooks and pens. you glanced at the laptop, groaning when you remembered what you were just in the middle of. you cursed whoever decided that equations needed to be used wherever possible outside of math, and gently set the mug against the wood. you put the back of your hand to your forehead, dragging it down to your cheek—just to compare what you briefly felt against hao’s skin. and what you found convinced you that he was sick and in denial about it.
however, you couldn’t figure out why. was he afraid to be in a vulnerable state around you? no, you’ve seen him in more compromising situations. so, was he just being stubborn? was he just trying to play it off because you had noticed when he was playing his role oh so well? you knew him better than that, and he definitely knew that too.
you took a breath, clearing your mind of worry and picking up the black pen that seconds ago laid lifeless. if he needed you, he’d say so, wouldn’t he? you promised you’d just have to wait and find out—and you knew soon enough that you would find out just how bad his sickness would get.
just then, a loud sneeze rang out against the silence, a groan following, though you couldn’t tell if it was because he was annoyed, or if the intensity actually hurt him.
“ha!” you shot up. “i knew it. i know him better than that. he thought he could—" you boasted, until another sneeze met your ears and your eyebrows (once again) came together. you turned briefly to put your pen back down, blinking a couple times when you saw hao standing against the doorframe.
he was pouting, and honestly, even though you knew he wasn’t feeling well, it was satisfying being right—call it your toxic trait but you had to bite back saying i told you so.
just as quickly as you got yourself to calm down, your concern came back. “baby, are you okay?” you reached out for him, and he complied, accepting you against him. he sniffled again, holding you tighter. “baby, why didn’t you just say you were sick. you know i would’ve taken care of you.”
“can you do it now?”
you nodded. “of course, my love. let’s get you to bed.”
you took his hand and led him a couple feet to your neatly made bed. you undid the sheets, pushing him to sit down. he was still slightly pouting his lip out up at you, and you fought the urge to ruffle his hair, instead opting for a gentle kiss against his forehead. he wasn’t normally like this, but whenever he was, you both seemed to milk it dry. he laid down and tucked him in playfully, earning a small laugh.
“i’ll be right back, i'm going to grab you some medicine, okay?”
he nodded, burying himself further into your dense blankets. but before you went, you finally were allowed to check his temperate against your own; it being exactly what you suspected, a fever. after, you ventured to the kitchen, rummaging through your cabinets until you found the flu medicine you bought at the beginning of winter, thanking your slightly-younger self for somehow predicting its need.
you came back, and hao instantly sat up. you started insisting through protests, but after he took the medicine from you, he complied, hermitting back under the covers.
“y/n?” he asked. “are you done studying yet?”
you debated for a second, only realizing that you were as ready as you’d ever be—considering this is going on your second week straight of nothing but chem and bio practice tests.
before you had the chance to answer, he lifted the cover for you to join him under. you ran to hit the light switch, coming back and climbing into the bed with your boyfriend. you snuggled against his chest, listening to his regulated heartbeat and breaths. and before you knew it, he was fast asleep.
you just hoped that he would be better once he woke up.
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you arrive like a dream.
summary: you are fourteen years old when bachira breaks your heart, and you run halfway across the world to avoid him. so how are you supposed to react when the universe, against all your express wishes, brings the two of you back together again?
notes: 14k words, fic, author's notes, childhood friends, childhood heartbreak, messy relationships, really kind of a study of how people fall apart and then get back together
“I want to take a break from us.”
It’s the first thing your boyfriend says to you, barely waiting for the waitress to set down your order and clear away your laminated menus before speaking.
Instead of responding, you take a long sip of your milkshake, whipped cream sinking into a chocolate sea, your mouth flooding with sweetness. You regard the boy across from you thoughtfully, the one you’ve been dating for six months ever since he confessed to you during a school dance. He’s not the only boy you’ve ever dated in America, but he’s the one you’ve dated the longest.
Most American boys seem to regard you with a mixture of curiosity and fascination as an exchange student from Japan. The kinder ones try not to treat you any differently than they would from your other classmates, but the worse ones will make constant jokes about hentai and mock your faint accent.
By this point, though, you’ve learned to tune out the insults and the passive aggressive comments. You’ve always been good at dealing with other people, knowing how to read the mood and adjusting your behavior accordingly. Your teachers often praised you for being so well-behaved and conscientious.
The meaner boys treat you like a zoo animal precisely because they want to see your reaction, so it’s better not to give them the reaction that they want. Otherwise, the second they sense hurt, they’ll sink their teeth in and never let go. Of course, they don’t seem to realize that in the same way they observe you, you can observe them right back.
As for your boyfriend, Thomas? Well. He does his best. Or at least you think he does his best. No one mocks you to his face when he’s around, and he valiantly tells people to “knock it off” whenever he thinks you feel uncomfortable. He’s sweet, if a little obtuse, and you like him well enough. You wouldn’t date him if you didn’t. But his confession had been so out of the blue, and you had no real reason to accept him– just like you didn’t have any real reason to reject him.
In short, your relationship started on an ambivalent whim. He’s not the sort of person you can share your thoughts with, but it’s not as if you’re looking for a lifelong companionship. He’s mild, and nice to be around, which is just what you need after everything that happened to you in Japan. He’s just like the whipped cream slowly disappearing into your milkshake in that aspect.
Your boyfriend calls your name. “Hey, are you okay? Do you want me… to explain?” Thomas says softly.
You’ve been staring into space for too long, and your milkshake is half-empty. You smile at him. “No, it’s fine. A break, right? I understand.”
“I don’t want this to be permanent. It doesn’t have to be,” Thomas says, running a hand through his shorn blond hair. “It’s just soccer season is kicking up again, and I won’t have a lot of time to spend with you. I didn’t want you to feel abandoned, or anything. And I want to focus on practice. So…” He looks at you like a kicked puppy, as if you’re the one breaking up with him, and not the other way around. “We can date again once the season is over.”
“Okay,” you say, dragging your straw through your softening milkshake. “Let’s see what happens at the end of the season.”
Thomas perks up. “Great! Do you want anything else to eat? It’s my treat.”
“No, it’s fine.”
“Are you sure?” Thomas says.
Milkshakes are no remedies for break-ups, but you bite your tongue. “Yes. I’m sure.”
Thomas flags down the waitress, a freckled and red-haired girl who lets her stare linger a little too long. Not that you can blame her; he is cute. But Thomas, good old oblivious Thomas, only smiles innocently in return.
Maybe you should get jealous. Pull some American teen movie line and say that “he’s your man” and put her in her place, or something equally dramatic like that. But he’s not really “your man” anymore, is he? Besides, staring is free, and, as you often hear, this is a free country.
By the time the two of you are out of the diner, Thomas is pulling you into a hug. You limply wrap one arm around his back. “See you later,” he whispers. “You can still call me if anything happens, okay?”
Should you remind him of the international fees that it would take for him to call you Japan? “Okay.”
You’re still standing outside the diner when Thomas waves at you through the windows of his car and pulls away from the curb. Maybe you should have asked for a ride, but getting a ride with your now-ex is a little weird. The weather is clear and the sunshine warm, so it’s a mild enough spring day for you to walk back. You’d prefer the walk, anyways, compared to the awkward silence in Thomas’s stifling truck.
Halfway down the pavement, your phone starts buzzing in your pocket. You pull it out: it’s your mom. There’s a seventeen hour time difference between California and Japan, and the international fees of a phone call are exorbitant, but your mom has never cared much about finances. “Money is there for you to spend it,” she always claims. Easy enough for her to say when she runs an investment firm that rakes in enough yen for her to send you abroad.
“Hello, Okaa-san,” you say when you open your phone.
“Hello,” she coos. “Good morning! Ah, wait. It’s afternoon for you, right?”
“It’s afternoon, and you’re a day ahead of me,” you confirm.
“Oho! I forgot! So you’re talking to a time traveler right now,” she says.
“Seems so. Have any news from the future?”
“You’re going on spring break next week, right?” She doesn’t wait for you to respond before barreling on. “Why don’t you fly home to Japan for the holidays?” your mom says. “I’m already booking the tickets.”
“Why’d you even ask if you were going to do it for me?”
“Just because you always tell me you hate it when I do things without telling you. So I’m alerting you in advance,” she chirps.
You sigh. “Okay. Send me the ticket details when you’re done.”
You can imagine your mom’s grin over the phone. “Perfect! By the way, I ran into Yu-san a little while ago. We talked about how much you used to love her art lessons! Do you remember how you used to beg to spend extra time at Yu-san’s studio?”
You stop in the middle of the sidewalk, the sunshine suddenly searing your neck. You fight to keep your voice steady. “Yeah. I do. Why?”
“Well, then we started talking about Meguru-kun. You always bugged me about when he could come over and play. You were such a mild-mannered child, but as soon as you saw Meguru-kun, you would just get so wild. I’d never seen you have so much fun. I swear, it was so cute.”
“Okaa-san,” you say faintly, but she continues on.
“Since it’s been so long since you were back in Japan, Yu-san and I thought it would be nice if the two of you could see each other again, so we arranged a little meeting for the four of us. Won’t it be nice to catch up with your childhood friend over dinner? There’s no need to thank me.”
There really isn’t. You gape like an open-mouthed fish after your mom’s triumphant little speech, thoughts scattering like bubbles on the surface of a pond.
“Does Meguru know that you’ve done this?” you say. It’s the only question that manages to escape. His first name feels like ash in your mouth. When did you last use it?
“Yu-san told him right away. I think she said he was excited to see you!”
“That’s… great,” you say. “I have to go now, Okaa-san. I have something to do. I’ll see you when I fly back.”
“Okay. Love you!”
With a cheerful blip, your mom ends the call and you sink to your knees, digging the palms of your hands into your eyes. Shit. This is going to be the worst possible way to spend your spring break. Thomas is one thing, but Bachira? No way. There is absolutely no way in hell you can face him again.
You might have gotten along back in Japan, running around Chiba together as children, but it’s been years since then. Maybe if you were two regular childhood friends, you would jump with joy at the opportunity to see him. If you didn’t have the particular history you did, this would have been a pleasant surprise. But you two don’t have that sort of relationship anymore, and the thought of Bachira makes old wounds flare to life.
You can’t blame your mom for not knowing, not really. You’ve mentioned your American boyfriends here and there, but you tend to keep a tight lid on your love life, as you’ve always been her pristine, studious child. You try not to make it a habit to keep secrets from your mom.
In fact, the only secret you’ve ever kept from her is that Bachira Meguru broke your heart when you were fourteen years old.
–
You have always wanted to be the perfect child for your mom.
Ever since you could remember, your afternoons and weekends were full of different lessons, from piano to dance, and English to math tutoring. Your mom cooed with excitement at all your new hobbies, demanding you show her every time you learned a new musical piece or math equation. You charged headfirst into whatever skill you could learn to mold yourself into a well-rounded adult, so no one could find a way to look down on your mom. All of her business associates patted you on the head and spoke indulgently at you. As if you couldn’t sense the way they viewed you as an extension of your mom, and a way to judge her.
Art lessons, however, were when your life took a sudden, unexpected turn.
You remembered this: you were eight, and it was a cool spring day during your very first lesson, and Bachira-san had given you free reign of the canvas, handing you a palette and a brush. Her lessons always took place in her studio, the door open to let in the breeze, sunlight sinking into stacks of piled canvas and painting supplies placed haphazardly on every free surface.
You stared up at Bachira-san with a frown, looking uncertainly in her smiling face. “What am I supposed to do with this?” you asked.
“Whatever you want,” she replied, ruffling the top of your head. You gave a squeak of protest.
“But what do you want?” you persisted.
“I want you to do whatever you want,” Bachira-san said with a grin. “Why don’t I give you some space to paint? I’ll come back in a little bit, ‘kay?”
And so Bachira-san had left you in front of a canvas, your frown growing as you dipped a brush into the green paint. Incomprehensible. The adults in your life always had such clear expectations for you, and Bachira-san’s instructions feel like she just handed you a blank map and told you to chart unexplored territory.
You dragged a tentative, watery streak of green on the bright white canvas, but it looked ugly and intrusive. You’d marred the pristine surface already.
Something brushed your foot. You looked down to see a football rolling across the wooden floor of the studio, and not a second later, the small head of a child peeking around the corner of the door.
“Kaa-san! I’m back– eh? Who are you?”
The boy approached you curiously. There was a bandage on his face, and streaks of dirt running down his legs and striping his cheeks.
“Who are you?” you demanded, brandishing your brush like a sword. “I’m having an art lesson right now.”
Undeterred, the boy tilted his head like a giant chipmunk. “Art lesson? This is where Kaa-san works.”
“Huh…” Your teacher must be his mom, and he must be her son, you deduced.
Seemingly losing interest, the boy ran after the football, which had lodged in the corner. With a few swift kicks, the boy skilfully bounced it up on his knee, his elbow, and his head. It was just like the seals you saw once at the aquarium, who could perform the same tricks for a few fish as incentive.
“Hey! Can you play football?” the boy said suddenly, turning back to you with the ball balanced precariously on his head.
“Football? I can’t play. I have to study art.”
“But that’s boring… Wait!” The boy brightened as he lurched towards you, wrestling the brush from your grasp. You watched in horror as the boy slashed the brush across the canvas, dipping randomly into the paint, creating an incomprehensible mess of lines and paint splatters. “Done! Now you can play with me.”
You shoved him, as hard as you could, and the boy toppled to the floor, his football bouncing sadly into a pile of canvas. “What are you doing? You– you ruined it!”
“I helped you,” the boy protested. He leaped up into the air, regarding you quizzically. “Kaa-san paints like that all the time.”
“Bachira-san– Bachira-san is a real artist! You can’t just– argh!” You stumbled at him, annoyed, tiny fists swinging, but the boy only dodged out of the way.
A grin splitted his face. “Are we playing now? Yay!”
You don’t know how long this chase lasted. All you knew was that you wanted to wipe that unbearably happy look from his face after he ruined your lesson, because how on earth could you explain this to Bachira-san? But the boy only danced around, laughing as you tried to lunge at him, always just one step away from you.
You weren’t unathletic, but the boy had stamina on another level, because while you sweated and panted, hands on your knees, he only skipped in circles around you. “Hey,” the boy said. “Are you done already? Come on. Let’s play some more.”
How annoying! How super, super annoying! You gave a great yell as you jumped at him, and, startled, the boy couldn’t move away fast in enough time. The two of you crashed onto the floor, rolling and tumbling. You pulled at his hair and the boy grabbed at your cheeks.
“I’m back! Are you done with– Meguru? Kiddo?”
The two of you froze as Bachira-san stepped into the studio, a plate of cookies in her hand. The two of you watched her with big silent eyes as she surveyed the room. And, for the first time, you realized that you had knocked over some of her paint tubes and canvas, and the two of you were covered in streaks of paint and dust from the floor.
You sprang up as Bachira-san moved closer to the canvas you were supposed to paint on– the one her son had ruined. Your hands were clammy as you lowered your head, like a criminal readying for their punishment.
“Hey, nice artwork, kiddo,” Bachira-san said, breaking into a smile. “Very avante-garde.”
“He… he was the one who did it,” you mumbled, face heating up with shame, pointing at the boy– Meuguru– who was still on the floor.
He stuck out his tongue. “I only helped!”
“Well, the both of you did a great job,” Bachira-san said.
“Really…?” you mumbled, looking down at your black shoes, now scraped and scuffed from your scuffle across the floor.
“Yes, really! Why don’t the two of you have some snacks?”
The three of you munched on cookies for the rest of the lesson as Bachira-san explained the color palette and different forms of art to you. Meguru gifted you the very last cookie with a beaming expression on his face as if you hadn’t tried to tear his hair out, and you thanked him quietly.
During your next lesson, Meguru was waiting by the entrance of the studio. When he saw you, a goofy smile stole across his face, and he bounded towards you like a puppy.
“Here!” He thrust some flowers into your face. They were small and white, with five different petals. You took them gingerly.
“What are these for?” you asked.
“For you! So we can be friends! I had a lot of fun with you last time, but you didn’t look really happy. Kaa-san said I have to be aware of other people’s feelings, so this is a ‘let’s be friends’ flower!”
“You want to be friends with me?” you mumbled.
“Yup! No take backs,” Meguru added. “We’re friends for life now, okay?”
“Are you sure?” you said. “Yesterday I was rude to you.”
“Were you?” Meguru tilted his head. “Does that matter?”
“I was. I’m sorry,” you said.
“We’re friends! So it’s okay. Hey, this time, you’ll play football with me, right?”
He grabbed your hand, and you carefully wrapped your fingers around his. For some reason, there was a strange fluttering in your chest. Why did holding Meguru’s hand feel a little different from holding your mom’s, or your friend’s hand at school?
But all you know is this: ever since you took Meguru’s hand that day, you don’t think you’ve ever really let go.
–
You haven’t stepped foot in Japan for three years.
There’s always been an excuse not to: you were busy with studying. You had clubs and other activities. It would be too much of a hassle, and really, you wanted to enjoy every minute abroad you could get.
Your mom bought your excuses easily, so you never had to tell her the real reason you stayed away, the same reason you even bothered to study abroad in the first place: you didn’t want to be in the same country as Bachira Meguru.
But when your plane descends and jolts to a stop, when you pass through customs and scramble to find your luggage at the baggage claim, when you take that first wobbly step into the spring sunshine, squinting into the sky as you raise your hand to shield your eyes, you have no more excuses left. It’s like the universe won’t let you run away, because why the hell does Golden Week fall during the same week during your American spring break? Bachira is on break, same as you, so you can’t even use the excuse that he’s in school to avoid him. It’s a coincidence, or the universe is laughing at you for thinking you could get away so easily.
You pause to scroll through your phone; there’s a few messages from your mom, and an email from Thomas. You hover over the message with your thumb, before swiping away. You told him to email you if he needed you, since it’s not like he had Line or Whatsapp, but you didn’t think he’d actually go through with it.
Everyone is speaking in rushed Japanese around you. It’s a sea of people with black hair and black eyes and luggage and appointments and harried expressions, hurrying in every direction. This is home. America has never felt more far away.
You wander to the edge of the curb, phone still held loosely to your ear as a car pulls up. Your mom rolls down the side window, scarf around her throat and a grin wide on her face. “Hello, hello. Look who’s decided to show up on our side of the globe again.”
“It’s not like I had much of a choice,” you acknowledge.
The driver steps out to put your luggage in the trunk, and your mom rests her arm against the window. “How was your flight?”
“It was fine,” you say. “It’s not that far from California to Japan.”
“Perfect! So I assume you’ll be ready for dinner in a few hours?”
“Dinner?”
“Well, there’s this wonderful seafood restaurant I wanted to take Yu-san to, and Meguru-kun is free, so we planned our little get-together for today.” Your mom winks, but you feel as if someone pushed you off the airplane without a parachute. Actually, you’d have preferred that to whatever torture this is.
“Okaa-san, I can’t,” you protest, taking a step back. “I just got back. I’m tired. I–”
“Nonsense! It’s just some dinner. Aren’t you excited to see Meguru-kun?”
You force a queasy smile. “But I need to get ready. I want to shower and–”
“Then we can stop by home before we go to dinner. It’s not as if we’re going right now. Come, come. Hop in the car. The sooner we get back, the more time you’ll have to freshen up.”
The next few hours pass by in a weightless blur. You turn the water as hot as it can go and stand under the thundering steam until your fingers turn pruny. You pick out a tasteful outfit, decide you’re trying too hard, and settle for something casual, but then it feels like you’re not trying hard enough. This goes back and forth for half an hour until you throw on the first thing you picked out of your closet.
It almost feels like you’re getting ready for a date, and the thought makes you want to laugh hysterically.
When you’re done, you flop onto your bed and stare up at the ceiling. You haven’t been in this room for years, and there’s no dust, but it feels like a graveyard, a testament to a different time. There are faded patches of discolored paint on the wall where you once hung up photos of you and Bachira, and empty spots on your shelves where the plastic toys he won for you at summer fairs had once stood. You forgot where you put those old trinkets. They’re either shoved in a box in the back of your closet, or buried in a garbage heap.
Your mom calls your name. “Time to go! Are you ready?”
You’re not. You never will be, but you descend down the stairs and get into the car. You still feel weightless. Dread is the only thing propelling you forward, and it grows heavier with each passing step, weighing you down with its leaden mass.
The restaurant is all polished glass and cool blue tones, so you feel like you’re standing underwater when you step inside. The tablecloths are pressed, the menus so new and shiny you think you could cut yourself on their edges. You’re scurried off to a corner table, next to a painting of the ocean, layered with many painful shades of blue, the frothy white waves so textured you could lick it off like cream.
You order something. You’re not sure what, but the waiter is smiling at your choice.
“Yu-san is running a bit late,” your mom says, with her bright red lipstick which always looks elegant on her and never tacky. You feel childish, all of a sudden, trying to play at being a composed adult, next to her and her genuine enthusiasm for old family friends.
You hope Bachira and his mom never get here. Because of a traffic jam, perhaps. Or a sudden freak accident that cuts off their path, so they have to stay home. Or maybe they’ll just forget, and you can call the whole thing a wash.
“Ah, there she is! Yu-san! Meguru-kun!” Your mom waves wildly, her arm springing back and forth.
Against your will, you turn, biting the inside of your cheek hard. They’re both in street clothes, which sends a dull jolt of surprise through you, but then again, your old teacher has never been one for formalities. You focus hard on her instead of the boy next to her, never taking your eyes off her once as they both settle at the table. Your mom hugs Bachira-san, and they both giggle like schoolgirls. There’s paint on Bachira-san’s sleeves, faint splatters of red and blue and purple. Her hair is in a bun, pulled low.
She reaches out for you, and you melt into her embrace. She smells like paint, like salt water, with an artificial floral scent from her shampoo. “It’s been so long! You’ve gotten so much bigger. Have you been keeping up with your art?”
“I still sketch sometimes,” you say. “But I’ve been busy.”
Bachira-san laughs, a charming sound like windchimes. “Ah, so my lessons weren’t totally wasted! I’d love to see what you’ve been sketching. America has been nice to you, I see.”
You’ve chewed your cheek for too long. The sharp copper of blood fills your mouth like new pennies, and you manage to work your lips into the shape of a smile. “It’s been fun studying abroad.”
And then Bachira calls your name, and you feel like you’re fourteen again, getting your heart broken for the first time. “Hey, hey!” he says cheerfully. “Long time no see!”
You fight to maintain your smile. You can’t look him directly in the eye, so you look somewhere over his shoulder. Has his hair gotten longer? It looks like his mom had tried to tame his bangs with clips. “Hi. It has been a long time.” There. You even sound like you’re happy to see him.
Bachira and his mom order. She and your mom are drinking glasses of red wine, absorbed in their own world, so it’s just you and Bachira. He’s tearing his napkin into little pieces, a miniature blizzard that only grows in intensity with each ticking second. You’re both silent. Is he feeling just as nervous as you? Or are you the only one idiotically aware of the tension? Maybe he doesn’t even notice at all.
“Meguru-kun is on his school’s soccer team?” your mom asks suddenly, forcing the two of you to look at her. “That’s amazing! I heard you want to go to nationals.”
“Yup yup!” Bachira says. “It’s fun to play with everyone.”
“That’s great!” Your mom nudges you with her elbow. “This one over here is juggling a ton of different clubs in America, too. A math team, and a science one, and an art club on top of it, I think.”
Bachira is looking at you now. You stare hard at your glass of water, avoiding his eyes. The silence grows, stretching between the two of you, taut as a wire. Your mom looks back and forth between the two of you, a wrinkle forming between her eyebrows.
You stand. “Okaa-san, I think I need a bit of a break. I’m still dizzy from my flight,” you say politely, flawlessly. You smile at Bachira-san and your mom, and throw a fuzzy look in Bachira’s direction.
“Are you? I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard. Do you–”
“I just need some air,” you say, still smiling as you back away from the table. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back.”
You flee before anyone can respond, pushing through the doors and into the dizzying sunlight. It’s a coward’s move, but so what? You’ve never pretended to be strong. Your go-to is to put on a smile and smooth over any situation. It’s better not to rock the boat. It’s better to just keep everyone happy– but you can’t do that now. You can’t do this, not now, not in front of Bachira Meguru.
You look up and down the streets, disoriented as you stumble to a stop. Where are you? The restaurant is at the end of the block, and you’ve somehow paced down the entire length of the street in your desire to escape. This is a high-end area with exclusive fashion stores and exorbitant restaurants, and their polished facades only make you feel smaller and uglier.
You sigh. Maybe it would be better to go home, to leave now before you worry anyone further. You would just ascribe all blame to your plane flight, and no one would be any wiser.
Just as you make up your mind, you see a figure blurring down the street, dashing at an impossibly high speed– a blur of yellow, no, a boy, running straight towards you– alarmed, you try to move to the side, but then he screeches to a stop right in front of you.
It’s Bachira. Shit shit shit— But then he abruptly spins around until all you can see is his back and the way his hair sticks up at the ends, perpetually untamable.
“What are you doing?” you say, irritated. Is this another one of his childish pranks?
“You don’t want to see me, right?” he says, more quietly than you thought he was capable of.
“I–”
“This way, you won’t have to look at me. Is that okay?”
“So?” you say. “What you do has nothing to do with me.”
“Let’s talk.”
“I don’t want to,” you say petulantly. You flush; why does Bachira bring out your inner child? “There’s nothing for us to say,” you add more coldly.
“I miss you.” The world, in its perpetual motion, freezes for just an instant at his words. Planets stop their revolutions. The tectonic plates pause. Everything slows down, to this single moment in time and space.
You can only manage to faintly say, “So what?” The world resumes spinning again.
“I want to talk to you again,” he says.
“I don’t care,” you say again.
“I’ll bug you if you don’t come see me again,” he says. “I’ll blow up your phone. I’m gonna send you a ton of mail. I’ll even go to your house and–”
“Stop!” you snap. “You sound like a stalker. Bachira, you know things can’t move backwards, right? We can only go forward. And I don’t want to act buddy buddy with you again.”
“One chance. Pleaseeee. Come on. If you talk with me just once, I won’t bother you again! I promise! Otherwise I’m going to call you! Every! Single! Day!”
You sigh. With the way Bachira is, you have no doubt that he would make good on his threat, no matter how childish or ridiculous he sounds right now. Just once. You could talk to him just once. Besides, this way, you could get rid of all your lingering feelings, and it’d be the same relief of a loose, bothersome baby tooth finally falling out of your mouth.
“Fine. I’ll see you just once. But!” you add, raising your voice before he can throw his hands up in the air in joy. “I decide when and where we will meet.”
“Yay!” Bachira whoops, waving his arms. “Let’s go back, then!”
“Go back where?”
“To the restaurant, duh. The food arrived. I was supposed to tell you that, actually. Oops!”
It would be so easy to just go home right now. But… you glance at the back of Bachira’s hair again. He’s grown taller. And despite his antsy movements, shifting back and forth on his feet, he still hasn’t turned back to look at you once, keeping his ridiculous promise.
“Fine. Lead the way,” you say grudgingly. Your steps feel light as you stare at Bachira, following him all the while, but he still doesn’t look back at you.
At the table, your mom smiles at you. “Feeling better?”
“A little,” you respond. The next time you look at Bachira, you finally meet him in the eye, and his smile lights up his face, just like it did when you were little, the sun rising to sweep the world in light and color.
–
Art lessons with Bachira-san quickly became your favorite thing in the world.
Maybe it was because she never demanded unerring perfection from you, nor did she treat you like a little doll. She delighted in every advancement you made with art, no matter how messy or imperfect. She treated you like you already had things worth saying, and listened to you babble about anything on your mind.
But as much as you loved those things, what you most loved about art lessons with Bachira-san was her son, Meguru.
At some point in the afternoon, he would inadvertently drag you away from your canvas for an adventure through the neighborhood. Bachira-san never seemed to care, and would even encourage you to leave your pastels behind and pick up a stick to be a sword, as long as you had finished drawing at least one thing that you liked.
So, in those perfect sunny afternoons, you would poke at bugs, digging worms out of the dirt and following ants back to their nest and lifting up rocks to watch rollie pollies curl up. You would climb trees, always trying to outrace each other and get to the tallest branch. You would pretend to be pirates and adventurers, clamoring up and down the slides on the park, searching for treasure.
Mostly, though, Bachira wanted to play football.
“You gotta kick it like this! And that!” he cheered, dribbling the ball back and forth between his feet in lithe, swift steps.
“Huh?” you said, trying to keep up with his movements. You always did well during your elementary school’s sports meet, but Meguru was on another level.
“No, no! More like this!” Meguru said, and kicked the ball high in the air, only to catch it with his knee.
“I’ll try,” you said.
“Yay! Then let’s play a few games, okay?”
And you played, not because you particularly loved football, like Meguru did, but because you liked it when he smiled. You and Meguru. Meguru and you. Why would you need anything else? The boundaries of your world began and ended with his hand in yours.
Bachira-san would let him sit in on your lessons on slow days, too, even though he would invariably end up doodling on your canvas instead of his.
“Use your own paper, Meguru!” you retorted as Meguru scribbled a lumpy shadow onto the corner of your sketchpad. “This one is mine!”
“Eh? But we’re friends! So I can draw on yours!”
And then the two of you bickered playfully until you ended up doodling all over each other’s works, which Bachira-san then dubbed a “collaborative masterpiece,” and hung up the pictures side by side on a corkboard in her studio. It made your heart flutter to see the papers fluttering like friends.
Other times, Meguru would wander off in the middle of your lesson after drawing to his heart’s content, grabbing the football that was perpetually by his side.
“I’m done,” Meguru said, throwing down his colored pencil. There was a strange red creation on his page, some machine with a thousand different blue and green buttons and square windows. It had dragon wings and a boat’s rudder, and soared through scribbled stars and over choppy turquoise waves.
“What is that?” you asked him.
“A car that can fly across the ocean,” Meguru explained. “I’m gonna drive it up to pick up all my favorite football players, and there’s gonna be a stadium in it, and we’re all gonna play football together!”
“Can I come, too?”
“Duh! You can sit in the pilot seat with me. That’s why I made it so big,” he said, before dribbling his football out the studio door.
Even if he wandered off, Meguru would always rejoin the two of you on time for lunch. He had some sort of sixth sense for the moment Bachira-san started passing out snacks, peeking his head (sometimes with twigs or dirt scattered in his hair) around the studio door, cheerfully announcing, “I’m home!”
“Welcome back, Meguru! You’re just in time for a snack,” Bachira-san said, sweeping her hands at the row of pudding cups on the table. You were sitting quietly in a chair, posture straight, methodically scooping out every last bit of pudding with your spoon.
“Pudding! It’s pudding time,” Meguru exclaimed cheerfully at the sight of the snacks, running up to the table to snatch up several cups and a spoon in his chubby hands.
“Meguru! Leave some for your friend!” Bachira-san scolded lightly, and Meguru would come running right back to you.
“Here,” he said, dropping a cup in front of you.
Meguru could never sit still, so your eyes were inevitably drawn to him as he danced around the room, running from corner to corner and shoving pudding into his mouth so fast his cheeks puffed out like a small animal’s. Whenever he caught your eye he would stick out his tongue, and you would stick out your tongue in return. When there was only one pudding cup left on the table, you reached for it, before turning to Meguru.
“Have this,” you said, handing him the pudding cup, which Meguru had been eying with a wide open mouth and sparkling eyes.
“Yay! Thanks!” he said. “Let’s share it!”
“I saved it for you, though.”
Meguru shook his head as he unpeeled the cap, revealing inch by tantalizing inch of the shiny, golden treat. “Well, I want you to have some, too.”
There was no better pudding in the world than the spoonfuls you had that day, Meguru graciously proffering the very last bite for you to eat. The memory of that sweetness resounded through your dreams.
Even your mom had gotten used to your chattering about Meguru. He was your favorite topic, and nothing was ever quite as important or interesting as him. As soon as your mom’s car pulled up to the curb at the end of your lessons, you would clamber inside, your artwork for the day clutched tightly in your hands, and a new story about Meguru on your lips.
“Okaa-san, Okaa-san,” you said brightly. “Guess what Meguru did today?”
“Let me guess,” your mom said playfully as the driver pulled away from the curb. “The two of you played together?”
“Yup! This time, we pretended to be monkeys living in the trees! And then we got into a monkey war! And we threw a bunch of sticks at each other, and Bachira-san let us eat bananas for a snack! And we kept trying to peel them like monkeys, too.”
“How exciting! I didn’t realize I was taking a monkey home with me today,” your mom replied. “Are you having fun with your art lessons?”
“I’m having a lot of fun, Okaa-san. I’m learning a lot!” You squirmed in your seat. “Oh! But you have to hear about what Meguru did!”
You didn’t know if your mom ever got tired of you chattering on and on about Meguru. If she did, she never let it show, and she watched you with gentle eyes the whole time you talked.
“You act differently around Meguru-kun,” she said.
“Is that bad?” you asked anxiously, suddenly alert.
She smiled. “No, not at all. Everyone has different sides to them. But I’m glad you’re good friends with him. You talk about him all the time.”
You fiddled with your fingers, feeling strangely pleased and shy all at once. Meguru always stirred unknown emotions in you. “I just like him a lot!”
“Enough to marry him?” your mom teased.
Your face brightened at her words; you hadn’t even realized that was an option. But it was such a great idea. If you married Meguru, then the two of you could be together forever. It just made a lot of sense; who else in the world would you rather spend your entire life with? No one else could compare to your best friend. If you lived in the same house, then you could have sleepovers everyday, and never be separated. “I do!”
Your mom laughed. “Does he want to marry you, though? You can’t decide that on your own!”
“He will if I ask him,” you explained. “He doesn’t say no to me.”
Your mom laughed even harder at that, tears springing to the corner of her eyes. “So he’ll do whatever you say? That sounds very sweet of him.”
However, one memory from this period of time stood out to you, clearer than the rest. You would dream about it, taking it down from a shelf to blow off the dust and stare into its depths.
It was a hot spring day, about a year after you had started art lessons, and Meguru stumbled into the studio with bruises on his face and scrapes on his knees. He had been gone for most of the afternoon, which had disappointed you slightly, but you knew you would see him again. However, you never imagined it would be like this.
“Meguru!” You ran to him, watercolor brush dropping to the paint splattered floor, stopping to grab his shoulders in concern. “Are you okay? Do I need to get Bachira-san?”
Meguru shook his head, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “No.”
“What happened?” you asked urgently. “You’re hurt!”
Ushering him to a seat, you ran to the sink and grabbed a towel, running it under a gush of cold water, before returning and dabbing at Meguru’s wounds as gently as you could. Blood came away in thin streaks like paint.
“Hey…” Meguru began quietly, in a small voice. He didn’t sound like the cheerful boy you knew, the one who was never phased and bounced off from every mistake and accident with a bright smile. It reminded you a little of how, when you were driving home after lessons, you would peek back at Meguru. His figure looked a little lonely outlined against the sunset, as he bounced a soccer ball quietly to himself.
“What is it?” You ran back to the sink, where you opened the cabinet underneath it to fish out some bandaids.
“We’re friends, right?” Meguru asked.
“Huh? Where’s this coming from? Of course we are. What else would I be?”
Meguru looked down at his knees as you slapped a bandaid on his skinned knees without a complaint.
“So you don’t think I’m weird, right?” he said, and his lips quivered with each word. “You’re not gonna leave me?”
“You’re not weird,” you said firmly. It occurred to you, then, that Meguru never talked about anyone in his life outside of you and Bachira-san. You hadn’t seen him with any other kids your age, either. Maybe you were his whole world, in the same way he was yours. “You’re my best friend, and I would never leave you. If you’re worried about it, then we could get married.”
“Married?” Meguru peeked at you from under the fringe of his bangs.
“So we can be together forever,” you explained.
Meguru smiled, just a little, a wobbly uplifting of his mouth. “Okay! Pinky-promise me, then! We’re gonna get married.”
You lifted up your hand and, with all the clumsy reverence of a child, locked pinkies with Meguru. You shook once, twice, and then let go, as if this was a ceremony as solemn as a real wedding.
“What happened, though, Meguru? Are you sure it’s okay if I don’t get Bachira-san?”
Meguru shook his head. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Because we have each other, right?”
You beamed at him, sunshine spilling in your chest, a golden glow. “Right. We’ll always have each other!”
–
Over the next few days, Bachira’s promise hangs over you like a darkening cloud, slowly threatening rain.
It’s not like you forgot what you told him. You would contact him, eventually. But there was a time and place for everything, and this required more delicate care than anything you’ve undertaken so far. Besides, when you look at your phone screen, you feel a flush of embarrassment. You’ve never been able to bring yourself to block Bachira’s contact, and you still know his number by heart.
When you first moved to America, a small, foolish part of you thought that he would contact you eventually. He would come running back to you, unable to stand the distance any longer. In your most unbearable, romantic daydreams, he would fly over to California and beg you to go home to Japan with him. But the weeks passed, and you entertained desperate thoughts each time you saw the lack of notifications on your phone screen.
You should message him first. No, you should call him. Or call Bachira-san instead, and learn more about Bachira through her. Or you could show up at one of his football games, and Bachira would be overcome by emotion and throw his arms around you and everything would be repaired, as easy as that.
But your dreams were nothing compared to the overwhelming silence of reality. No, it was better to find a way to bury the memory of Bachira, and find someone else. There were so many people in the world, and maybe you had been too distracted to realize that, out there, there was someone more perfect and wonderful for you. That’s how you found yourself dating Thomas, accepting his confession without a second thought.
You’re reminded of that time as your fingers hover over Bachira’s icon now, sitting cross-legged on your bed. Keep it simple. A short message.
Are you free to meet up today? I think we should go to the park near your house.
Not even a few seconds later, your phone dings.
yes!!!!!!! heading over now :3
Now? You aren’t even ready! Is your outfit good? What about your appearance? Your hands flutter nervously. You could be over at the park in a matter of minutes if you took the car, but… Wait. Why are you worrying over this sort of thing again? Why do you still care so much about his opinion? Knowing Bachira, it’d all be the same to him whenever you showed up in a trash bag or a thousand dollar suit. He’s never been one to care much for appearances.
Your phone buzzes again, and you whip it up to your face. It’s not a message from Bachira, but an email from Thomas. Your heart lunches as you open it to read a simple message asking about your trip, and if you’ve been well.
You’ve forgotten entirely about him. Instead, you’ve been thinking only of Bachira. Sure, you’re technically not dating Thomas right now, but why does it still make you feel so guilty?
You made a note to yourself to message Thomas back later. You can only handle one thing at a time right now, and Bachira is the major agenda on your list. It only takes a few minutes for you to make your way to the park, agonizingly short and slow at the same time, as if time is warping around you.
Bachira is sitting on one of the swings, twisting the metal chains in spirals and letting go slowly, so he twists in dizzying loops. The air is soft, perfumed with the scent of newly flowering trees, white petals falling like pale rain.
You pause just outside the entrance. He hasn’t noticed you yet. When did Bachira grow taller? He’s always had a round face, but puberty has melted the last of his baby fat away. His hair, at least, is as messy as ever, strands curling in every direction away from his face, his wild bangs held in check by a few clips clinging to remain on.
The worst part is that you know him still, that you will always know him. That you would recognize him even under a different name or if you had been struck blind and deaf. You would know him by your touch alone, by scent, by taste. The very space Bachira occupies is left changed by his presence, and you could chase his lingering trails for the rest of your life.
“Bachira,” you greet, walking slowly to where he’s still twisting in circles. You grab the chains, jerking him to a sudden stop, and he tilts his head up to look at you as he sways back and forth on the swings, your shadow falling across his face.
“Hey, hey, hey! You’re here!”
You nod. Your voice has fled in Bachira’s presence, and all you can do is drink him in.
“I missed you,” Bachira says.
“We met a few days ago.”
“That’s not what I meant,” he says. “I meant I missed you the whole time you were gone from Japan! I thought of you the whole time.”
You finally manage to unstick your voice. “Why didn’t you text me?”
“Because you told me not to. You were so mad at me. I didn’t want to make you madder.”
“Did you think I hated you?” you say.
“You didn’t?” he says quietly.
“I…” you begin, then clear your throat. “I could never hate you.”
Bachira kicks at the ground. “Then why didn’t you text me?” he says, echoing your question.
“I was mad, Bachira. I…”
“You said we were best friends.”
You blink. Once, twice. “I did. I didn’t lie to you.”
“Then are we still best friends?”
“I…” You duck your head so he can’t see your face. “It’s been so long. And…” You can’t forget what happened in middle school. You can’t return to the way your relationship used to be, when you were children, and the world was simple, and uncomplicated. Why did he look at you like the two of you could? “It’s different now.”
“I always thought you were my best friend,” he says plaintively. “That’s never changed.”
“Then in middle school, why did you…” You chew the tender flesh of your cheek.
When you were in America, you had fantasized about what you would say to him, how you would redo your argument and say the right words to strike home. You had thought about running into him again, and how the perfect speech would flow from your mouth, conveying all your feelings, mending whatever had broken all those years ago. In angrier times, you thought about hitting right where it hurt, your words like a sword, and you, the perfect, righteous victim. Now, though? Now your sentences come in bits and pieces, awkward and stilted, breaking under his gaze.
“Why did you do that to me, Bachira?” you continue quietly. “Do you think we can go back to the way we were before, just like that?”
A buzz emanates from your pocket. Grateful for the distraction, you drop your grip from the swings. There are imprints of the chain links on your palm as you swipe open your new notification.
“Is it your mom?” Bachira asks.
You squint at the bright email on your phone. “No. It’s from my boyfriend.”
“Boyfriend?” There’s a strange quaver in Bachira’s voice.
“My boyfriend. In America,” you add. “He plays football, too, and he drives me to places.” You feel mean then, your heart shriveling into something small and petty. You hadn’t intended to lie about Thomas, who was just your ex, but the lie feels good as you drink in Bachira’s lost gaze, eyes wide and shimmering with unspoken emotions.
“I’m qualified to make nationals for football,” Bachira says, that odd tone still in his voice.
“So is my boyfriend,” you add. The football season in America had just started, but Bachira didn’t need to know that.
“Cars are overrated. I just walk everywhere. It helps me become a better player,” Bachira adds.
“I should probably go so I can respond to him,” you say, waving your phone, ambling slowly towards the park entrance. Bachira’s gaze never leaves your phone.
Bachira kicks hard at the ground, shoes digging into the angry dirt. “So you like him, then? You like him a lot?”
“Bachira.” Your gaze bores into him. A breeze, sweet with the scent of flowers, ruffles his hair. “The way we are now, I don’t think you have the right to question me.”
He flinches, spinning the swing into motion, as if he can fly far from your words. But he’s only going back and forth in one direction, legs kicking at the sky.
You watch him for a while longer. All the anger drains out of you then. What is it that you came back here for, anyways? What are you looking for? What do you want? If growing up is going to be so painful, then maybe Bachira is right. You should have remained the way you once were, just the two of you.
–
By pulling some strings and begging your mom, you were able to get into the same public middle school as Meguru. The plan initially had been to send you to a fancy prep school overseas for both middle and high school, but you rebelled and pleaded, threatening to run away and to ruin the family reputation.
“I’ve never seen you cry so hard,” your mom teased. “From the way you were acting, I might as well have been torturing you. I didn’t realize you hated the idea of studying abroad so much.”
Your face burned at her words. “I’m sorry, Okaa-san.”
“Don’t be. It was cute. You hardly ever act like that, so it was nice to see.” She slid a sly smile at you. “But I wonder… is there a particular reason you wanted to go to this middle school?”
You shook your head vehemently. “No! Not at all!”
“Really? Not even for a certain little cute friend of yours?” your mom continues.
“Okaa-san!” you protested, and she threw up her hands in surrender.
When you started middle school with Meguru in the spring, though, it hadn’t been like what you expected. For starters, there was always a sea of people around you, pushing Meguru away like he was a piece of kelp set adrift on the tide. You knew how to make friends; how to smile just so, or to reply in the right lulls in the conversation to keep it going. But Meguru was always in a corner by himself. Even when you invited him over, your classmates would smile awkwardly at his nonchalant comments, or find reasons to drift away.
“He’s weird,” one of your classmates confided in you, one hand cupped around her mouth. “He talks to himself sometimes, and he never pays attention in class. He’s not a bad guy, but… he should try to fit in more.”
She looked expectantly at you, as if offering you a gift. You backed away from her instead, your own smile strained. “I see. But I like Meguru the way he is. He’s not doing anything wrong, and I don’t see why he has to change.”
Regardless of how the other students treated Meguru, though, you were determined not to let it affect you.
You were the only one to greet him in the hallways, and to sit by him during lunch. In the warm weather, the two of you would sit side by side in a secluded corner of the classroom, or try to find a place to sit outside under the shade of some trees. You walked home with him (because he preferred to dribble his football on the way, instead of taking a ride in your car), and walked to school with him, asking the driver to drop you off in front of his house. You dragged Meguru to study with you, somehow pulling him through each exam by the skin of his teeth, because you refused to imagine a situation in which the two of you wouldn’t be in a class together. Your classmates started joking that if they wanted to find you, all they had to do was call Meguru’s name, and you would pop up expectantly.
It was shaping up to be a good three years of middle school. You would graduate on time at this rate, and go to high school together. The only issue, though, was something that took place during the start of your third year of middle school. A classmate of yours had asked you to meet him after school, surrounded by two of his friends who grinned and elbowed him as he rubbed his neck, refusing to look you in the eye.
You didn’t think much of it at the time. When you showed up at the classroom, he turned to you with a sudden desperation, face red, and bowed.
“Please go out with me!” he said. “I’ve had a crush on you for the past two years!”
“Huh?” You gripped the straps of your bag tighter. “You… you like me?”
He bowed even more deeply at your confused tone. “Is it no good? Do you not feel anything for me?”
“I’m flattered, but I don’t like you in that way. I’m sorry,” you said gently.
The boy groaned. “I knew it. It’s because of Bachira, right? The two of you are always together. I don’t stand a chance against him.”
“Because of Meguru?” you repeated.
The boy nodded. “You like each other, right? It’s obvious. Man, I shouldn’t have tried to get in between that.”
You couldn’t find the words to deny him or to fix the misunderstanding, even after the two of you parted. You and Meguru? Of course you liked him. He was your best friend.
But you couldn’t let go of that boy’s words. You mulled over them, again and again. Like clothes that no longer fit quite right, your relationship with Meguru had changed shape before you had noticed. Somehow, that boy was the first to notice.
You always waited for Meguru to finish soccer practice, no matter how late it ran. Sometimes you had student council duties, or you would just sit cross-legged and work on your homework as he ran around the field. You’d done this for all three years of middle school, and the entire team knew you by name. The coach would jokingly ask if you were okay if you ever missed a day of practice, calling you an honorary member of the team.
Today was no different, and you made your way to the soccer field to wait for him. Without fail, when Meguru finished, the first thing he did was whip his head around, looking for you. As soon as he did, he made a beeline straight to you, without a care in the world.
He threw his arms around you from behind, causing the two of you to tumble into the grass. You shrieked, and he laughed, and you were a tangled pile of clinging limbs and grass stains.
It’s what he did. It’s what he was like. So why did your heart burst like a thousand butterflies into flight, reacting to his touch? He’s always been touchy. Your classmate was getting in your head.
“There you are!” Meguru said, looping his arms around your neck, heedless of who was watching, even if the team was used to his antics. “Let’s go home now!”
When he nuzzled his head into your shoulder, you couldn’t move, skin hot wherever he touched you.
“Okay, let’s go home, Meguru,” you said softly.
As soon as you went home, you sprinted past your mom to leap onto your bed and hug your pillow. You liked Meguru. You liked him so much, and it was so obvious now. It was the most natural stage for your relationship to progress to. Maybe you had always liked him, and you just didn’t have the words for it until now. Meguru had always been the most special person in the world to you, and that idea had simply taken on a new shade of meaning.
He had promised to be with you forever, hadn’t he? And Meguru would never break a promise to you.
You were careful not to let Meguru know your feelings over the following months. It would be embarrassing if he discovered them so soon, especially when it had taken you so long to realize them. But everyday after you went home, you would list all the things he had done that day, like touching your hand and hugging you, and calling your name three different times during history class. Everything about him felt so much more special now.
You liked him. You liked him so much. And you had to do something about it before graduation. As the months dripped by like water falling from a melting icicle, you planned when to make your move: on the most romantic day of the year.
During Valentine’s Day, you splayed your bandaged fingers across your desk in anticipation, your gift wrapped neatly in your backpack.
It had taken you all week to make the chocolates, which you had painstakingly molded into chocolate hearts. Since it was the first Valentine’s in which you were giving someone chocolate, you had delicately filled each heart with different fruit flavored jams– strawberry, orange, and even pineapple, Meguru’s favorite. The chocolates were nestled in a bag of pink cellophane and white tissue paper, with a red ribbon neatly tied in a bow on top. You had refused help from everyone, even the chef and your mom, because it was more special if you did it by yourself.
You hadn’t been able to stop bouncing in your seat all morning, nervous energy thrumming through you as the teacher’s history lecture went in one ear and out the other. The chocolates burned like a secret in your school bag, and you couldn’t resist fiddling with the zipper, constantly sliding it down to make sure the gift was still there.
When lunch finally rolled around, like an anxious puppy, you jumped out of your seat and headed straight to Meguru, who was sleeping, his head buried in his arms and doodles scattered across his notebooks like stars.
“Meguru,” you said, shaking his shoulder. “Meguru, wake up. Class is over.”
“Uh?” Meguru blinked one slow, sleepy eye at you, before stretching. “It is?”
“Yes. I have something to show you,” you emphasized. “It’s a surprise.”
“What is it?” He sat up, staring at you expectantly.
You glanced around the classroom; only a few people were still in their seats, eating homemade lunches and chatting with their friends, heads bent over magazines or phones. Reaching in your bag, you fumbled for the chocolates, hands trembling as you presented them to Meguru.
“Chocolate? Wow, thanks!” His eyes lit up as he reached for the bag, untying it and shaking a few of the hearts into his hand. He popped them in his mouth, his lips curling up in bliss. “These are so good!”
“I made them myself,” you explained shyly. “It took a while, but… I wanted to do something special for you, Meguru.”
He stuffed another chocolate into his mouth. “Thanks! You’re the best friend ever!”
Your face twitched at his choice of words, but you still plowed on. “Well… These aren’t just any chocolates, you know? Do you remember what day it is?”
“Uh…”
“It’s Valentine’s,” you supplied impatiently. “So, um…”
“These are friendship chocolates?” Meguru asked, his cheeks puffing out like a chipmunk.
“No.” Your hands were clammy now. It was just Meguru. Meguru, who you’ve known forever. Meguru, who promised to be by your side. Meguru, who understood you more than anyone else in the world. Why were you so afraid? He’d never hurt you.
“Can I share these with my mom?” Meguru continued innocently. “I think she’d love ‘em, too.”
“No!” Meguru stared at you, and your cheeks burned. “Sorry. I can make some for Bachira-san later. But these are special, Meguru. They’re… they’re not friendship chocolates.”
A sudden hush descended over the classroom. You were on a stage, a bright, hot spotlight beaming down on you and making your neck sweat. This wasn’t anything like what you read about how confessions went in shoujo manga. Meguru’s clueless eyes burned into you, and it was like he didn’t understand the script you were trying to read for him.
Meguru ate another heart, gnashing it beneath his teeth. “Eh? What other kind of chocolate can they be?”
You forced the words out. “They’re… they’re romantic. I’m confessing to you. I like you, Meguru.”
Your breathing was shallow, and your heart beat like a frightened animal. You couldn’t look at him anymore, and the heaviness of your words dropped like stones onto the floor.
“Oh. Um… I’m sorry.” The awkwardness in Meguru’s voice was too much. You backed away from his desk, tears burning at the corner of your eyes. When you looked up, you could see your classmates, feigning disinterest as they purposefully avoided your gaze.
You burst out of the classroom, ignoring the sound of Meguru’s chair screeching back as he yelled after you, “Wait!”
You were fast, but Meguru was faster. You skidded down the steps wildly, taking several at a time, and you were half down the landing when Meguru caught up to you. He called your name at the top of the stairs, but you refused to look back– and then, he landed in front of you, breathing heavily, shirt sleeves rolled up. He had jumped down an entire flight of stairs to catch up to you.
Meguru called your name. “Wait! Wait, wait.”
You turned your head away, but you could still sense Meguru in front of you. Your childhood friend. Your best friend. You had drawn hearts around his name in the back of your notebook this morning.
“What is it?” you said softly. Maybe you were wrong. Maybe Meguru had just been surprised, and now he would confess his feelings.
It was a joke, right?” he said uncertainly. “You were joking. It was a weird joke, but–”
“I wasn’t joking!” you yelled, shoving him backwards with a wild strength that surprised you. You haven’t been this mad at him since you first met.
Meguru stumbled back a few steps, watching you with wide eyes. It was an expression you hadn’t seen on him before: confused, lost, and afraid. Shouldn’t you be the one making that face?
“Okay. Um. It’s just weird if our relationship changes like that. You and me? That’s kinda weird,” he said again. “We’re friends! I don’t want to be anything else.”
You dug your nails into the meat of your palm until the pain was all you could think about. “I don’t want to be friends.”
“Huh?” Now Meguru looked even more afraid.
“I like you, Meguru,” you said, a broken sob in your voice. “I can’t just be friends with you. I…”
Meguru stepped closer to you. There was a starburst of hope in your chest, before it was dashed by Meguru dropping your Valentine’s Day chocolate in your hands. You curled your fingers over the hearts, crushing them in your palm.
“I don’t want to do this,” Meguru mumbled. “I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear anything, okay?”
“You’re a coward,” you said furiously, pushing all your hurt into your voice. You weren’t sad. You weren’t going to cry. Not especially in front of him. “I– I don’t want to see you again. Don’t talk to me. You liar! You said you would always be by my side!”
When you looked down the stairs, you could see a few of your fellow students, awkwardly hovering near the bottom of the landing. They averted their gazes when they met your eyes, but your whole body felt hot with rage and embarrassment. How many people had seen and heard the two of you? By tomorrow, everyone in school would probably be gossiping about how you were rejected by Meguru.
You ran. You ran, and this time, Meguru didn’t stop you as you jumped down the stairs. Somehow, you made your way home. You started listlessly at your phone, but there was no message from Meguru. You had been the one to tell him not to contact you, but… you threw your phone onto your bed.
Stupid Meguru. Stupid you. It had never occurred to you that Meguru might not feel the same way as you. You had been so arrogant, so certain that he liked you, and now you had embarrassed yourself in front of the whole school.
Did he forget? He promised to marry you. But that had been on a childish whim of his, no doubt, something he had long forgotten. You buried your head in your arms, and cried until you could drown the entirety of Chiba in your tears.
When your mom came home that night, a frown was brewing on her face, but the sight of your puffy eyes and hoarse voice stopped her lecture.
“What happened?” she asked you. “The school called me. You skipped classes.”
You shook your head. “I want to study abroad for high school.”
“What? Are you sure? You were so excited to go to school with Meguru-kun. The process would be–”
“I don’t care,” you said. His name stung your heart. “I want to go to America, Okaa-san. Please.”
She peered at you closely, then sighed. “Okay. Okay, let’s talk about this later. But if you really want to, then it’s not too late to make it happen.”
For the rest of your time until graduation, you avoided Meguru. You didn’t text him. When you saw him in the halls, you turned around and went a different way. You stuck closely to your other friends, and went home right away whenever you didn’t have any extracurriculars. You no longer visited the football field after school.
No one was cruel enough to talk about your confession to your face, but you could feel the glances, hear the whispers, until everyone lost interest and moved on to the next piece of gossip.
A part of you expected Meguru to come running to you, but he quietly kept out of your way. Maybe he was avoiding you, just as much as you were avoiding him. What an odd thought; Meguru had always been the first to whine when you had to leave to visit your grandparents for the summer. He was the one who always threw his arms around you. Maybe your relationship hadn’t meant that much to him after all.
When it came time for you to move to America, you and Meguru graduated middle school without talking to each other at all.
–
For some reason, you can’t bring yourself to talk to Thomas about Bachira.
In fact, you haven’t told any of your American friends about Bachira. You spent the first year in California trying to forget him, blindly agreeing to go on dates with any boys who showed interest in you. But their love for you was never greater than your own lack of it. Thomas is only the most recent one and you follow his lead, not out of loyalty, but convenience.
You keep your thoughts held tight to your chest, precious secrets that you refuse to let spill out of your grasp. With everyone in your life, sometimes even your mom, you have always put up a front. The only person you didn’t do that with was with Bachira.
Bachira is an open wound, one that grows bigger with every year, overwhelming you with its enormity and the way pressing on it still makes you ache. Your friends would laugh if you told them you were hanging on to a boy for so long, nursing this pain like your own child. They wouldn’t understand, and you would look pathetic in their eyes. There are no words in English or Japanese to describe what he means to you. His hold on you is as eternal as the way the flowers bloom during the spring, and the world revolves on its axis.
The rest of spring break passes in a flash. You hardly run into Bachira anymore, and your mom doesn’t force any more meetings. You email Thomas, who responds with boyish enthusiasm even at your dry answers.
The night before your morning flight, you rush up and down the stairs, sorting your various toiletries and stuffing clothes into your suitcase.
“All ready?” your mom asks you, nursing a mug of tea at the counter, watching you bustle.
“Yes, Okaa-san,” you say obediently. She holds open her arms, and you stop by for a hug, her arms enveloping you. She runs a hand in circles along your back, humming to herself.
“You’re such a good child,” she says affectionately. “Come visit me again soon. I’ll be lonely without you.”
“Okay.”
“And…” She pulls back to peer into your eyes. “You’re a little too good to me. You should try to be more wild. Rebel, so I can throw up my hands in exasperation at you and complain to all my friends.”
“I’ll try, so you have something to talk about with your coworkers,” you say, and she pinches your nose.
“Don’t try. Just do it,” she scolds. “I’ll always forgive you for any silly mistakes you make.”
“Okay, Okaa-san,” you say. “If I break a law, I’ll let you know in advance to prepare my bail.”
She smiles sadly. “You’re so old now. I wish you wouldn’t get hurt in life, but I can’t fix everything for you.”
“The world isn’t that nice,” you agree.
“You haven’t talked to Meguru-kun recently,” she says gently. “Did something happen?”
You stiffen, your face shuttering closed. “We’re okay. We’re just busy.”
She stirs the tea in her mug. “Okay. I won’t push you any further. Your life is yours to live. But I’ll always be here for you, if you need me.”
She leans in to kiss you on the forehead, and you want to cry. From the way she hesitates, you know she wants to say something else, but she simply lets you go.
How long has your mom suspected that your relationship with Bachira isn’t as pleasant as you pretend it is? You rub your forehead as you rush upstairs, dumping the last of your items into your suitcase. You sit on top of it to force it closed as you start zipping up the side, when your phone buzzes.
Bachira? No, it’s Thomas. The header of the email causes you to drop your phone in surprise.
About our relationship…
You pick up your phone, skimming the email.
Can we get back together? You read. I miss you.
How fickle. He was the one who broke up with you, and now he wants to get back together right away as soon as it’s convenient. That might not be a bad idea, though. A relationship where you knew what was expected from you, a simple transaction, would be easy.
Your phone buzzes again; it’s an incoming call. You stare at the caller ID for a few seconds, your surprised face reflected in the screen, before you answer, pressing the phone close to your ear.
“Hello?”
“Hi,” Bachira says. “I’m outside.”
“What?”
“I’m outside your door,” he repeats. “Can you come outside? If not, I’ll come in.”
“Why are you here?” You stand, heart pounding.
“Kaa-san told me you were leaving tomorrow,” Bachira says. “So I wanted to stop by.”
“Bachira…”
“Just for a little bit,” he persists. “That’s all you need to do.”
You sigh. “All right, fine. But only for a few minutes, okay?”
You hang up, pulling on a light jacket before you’re flying down the stairs, trading your house slippers for flip flops, and burst into the cool night air. The sun is setting, painting the sky in vibrant swatches of peaches and reds. There’s a cool breeze, sweet with the scent of new growth.
Bachira is leaning outside your family gate, a football tucked under his arm.
“What is it?” you ask him tersely, shoving your hands in your jacket pockets.
“You’re going back to America?” he says.
“Yeah. Tomorrow.”
“When will you come back?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll go to university there,” you reply. You had planned to come back for summer break to see your mom, but he didn’t need to know that.
“Okay.” Bachira looks at the ground. “What about your boyfriend?”
“Why do you want to know about him?”
“Do you like him?”
“I… Sure,” you say, but it sounds weak, even to your own ears. “We’re on break right now because he’s busy with football season, but we’re thinking about getting back together,” you add more strongly, and Bachira kicks at the ground.
“He sounds like a jerk. Why’d he break up with you if he just wants to get back together whenever he wants?”
“At least he’s clear with his intentions,” you say sharply. “And he doesn’t run away.”
Bachira flinches, but it doesn’t make you feel as good as it should have. “... Shouldn’t…” he mumbles.
“What?” You tilt your head to catch his words.
“You shouldn’t get with him again,” Bachira says, still kicking at the ground like he would dribble his football.
“Why not?” You laugh, short and bitter. “How is that your business, Bachira? It’s not like you’re my boyfriend. We’re not even— we’re not even friends anymore.”
No response. What did you expect?
“I’m tired of this, okay?” you say softly. “All this stupid back and forth. We keep going in circles. If all we’re going to do is hurt each other, then let’s just end this here.”
Bachirs looks up at you finally, his gaze full of so much desperation and uncertainty. His chin trembles as he says, “I’m sorry.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry,” he repeats, more serious than you’ve ever heard him. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I rejected your confession. I’m sorry I didn’t call you.”
Bachira might as well have stabbed you. “Do you think that’s going to fix things? You’re sorry? Now? After all this time? What’s that going to fucking fix?” you say, your voice rising with each word you spit out.
“You didn’t call me, either,” Bachira says quietly. You flinch at the raw hurt in his voice, his overwhelming sadness. “You’re the one who just left without a word. You’re the one who ignored me. You were my only friend. You were my best friend.”
You chew your lip hard. Were. Not are. “I couldn’t face you anymore,” you say.
“I thought our friendship was stronger than that,” he says.
“I guess it wasn’t.”
“Do you really not want to be friends anymore?”
“What do you think? You want us to go back to how we were before and pretend nothing happened? It’s too late. Everything has changed. There’s no going back,” you spit. “You broke my heart. I… I loved you.”
“Then why did you just leave so easily? If you loved me?” Bachira asks. “You ran away and didn’t even try.”
“I could ask you the same,” you snap. “Just tell me it’s over. Okay? Reject me for good.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not? It was so easy for you before.”
“Because I love you,” Bachira says desperately.
It’s the world’s cruelest joke. Bachira reaches an uncertain hand towards you, and you jerk back, tears rolling down your face and blurring your vision. He can’t touch you. If he does, you’ll break apart. “Don’t lie,” you say. “You’re the worst.”
“I’m not lying. I didn’t want to admit it before,” he says. “When you told me you liked me, I was scared by how I felt.”
“Stop it.”
“I didn’t want to lose you,” he says. “Things were changing so fast. You were my only friend, and if you liked me, then we couldn’t ever go back to being just friends.”
“So you’re doing this to me now?” you say. The tears are still falling, and you hug yourself. You feel so weak and so young, all your surety stripped away. “You think you can do this to me?”
I’m sorry,” he says.
“You lost me either way,” you snap, “when you broke my heart like that.”
“I know. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you how I felt, and I’m sorry I pushed you away.”
You give a strangled laugh. “Really?”
“You don’t have to like me,” he says. “You can be as mad as you want. If you gotta go to America, that’s fine. If you– wanna be with someone else, too, if you don’t love me, that’s okay. We don’t even have to be friends, if you hate me. Just– can I please– can I love you? Is that okay? I don’t want to lose you again.”
“You’re so mean, Meguru,” you whisper. You can’t go forward until you confront him. You can’t go back because it’s impossible. Your fate has always been twisted by the boy in front of you.
You grab the front of his shirt, twisting the fabric in your hands savagely, as you press your lips against his. It’s a short kiss, salty with the taste of your tears, and Bachira is too surprised to kiss you back.
“Eh?” Bachira asks dazedly.
“You piss me off,” you say.
“Uh?”
You take a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Meguru. I’m sorry I left you alone and that I ran away from you and that I gave up so easily. I was scared, okay? But… I never hated you. Ever.”
“You called me Meguru,” Meguru breathes. And then he throws his arms around your neck.
“You’re so clingy,” you complain, hesitantly wrapping your arms around his back. You’ve missed his warmth, familiar and pleasant and gentle. “Didn’t you hear what I said?”
“Sort of!”
“Pay attention!”
“Okay. Well, let’s start over from the beginning, then,” he says. “We can do it again this time, and do it better.” He pulls back from you, clearing his throat. “Hi, I’m Bachira Meguru! It’s nice to meet you,” he says goofily, sticking out his hand.
“Hi.” You take his hand, giving it one shake, introducing your name. “Let’s… let’s be friends.”
“We can’t date?” Meguru asks, pouting, and you frown at him.
“No. Not now,” you acknowledge. “I have to talk to Thomas properly about how I feel. And I’m going back to America tomorrow. And there’s so much that I have to sort through—”
Meguru leans in and kisses you mid-sentence, a quick, butterfly of a kiss that steals all the words from you. “We’ll be friends for now. And if you want, then we can try dating. And even marriage.”
“Married?” you sputter. “Who said anything about marriage?”
“You did,” he says nonchalantly.
“From when we were kids,” you point out.
“Eh? Does that matter? We promised, so we have to follow through on it.”
“Don’t tell me you were going to propose to me.”
“In the future,” he says. “We can’t get married before we’re adults.”
“Meguru,” you say slowly. “Were you seriously planning on proposing to me? Before even asking my opinion?”
“What’s wrong with that? I thought you liked romantic stuff. Isn’t that romantic?”
You grit your teeth. You move to grab his shoulders, but Meguru dodges your grasp and slides backwards. You lunge at him again, but he dances out of your way.
“Come back here, Bachira Meguru,” you yell. “Do you have any common sense?”
“Who needs that?” he says cheerfully.
It feels like your first meeting as kids, so long ago. No one else in the world can quite make you feel this way, for better or for worse. Frustrated, you chase after Meguru as he weaves out of your grasp and hops down the length of the sidewalk. This goes on for a little bit, and just when you’ve run out of steam, Meguru spins around. Before you can move, he leaps at you and gathers you into a hug, his arms around your waist.
“Meguru, cut it out,” you say, annoyed, but you don’t move out of his grasp.
“Hmm…” he says. “I’ve decided! I’ll come visit you in America!”
“What?”
Meguru nods to himself, satisfied. “It’ll be fun! I’ve never been out of the country before! Hey, do you think I could fit in your suitcase?”
“Obviously not!”
You take a deep gulp of the spring air, sweet in your mouth, the flowering trees sending a blessing of pink petals over you. You and Meguru. Meguru and you. It’s just like when the two of you were little, only you’re starting over this time. Nothing would ever be the same again, but what new things could you build instead? What sort of people would you be now?
You hold out your hand to Meguru. He takes it easily, interlacing your fingers like he’s always belonged there. With his touch, an endless world of possibilities unfolds before you. This time, the two of you will explore it together.
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