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rosesandtoshi · 1 year
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important 🚨
to make a long story very short, it's come out that rowan (aka sam aka shannon aka quinn–on twitter) who most of you may know as betheydocrimewrites, shxnonymous, or memxntomxri, is, in fact, a minor despite claiming to be 23 (for multiple years now). 14 years old, to be specific, which would've made them 12/13 when they were active on tumblr. they have multiple discord profiles, so if you're contacted by/are still in contact with eudaemonia.#4917 or quinnxotry#8798, please stop talking to them. they are a minor that is adamant about engaging with adults and adult content with no care about the adults that could put them in harm's way.
they are underaged and were involved in multiple nsfw spaces, and (on twitter) they were the mod for multiple nsfw events (at least five, if not more). it's also been alleged that they've taken money from people online during this ruse and lied about their nationality. be wary.
a lot of us, especially the community on twitter, are very shocked by this, and all of us who were involved with this person are taken aback at the moment. please know, none of us knew about this and are just as shocked as you may be. stay safe ♥️
more info (including photos) under the cut ✨
again, making this short by only including the concrete proof of this.
the age stuff:
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on twitter, they go by quinn. their carrd at one point said they were 14 (this was never linked on their tumblr account, only twitter). that's as clear as it can get. they were also affiliated with someone on twitter named ariel who has also been proven to be a minor, engaged in "anti" discord groups with other -18 members, and attempted to allow minors into an 18+ jujutsu kaisen big bang event (@jujutsukaisenbb) on twitter (before updating the criteria after initial criticism and eventually deactivating and discontinuing the event after all of the backlash).
they also faked their age verif with an ID that has a birth year of 1988, while lying about being 23, while actually being 14.
the money/nationality stuff:
rowan/sam frequently said they were taiwanese here on tumblr. their age verf (that i'm not showing for privacy reasons) is a taiwanese ID. in one of their many cards as "quinn," they claim to be PH and a good portion of the content is written in tagalog. they began raising funds for family members in PH but its come out that there was absolutely no update about that money.
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the campaign was later changed to be for "life supplies."
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twitter:
i can't summarize all of the events they were a part of on twitter, but it was a lot. they were heavily involved in the community and were even mods for quite a few events. everyone has removed them as a mod.
be safe on here. boosts appreciated.
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rosesandtoshi · 2 years
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⭐ It’s Bokuto’s B Day ⭐
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rosesandtoshi · 2 years
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Trying a new art style and drew alders sakusa ….a bit what if thought based on some twitter stuff
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rosesandtoshi · 2 years
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I can finally post my piece for the @sakusazine left over sales are on August 22 !!!
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rosesandtoshi · 2 years
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trying new style who this....also this is posted on my bnha twitter
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rosesandtoshi · 2 years
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I can finally post my piece for the @sakusazine left over sales are on August 22 !!!
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rosesandtoshi · 2 years
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im figuring out my tablet and csp ...thank you mattsun for being an inspiration naha
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rosesandtoshi · 2 years
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9:09 a.m.
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“babe.. baby… y/n… babe!” bokuto whispered loudly, gently shaking your shoulder in attempts to wake you. but you didn’t budge, only making your boyfriend pout in defeat. “you’re such a heavy sleeper,” he grumbles.
bokuto was an early bird, seeing as he always got up at 5:30 in the morning to go on his morning jog and make the both of you breakfast. but every single time he went to wake you up, it took ages because- unlike your boyfriend- you were nowhere near to being a morning person.
you let out a soft and incoherent mumble in your sleep, making bokuto’s eyes light up thinking that you had finally woken up. but when you turn over onto your back, he found that your eyes were still closed, quiet murmurs of god-knows-what slipping past your lips.
he couldn’t help but smile at how adorable you looked while sleeping. your eyebrows slightly knit together, your lips softly smacking after a few breaths, and quiet mumbles of words sneaking out of your parted lips. “it’s time for breakfast, angel,” he says, a tiny bit louder than when he tried to wake you up earlier.
he grabs your hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze before leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey,” he whispers in your ear, earning a soft grumble from you.
you turn over, wrapping your arm around his torso, somehow capturing him in your grasp as your leg entangles with his, your head resting atop his chest. he sighs, lightheartedly, admitting defeat. “so i guess no breakfast?” he asks your sleepy figure, gently running his fingers through your hair.
he feels you shake your head slowly, muttering out a quiet and tired ‘no’, and he chuckles. “but you gotta eat, babe. breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” he responds, but you only squeeze him tighter, letting out a quiet whine of protest.
“why not?” he asks, laughing just a bit harder.
“don’t wanna.”
“and why not, babe?”
“because.”
“because why, babe?”
you nuzzle your face into his chest, your voice sending vibrations through his body as you mumble something he couldn’t quite decipher. “what was that?” he asks quietly, his hand now rubbing gentle circles on your back. you mutter something again, your words not any clearer.
“baby, you’re gonna have to repeat that,” he smiles, watching as you lift your head. he sees how your eyes are still closed, a pout placed upon your lips, and your eyebrows scrunched together. “said, i don’t wanna cause i wanna cuddle,” you let out, voice tired and a bit hoarse.
bokuto laughs again, sitting up and placing you in his lap. you rest your head against his shoulder, drifting back to sleep. “we can cuddle after you eat the delicious food i made,” he whispers, beginning to carry you down to the kitchen.
your arms drape over his shoulders, your nose nuzzling into the side of his neck. “fine,” you grumble. he chuckles again, “you’re always so grouchy.”
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rosesandtoshi · 2 years
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Scratchable 🤭
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he likes it when you wear his msby jersey while you're fucking in the car or lockerroom bc its like a good luck charm/ritual before a match and that also means he's got nothing keeping his back from being all marked up by you 😌
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rosesandtoshi · 2 years
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Please STOP SPAM LIKING. It will end up getting people shadowbanned and it is just very irritating. If you spam like my pieces I will block you, I don’t care if your age is in your bio
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rosesandtoshi · 2 years
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“Yer so good baby—fuck—”
There’s nothing you enjoy more than hearing Atsumu moan, really.
The sounds that slip past his kiss swollen lips are intoxicating—veering on whines sometimes and close to a growl other times. Everything he says, every sound that comes out of his mouth makes you work harder, hollowing your cheeks around his cock and lapping at the fat, drooling head to hear him make that breathy sound again.
Every time his fingers tighten in your hair you press your legs together, every time he pushes you forward your eyes roll back. You know Atsumu’s feeling smug about how much choking on his cock makes you feel good too.
“Y’look so good gaggin’ on my cock, baby,” he slurs, watching the way your back curls and your fingers dig into the muscle of his thick, thick thighs as you gag. “Love to see ya on yer knees, droolin’ all over me—so fuckin’ good—”
The sound of you slurping around his cock is embarrassing and humiliating, bringing heat to your cheeks as Atsumu chuckles around a moan.
Everything about this is messy—there’s spit dripping down onto your chest and thighs, you’re leaking onto the floor and you’re sure there’s tear streaks running down your cheeks.
But it’s incredible, it feels good, it makes Atsumu feel good, you want to cum, you want Atsumu to cum.
Atsumu can see it in your eyes—the desperation, the wordless pleading in your tear filled gaze. He almost makes a comment, almost teases you about it, but then your brows are furrowing in determination and your tongue is laving along the vein running along the underside of his cock and you’re pushing forward in a moment of his fingers falling slack among your hair and his lips falling slack on a moan.
He’s sure that if he could describe paradise, this would be it. He’s sure he’s in love with you.
(Not that he didn’t know before.)
The way your throat flutters around the head of his cock makes him nearly dizzy with pleasure, makes his fingers tighten again and his hand push you forward until your nose is buried in dark pubes.
His thighs tremble beneath your fingers the closer he gets, his moans rising in volume and lowering in pitch, teeth gritted and brow pinched.
“‘M gonna cum,” he warns you, needlessly really, and watches the way you look up at him with blown pupils as you pull back and suck at the head of his cock messily. Atsumu can’t help but throw his head back and groan at the look you give him. “C’mere, ‘m not even gonna let you taste it ‘n gonna cum so fuckin’ deep—”
Of course Atsumu makes good on his promise—of course he pulls you close once again and lets the tightening of your throat push him over the edge with a tight groan, his cum shooting down your throat and entirely missing your tongue.
The click of your throat when he pulls his cock out of your mouth is kind of disgusting, but Atsumu’s grin is bright anyway.
“Y’gonna let me make you cum now?”
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rosesandtoshi · 2 years
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Alias change
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Junie - - - > Lynn
Reblogs appreciated.
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rosesandtoshi · 2 years
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Currently OPEN
Product description: In celebration of hitting another milestone, we here at bokutosmochi have decided to join the bandwagon and organize a match-up event to thank our delightful customers.
What you can expect of our upcoming products: An Instagram post of you and your match-up.
If interested, please thoroughly read through the rules listed below:
Keep reading
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rosesandtoshi · 2 years
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based on this one reddit post I found, if I come across it again ill link it
wakatoshi’s been hiding a secret from you. a pretty big one actually but he’s doing it all for you especially with you having to get right back to work after a couple of months of giving birth, and he'd seen how much distress it had caused you to be away from your little baby girl after your maternal leave was done, how much time you spent with your baby as soon as you came home, sometimes even pushing toshi out of the way to get to your baby he's mad cuz he didn't get his kiss (he's the actual babie) but he's been keeping secrets.
wakatoshi has never been good with secrets, he'd always told you whatever was going on in his mind, no matter how crazy it might seem, he didn't like keeping secrets from you,
but
he saw how tired you looked when you came home today, complaining as soon as you entered about a deal that you had to close before the other side pulled out and with a quick kiss to his lips, you made way to where your baby is, cooing slightly and the tired feeling of the day already washing out of you as soon as you set your eyes on them pulling themselves up right beside the couch and then all of a sudden,
your baby walked. sure she struggled a bit, stumbling and bouncing but yet, she walked for the first time. gasping with wide eyes you reach your hands out, encouraging them to walk a bit more towards you, you called out to wakatoshi with a quick toshi come look at her!!, and there he was standing beside where you're sitting, encouraging your bundle of joy to walk towards you both, which she did bit by bit and you suddenly felt your heart flutter and tears gather at your lash line and with a few steps there she was in all her glory, bouncing up and down and giggling with her tiny two-toothy grin at you both, with tears you picked her up and turned to look at wakatoshi, " toshi can you believe it? she walked and- and I was here to see it, oh my god she walked for the first time and I was here-" you choked on your own words hugging your little baby girl.
that night it was all you were able to talk about, and wakatoshi's heart jumped at how happy u looked and looking at your pretty face adorning the biggest smile it can carry, he determined that right then and there that he didn't have the heart to tell you that your daughter took her first steps with him earlier that day but seeing how distraught u were with how much little time you got with your baby, wakatoshi determined that this secret was something that he was carry with him until the day he died.
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rosesandtoshi · 2 years
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reblog if you remember what it felt like to walk into blockbuster
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rosesandtoshi · 2 years
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i want to be (among the stars)
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t. satori x f!reader
cws: f!reader, angst (w/ happy ending), talk of {depression, death, self loathing, mental illness}, hurt/comfort, strangers to friends to lovers, tendou-centric, non-graphic smut
wc: 8k+
note - first repost from my old blog <33 for @sweetsbysatori
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Tendou isn’t supposed to be hearing this conversation. 
“Who on the team do you think is the hottest?” One girl whispers. The others giggle. 
“Ushiwaka is super hot,” a second girl admits. 
“Goshiki is such a cutie,” another confesses. 
The girls keep going on about which of the team members are the most attractive—talking about fantasies and essentially thirsting over the team—until someone brings Tendou up. 
“How do you guys feel about Tendou?” One of the girls asks. The rest scoff and assumedly roll their eyes. 
“You mean the guess monster? He’s a real weirdo.” He hears. 
He shouldn’t be surprised. He’s always been the odd one out—the black sheep of the team. Ushiwaka sometimes feels like the only person that actually enjoys spending time with him; which is annoying, by the way, when you’re on the court with five other people at all times. 
It’s easy enough for Tendou to ignore it. Sure, there are nights where he’s deafened by self deprecating thoughts and sometimes he finds himself wishing that at least one other person would enjoy his presence as more than a joke. 
But he’s fine. He’s doing just fine—being the class clown and getting nothing but a giggle or two from his classmates and Ushiwaka’s friendship in return for his troubles. 
The girls’ conversation is nothing new. Tendou knows he’s undesirable. He’s weird looking and he makes up songs and he’s been told his stare is borderline terrifying. But that doesn’t matter either. He has plenty to worry about with the (possible) threat of college around the corner in a little under a year and decisions to make with his career. 
He’s fine. His love life isn’t something he wants to spend time worrying about right now. Or really in the foreseeable future. 
He’ll be fine. 
He’s learned to walk away by now—to ignore the words others say about him and focus on being the best blocker he can for Ushiwaka’s team. And he is. The best, that is, if Ushiwaka (and that short redhead from Karasuno) are to be believed. 
And it’s exactly what he does—walk away. He finds his way to Ushiwaka on the court and he bounds up to him, joking and laughing as usual. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes, but nobody notices. 
Ushiwaka’s the only one who makes eye contact with him anyways. 
— 
Tendou thinks that this world wasn’t built to be easy for people like him. 
There’s the elite—the beautiful, the wealthy, the geniuses, the talented. The world is made for them, it’s built to be easy for them because they are the blueprint, the goal for everyone. Everything around them is made so that they can put as little effort into life as possible but still reap the benefits. 
And then there’s the average—the pretty, the middle class, the smart ones, jacks of all trades. The world is easy for them. Not as easy for the elite, that’s for sure, but easy enough that with little struggle (barring physical and mental illness) they can have the life they want, the life they’ve fantasized about since they were children playing pretend.  
And lastly, there’s Tendou. He certainly isn’t attractive if everyone around him is to be believed (his mother doesn’t count, familial bias), he has enough money to be comfortable but none of it is his, he’s smart enough to pass classes but not with flying colors, and he doesn’t think he has any talents. 
(Well, maybe aside from his passion for baking, but that isn’t something that he’s sure can be turned into a fulfilling career.)
The world isn’t built to help him. It’s not like a difficult video game—designed to be won, but not to be easy—it’s built to be impossible. It’s built to tear him down and throw him out, so that all that’s left is either the husk of a human working in unfavorable places to serve the elite, or nothing but a sobbing mother and a closed casket funeral with classmates posting false sympathy on social media. 
And Tendou feels differently about it all day to day. 
Some days, he feels hopeful. He thinks that, among the exceptions to this rule of the world, he could be one of them. He could go on to do great things—things that make him happy until the self deprecating thoughts and bad days are few and far between instead of constant and crippling. 
And other days he thinks that he shouldn’t even bother. That there is no hope for him, he will never live a fulfilling life where he’s at now and that’s precisely the problem. He thinks that he isn’t allowed to be happy—to find love and a happy career and live the rest of his life out content. 
It’s not like it really matters. All he can do is keep going, trying his best to ignore the awful, foul voice in his head when he realizes that he’s only made one friend in his entire life. He does his best, and while it’s not exactly what he wants, he spends his time nowadays hoping that it’s enough until he can leave this school and everyone in it (except for Ushiwaka) behind. 
Tendou tries his best to figure out where all this thinking about the world and its flaws came from—whether he started it by thinking about school and how hard it’s been for him all these years or maybe it came from the fact that he’s fairly certain he’ll never find love. 
He supposes that doesn’t really matter either. Regardless of how it started, it’s making it incredibly difficult to focus in class or at practice. He’s unfocused, scattered in the worst of ways. But he can’t really help it, and as sweet as it is for Ushiwaka to ask if he’s okay every time he’s having trouble in class or during a game, Tendou knows that he isn’t entirely emotionally intelligent. 
Besides, it’s not right for Tendou to dump all of his problems on Ushiwaka—he’s his only friend, he can’t risk losing him just because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. 
More often than not he finds himself shutting in during the weekends. It’s the only time he gets for himself—where he doesn’t hear about all the negative opinions on him and he doesn’t have to deal the crushing weight of being alone when he’s surrounded by hundreds of peers. 
It’s easier being lonely when you’re really alone. 
Tonight though—tonight is a little harder than normal. Because Tendou has chosen tonight to look at social media. 
He’s not a big fan of the concept—vain teenagers and adults alike hiding behind a screen and copious filters and cowering behind the face of anonymity to be evil the way they wish they could in real life. 
And Tendou is a perfect target. 
He doesn’t go online much. Maybe once a month, or even less sometimes to post a picture of his friends or family or respond to birthday statuses from his extended family members. 
It’s not good for him, he knows—it’s toxic and if he’s unlucky at any given time he’ll come across accounts and blogs that do awful, drama show worthy things, like put people from Shiratorizawa into couples that would look good, or rate someone’s appearance publicly for everyone to see. 
Tendou’s always found that dumb—childish, even, that people care so much about superficial things like the appearance of people they’re not involved with. He’s not so stupid as to say that looks don’t matter in the context of love lives, but how is it anyone’s business how someone else looks if they aren’t a potential partner? He doesn’t really get it. 
He hates it more and more every time he sees posts like this. 
What stares back at him from his phone, illuminating his face in the dark of his room, is a thread. It’s a thread of the volleyball team, rated 1-10 in terms of ‘datable traits’. 
It’s entirely shallow. Ushiwaka is rated 10 because of his looks, ’mysterious’ personality, and his strength. Goshiki is given a 9 because apparently ‘while he’s adorable, that makes him seem a bit childish’. 
And as Tendou scrolls he realizes that he shouldn’t keep going—that he should stop where he is and not find out how he’s been rated. It’s pointless anyways, he knows he’s at the very least below a 5 and there will inevitably be something about his looks in his part. 
But he keeps reading anyways. He reads about Shirabu’s haircut and Reon’s leadership skills and Semi’s voice and looks. And then he gets to himself.
He’s right. 
He’s rated a 2. The points are there because he’s apparently funny, but aside from that he’s dubbed ‘structurally undesirable and an outcast’, which are apparently traits that are enough to make him unwanted and unlovable all around. 
Tendou tells himself he isn’t bothered by it. Someone’s perceived value to others is always subjective—he’s sure there are people who find Ushiwaka insufferable or Semi unattractive. 
But it’s hard to really believe that. No matter how practical and realistic the idea is, the voice in his head loves to disagree. 
You knew you’re ugly, don’t act surprised. 
You’re irritating and loud.
Do you really think they meant that you’re funny? That was a pity point. 
You have nothing going on for you—unattractive, obnoxious and creepy. 
Nobody will ever want you. 
Tendou finds himself in front of his full body mirror. He’s unkind with himself—the way he criticizes how thin he is, how lanky and sharp he is, lacking muscle or fat. He likens himself to something of a monster—
he supposes now he understands better—when he looks at himself this way—why they call him the ‘guess monster’. 
— 
Tendou has good days sometimes. 
Good and really good. They range—their reasons, how long they last, whether something small can ruin them. 
Today is a really good day. There’s no particular reason, just a general zest for life as he woke up in his bed with the sun shining through his curtains. He’s unsure if something small can ruin it; he doesn’t think anything can, not today, when he walks through the school hallways alone, whistling some tune he doesn’t know the words to. 
He wishes on days like this that he could have them every day. Or at least most days. He wishes he could wake up every day with a smile on his face and motivation running through his veins. 
Maybe one day. 
He thinks about what life might be like for someone without a laundry list of mental illnesses and internal issues on a day to day basis—would they wake up the way he did this morning, every day? Would they be able to let the stares roll of their back like water on a duck, ignoring the whispers of their classmates as they head to class?
He wonders. But the wonder is soon interrupted by him walking into someone, knocking them over and subsequently ruining the beginning of the good day he was having. 
When he looks down at who exactly he knocked over, he doesn’t recognize you. 
You’re beautiful—a pretty face, perfect body (subjectivity at its finest, he thinks) and the sweetest smile that’s directed at him when he apologizes and bends over to help you pick up your binder. 
“I’m so sorry,” he finds himself saying, fingers quick to pile all your loose paper together and hand it back to you. You only smile again, look him in the eyes—and he’s not used to people doing that, making eye contact. 
“Don’t worry about it. I should’ve looked where I was going,” you assure him. You don’t flinch when he sends you a smile back—your grin widens even, eyes squinting as he gives you the last of your things. “Thank you for helping me.” 
You stand up from where you were crouching and Tendou follows, his eyes locked on yours still even after he’s smiled at you. He’s unsure how to feel. 
“It’s—no problem.” Tendou stutters, sealing his lips tight. He’s afraid if he talks any more you’ll be just like the rest of them, afraid to interact with him anymore, pointedly ignoring his gaze and whispering about him in plain sight. 
He doesn’t introduce himself. Instead, what leaves his lips is some short, choppy mumble of well, need to get to class as he swerves around you and speed walks into his next class. Ushiwaka is there, sitting in his usual seat—Tendou is quick to sit down next to him. 
“I just met someone.” He tells his friend. Ushiwaka hums, not turning his head away from the front of the class but very obviously listening anyways. Tendou thinks he has a thing for being distracted. He doesn’t say anything though. 
“Is that a good thing?” He asks. Tendou has to think about that for a second. 
Is that a good thing? 
His mind runs through all the possibilities—you could be luring him, like a few other girls have done before. But those other girls couldn’t make eye contact with him, Tendou was just blind enough at the time to think that a little more than no interaction meant love. 
You could just be a polite person. Shiratorizawa doesn’t have a whole lot of those. Enough, Tendou thinks, for other people, but not him. Never for him. 
Or—and this is the last possibility that runs through Tendou’s racing thoughts—you could like him. At least enough to be nice to him, to not be afraid of him. Enough for Tendou to have seen the disappointment in your eyes when he didn’t tell you his name and ask for your own in the hallway after he quite literally ran you over. 
You’ve got to be new. 
“She’s pretty,” Tendou decides on. He’s not lying—he’s had a few crushes before, but holy shit, you are beautiful. But Tendou doesn’t really care about your looks. His mind is fixated on how maybe he’ll have more than just one friend. “And she was nice to me. Ushiwaka—how do you make friends?” 
He supposes asking Ushiwaka of all people isn’t the best route to go down when in pursuit of friends. But he doesn’t have anyone else to ask barring the internet, so he tries his luck anyways. 
“Did she introduce herself?” He asks Tendou. And there it is—the little pit of guilt that sits heavy in his gut. 
“Not exactly—I got nervous and left before I could introduce myself.” 
“Well that’s probably not smart.”
The bell rings then and the teacher walks into the front of the class. Tendou knows not to try and talk to Ushiwaka while class is in session, so he thinks instead. 
He knows. He knows he shouldn’t have run from you like that. 
But he couldn’t really help it—he’s so accustomed to being ignored and made fun of and feared that someone genuinely showing interest in interacting with him threw him off. 
Tendou rests his head on his fist. He can only hope he’ll see you again soon, so he can apologize. 
He gets the opportunity to apologize the next day, as luck would have it. 
He sees you again without bumping into you this time, luckily. You’re watching his practice—as many girls usually do, but this time your eyes are on him. They aren’t watching Ushiwaka, or Goshiki, or Semi. They’re watching him—you’re watching his taped fingers, laughing when he sings some dumb song he made up and cheering when he blocks a ball. 
It’s all new territory to Tendou. He isn’t sure how to approach someone that actually likes him—that isn’t weird about any part of him. He can still hear the whispers, the comments about the ‘guess monster’ and his weird behavior; but your cheering seems to drown that out a lot. 
It’s dull—the ache he feels in his chest when he realizes he can’t ask you out. 
It happens when he’s walking towards you after practice is over—it hits him like a ton of bricks. 
What kind of asshole would I be to subject her to myself?
I don’t even know what I’m doing with my life—how could I tie her down to me?
I can’t love someone else if I can’t even love myself. 
Tendou doesn’t even talk to Ushiwaka, his long time friend, about his problems. What makes him think he can bring you into his world of self loathing and be anything more than a friend to you when he’s unlovable? 
It’s then that he resigns himself to just being your friend. It’s not that he doesn’t want to be friends with you—in fact its the opposite, he wants it so bad he’s shaking as he walks up to where you sit on the bleachers—but he hopes it’s what you want too. 
The second realization hits him even harder; how is he even supposed to become your friend?
Maybe Tendou missed the class or something, but as far as he’s aware there’s no manual on making friends, no rulebook or step by step guide. Which frankly really sucks, because he could absolutely use one as he stands in front of you with an open mouth and nothing to say. 
And you know what? Tendou’s second impression of you—after he thought you were beautiful and was surprised you looked him in the eye—is that you’re a goddamn show off, because you get the expression on his face and stand, telling him your name in a voice that honestly sounds like paradise to him and just straight up asking—
“I’d like to be friends, if that’s okay with you.” 
“Well, that surely makes things easier.” Tendou sighs, rolling his eyes because how do you make it look so easy? You just did it so effortlessly. “That was much easier than I thought it would be. Have you perhaps been practicing that line?” 
It’s mostly a joke, but the way you look down and smile a little at the ground surprises him—you really practiced asking to be his friend? 
“Well,” he says, because he doesn’t want to make you feel like you’ve done anything wrong. “My name is Tendou—you probably know that already though. The question was well rehearsed, by the way. I’d love to be friends.”
Tendou learns years later that you did indeed practice—you spend three hours the night before that just repeating the question, hyping yourself up to even talk to him again after he kind of blew you off before. 
The two of you exchange numbers—and as Tendou leaves the gym and heads to the locker rooms with a new number in his phone and a wide grin on his face, he realizes; it really is that easy. 
Easy—huh. What a funny concept, Tendou thinks. 
What might it be like for everything to be this easy. 
Tendou isn’t sure why he’s texting you of all people—at 2 o’clock in the morning on a Friday. 
He wasn’t sure who to go to. Ushiwaka isn’t the type to be good at talking feelings; and plus, he’s more than likely sleeping like a rock while Tendou spirals, quickly falling into a pit of self loathing thoughts that he knows can be silenced by a distraction. 
So he texts you. 
It’s nothing special—he just asks if you’d meet him at the park. He’s not expecting to get a response from you, considering the time, but he heads out anyways, bundled in a thick sweatshirt and sweatpants, his hands remaining in his pockets until he’s sitting on a creaky swing. 
It’s cold—winter is almost over, but the chill of night still clings, making Tendou sniffle and his cheeks red as wind whips past him. 
He’s only known you a few months, maybe six at best, but he knows your footstep pattern anywhere. 
(It’s the only one he cares about aside from Ushiwaka’s, after all.) 
He doesn’t turn around when he hears you approaching him. He just stays on the swing and he hears you sit down on the one next to his, less creaky as your hands wrap around the cold chains holding it up. 
“Are you okay?” 
“Do you ever wonder who you are beneath all your flaws? Who you’d be without them, without your past?” He asks. He looks over to you—you don’t look surprised by his question, more like you’re considering it and formulating an answer. You shake your head. 
“No, I don’t.” You say simply. Tendou wishes it could be that easy for him—that he could just accept the person he is, not wish he was without flaw. “Because my past and my trauma and my flaws have shaped me into who I am today.”
Tendou pauses. You’re kind of right—but to what extent? How far can you say you’ve been shaped by your trauma instead of damaged and broken because of it? He doesn’t get to ask before you’re speaking up, catching on to the things he’s thinking about easily. 
“You know you don’t need to be someone without your trauma or past, right?” You ask. Tendou gives you a questioning look. You only laugh a little, your breaths puffing into the late winter air in little white clouds. “You don’t have to be someone without it—you just have to be someone beneath it. You don’t have to get rid of your baggage to be a whole person, you just gotta find out who you’ve become in spite of—and because of—the shit you’ve been put through.”
He thinks about that for a minute. 
He’s always wondered who he’d be without it—who he’d be when he moved on from the whispers and the self hatred and the aimlessness. 
He’s realizing now though, that moving on from something doesn’t mean it goes away. He’s realizing that moving on from it doesn’t remove the way it’s shaped how you feel, how you act, how you respond to things. It only removes the constant obsessive thought about it. 
It only removes the way plagues you. 
He’s not sure you realize how much you’ve changed his perspective on things in so little time. You manage to say things that to him seem so profound, and yet the way you say them is so mundane, like this is common knowledge to you. 
You’re an anomaly to Tendou. 
And for once, he doesn’t feel like he’s so alone in being the black sheep. 
Maybe you’ve just come to find comfort in it. 
“…Thanks. For coming here—thanks.”
“You know Satori—I’ve always had a crush on you.”
Tendou chokes on his drink. He can tell you’re holding back a laugh by the way you cover your mouth with your hand and your shoulders shake just a little. He doesn’t mention it. 
“What?”
“Since the day we met—since you ran into me,” Tendou wants to correct you—you told me you weren’t looking where you were going—but he doesn’t. He just watches the way you fiddle with your fingers and smile at him. And make eye contact; always the eye contact. Tendou finds comfort in it now. “I’ve always liked you. I just figured you didn’t like me, so I asked to be friends instead of asking you out like I wanted to.” 
Tendou has to think about that. He remembers thinking that he couldn’t possibly subject you to the inner turmoil he’s constantly going through—the looks you’d get while you were still in school, the comments about you that he’s not sure he could handle. 
He sometimes regrets not asking you out that day. But regret has never meant anything to him. It’s baseless—there’s always a new opportunity, one in the future that is either better or the same as the one you regret missing. 
He’ll get his opportunity to love you fully one day. And maybe that isn’t true, but all he can do is hope. If it never comes, it wasn’t meant to come to him. 
He’s always said the world wasn’t built for him to succeed, after all. If it never comes, he wasn’t expecting it to in the first place. 
Expectations only cause disappointment. 
“Really?” He asks after a beat. He doesn’t think it makes any sense to bother telling you he nearly asked you out too. It only causes more regret—pointless, painful regret. 
You nod and hum. The look in your eyes is hopeful—wishing he’d tell you he returns the feelings. 
Tendou hasn’t ever been good at telling you no—ever since he met you. 
“I liked you too. I still do.” 
You nod again. Tendou expects you to ask why you’re not together, why you haven’t gone on any dates yet if the feelings are mutual. 
You don’t. He doesn’t bring it up again. Your feelings remain an unspoken tether between the two of you, untouched and collecting dust but remaining, waiting for the moment when the dust is brushed away and the tether is pulled taught on either side. 
“I’m leaving,” Tendou tells you—on a night where you’re looking at the stars together, lying on your backs side by side in the grass. You turn your head to him, but he’s already looking at you. He’s always looking at you. “Paris.” 
Your eyes are shiny. You won’t cry—Tendou knows you won’t. Not until you’re behind the closed door of your own bedroom with no-one to bear witness. But he can see it—the way your mood dampens, the way your lip trembles and your brows furrow. 
“W-When are you leaving?” You ask, like this isn’t a conversation that could possible break you. Tendou knows; he knows you just confessed to mutual feelings. He knows you two are happy around each other. But he also knows if he doesn’t take this opportunity, neither of you will grow. 
And he can’t be the reason you don’t bloom. He’s always loved flowers full grown anyways. 
“Next week. I got the chance to work at a big bakery I’ve always wanted to see,” he tells you, reaching for your hand with his own. Your fingers intertwine—your hand grips his tight like holding him closer will make him stay. “You know I can’t stay here.” 
“I know,” you choke out. You’re so close to tears now, so close to letting yourself be vulnerable, but Tendou is sure you won’t. It’s just another thing that would tear you two apart if he stayed.  This is just as much for him as it is for you. He just wants to be the best Tendou Satori he can—for you. You deserve that much. “I just wish we had a little more time.” 
“Me too.”
He looks back at the sky then, finally. The stars are bright, twinkling in the dead of night with not a cloud to be seen in the sky. Tendou wishes he could be among them—no fears, no insecurities, no need to change except for in the event of a supernova. 
“Promise you’ll come back,” you whisper. Tendou wants to tell you what you want to hear—he wants to tell you that he’ll video call you every day, that he’ll never stop texting you, that he’ll be back every summer and winter like clockwork. “Tell me I should wait for you.”
He can’t tell you those things. He can’t tell you to wait around for him—to wait for someone when you deserve to feel love, to feel happiness, even if that means it’s without him. 
You’re the right person at the wrong time—Tendou just hopes the right time does come. 
“I can’t do that,” he says. He can hear the tiniest sob cut off at your lips. He doesn’t look at you; he’s unsure that he’ll be able to stand by his word if he does. This is best for both of you, he repeats to himself. It’ll be better if we’re both better. “I won’t make you wait for me. And you shouldn’t make yourself wait either.” 
You don’t answer him. He knows you’re aware that this is best. The two of you are damaged—beyond surface level. Which, he’s learned, is okay. But it’s not okay if that damage could ruin your relationship before there even is one. Tendou wants to go away so he can be better for himself; for you, too. 
“I’ll come back,” he promises. He will—he’ll see you again, he’s sure of it. What’s uncertain is when, not if. Ifs only make Tendou nervous. “I just—I’m not sure when. But I’ll be back.” 
“I’m really gonna miss you, ‘Tori,” you whimper. He nods—he doesn’t think he can return the sentiment out loud without breaking down. He’s going to miss you so much it hurts—but he also knows that when you two come back together—given you’re still here, still available and not happy with someone else as you have the right to be—you’ll come back together much stronger, unbreakable. 
Tendou doesn’t want you two to break. 
He wants you two to shine. 
— 
Paris is nice. 
The people are nice, the weather is okay and his job is good. He likes it. He has a good time working and he makes enough to be comfortable in his little one bedroom apartment. 
It’s just…nice. 
He likes it well enough. He’s really improved himself in the last year—went to therapy, learned to accept himself—loving himself is coming slow—and got rid of some bad habits in favor of healthy ones, like journaling and affirmations. 
He misses you. 
You two haven’t spoken in six months now. He knows it’s for the best—he thinks he’d lose it if he didn’t keep repeating that to himself—but he still misses you. 
He knew this would happen, though. He knew you two would eventually fall off into your own routines, your own journeys to self love and acceptance, your own paths in life. 
He still thinks about you, though. He’s unsure if you’re dating someone now—maybe engaged—but he’s happy for you, wherever you are and whatever you’re doing. He only ever wanted the best for you, and if the best doesn’t involve him, so be it. 
But as he sits on a plane from Paris to Japan, he hopes deep down that you’ll still be there—that when he sees you, there’s only happiness in your gaze and a smile on your face. 
He hasn’t told you he’s coming. It wouldn’t be good if he told you and got his hopes up to see you and you didn’t answer, or aren’t living in Japan anymore, or any number of things that could go wrong if he’d said something to you. 
He tries not to think about it—his therapist said worst case scenario thoughts only force him into spiraling. 
When Tendou arrives at the airport, he realizes that maybe Ushiwaka isn’t the most trustworthy person he knows, but he might just be the best—
Because there you stand, eyes filled with tears at his gate waiting for him, no pro athlete in sight. 
You nearly knock him over when you barrel into him, sobs wracking your body—and now his, too—before he can even really register that you’re here. 
“Why didn’t you tell me you’d be here?” You ask him, watery and shaky voice muffled against the cotton of his tee shirt. He wraps his arms around you, hoping to whatever powers that be that this is your moment. That this is the right time. 
Because you’ll never stop being the right person. 
“I didn’t want to get my hopes up that I’d see you,” he admits. He doesn’t want to let you go, but he reluctantly separates from you so that he can get his things and leave the airport. It’s far too loud in here to have a reunion like this. 
And a reunion you do have—in the form of Tendou sitting awkwardly on your living room couch, whistling away as you make drinks for the both of you. 
He dreads this a little. The small talk, that is. He dreads having to tell you how he’s doing, where he’s working, who he might be seeing. He knows that when you get past that it’ll be like it used to be—maybe just a little less depressing, hopefully a lot less depressing—but getting there is what feels like pulling teeth. 
He finds out over the next hour that you’re working at a flower shop—learning language of flowers and making good money—and you’ve been well, gone to a therapist much like him and learned many similar things as him to cope. 
You seem happier, too. Not much different from the way you used to be, except this time your smile reaches your eyes more often than not. 
And you’re still single. A selfish part of Tendou is happy to hear that, happy to hear that he still has a chance to be yours—to bloom with you, like he’s always wanted. 
“I’ve missed you so much, Satori,” you tell him later, when you two sit cuddled together on the couch, cheeks warm from alcohol and lips loose. Tendou smiles at the way your voice is quiet, the way you rest your head on his collarbone and tangle your legs together. 
“You know I had to leave,” he whispers then, his lips pressed to the side of your head. You lean into every touch, every kiss that borders on too close to romantic, too far from friendly. Tendou wants so desperately to stay like this with you forever. 
Perhaps among the stars the way he used to fantasize about. 
“I know,” you admit. The two of you never really spoke about the night he told you he was leaving. It’s sort of a sore spot for both of you—a low point, the starting point on a path to rock bottom before you were able to bring yourselves back up. 
But it was necessary. It helped the both of you—and now you're both happy, considering the circumstances. Happy to accept yourselves, happy to nurture yourselves the way you both deserve. 
“I missed you too.” He tells you. 
Tendou knows he’ll have to leave again in a week. And it will hurt—it’ll hurt like hell, to not be able to ask you to pack up your life and leave everything behind for him. 
But he couldn’t do that to you. He couldn’t force you to make that decision if you’re not ready. 
So for now, he lives in the moment. He stays with you and he enjoys the time he has, trying to bury himself in your arms and not leaving your side apart from seeing his family and a visit with Ushiwaka. 
And if Tendou never gets to have you like this again, then he’ll store these days with you away in his brain, never to be forgotten. 
Not that he could ever forget you, anyways. 
— 
The last day he’s in Japan is hard—for both of you. 
You spend the morning in your apartment, sitting together on the couch in silence, every part of your bodies touching. Neither of you leave that spot until it’s absolutely necessary.  
You talk very little. Before he leaves, you tell him that you love him. His responding laugh makes your brows raise in surprise. 
“I’ve always been told you can’t love someone until you love yourself.” He says to you. Your scoff is irritated, like you’ve heard that a million times before and said the same thing in response, over and over again. 
“Love is a strong word. I will never truly love myself. But that’s okay—I accept myself as I am. Self love is unrealistic. The love I give to others is enough for me.” 
That puts a lot of things into perspective for Tendou.
And when it’s time for him to leave again, time for him to get to the airport, the two of you go silent yet again. You take him to the airport in silence and you walk him to his gate in silence. 
It takes one announcement of his gate opening in ten minutes for you to break down. 
Tendou is surprised to have seen you cry this many times in a week. You used to be someone who held in everything, who never cried in front of him. He asked you about it once and you told him it was so you didn’t ‘burden’ him. 
He thought that was bullshit—but he never told you that. 
He’s quick to wrap you in his arms now. If anyone were to ask, he’d tell them that he wants to comfort you. But it’s only partially that—he also doesn’t want you to see the tears that fall from his eyes and stream down his cheeks. 
“Do you have to leave?” You ask him. He sighs. This is a question that he’s been asking himself for days now. 
But he knows—he knows that Paris is where his life is now, aside from you. And he knows that he’s not ready to leave it behind, just as you aren’t ready to leave your own life here behind. 
“You know I do,” he tells you. You breathe deep against him. 
You know just as well as he does. 
It still isn’t the right time. 
He doesn’t forget you. 
He doesn’t forget you in the six months he spends in Paris after he saw you. 
This time around though, the two of you talk. 
You talk all the time. You’re mindful of the other’s feelings, and you talk about mundane things and exciting things and everything in between. 
Some days you don’t talk—which is okay. You’re both adults and you’re busy and neither of you are bothered by days you don’t get to speak. Tendou counts that as improvement from the attachment he used to feel for you; an improvement from the dependence. 
And now he’s okay. He still misses you, as he always does. But he’s okay. He’s doing well where he is and he’s happy to do his thing until you’re ready to come with him or he’s ready to come back. 
You two are only playing tug of war now. 
Waiting for one of you to let go of the life you’ve built, to come back to the other and finally be the right person and the right time. 
It’s been so long, since you’ve started this game. In reality, while it feels like it’s only been the last half a year, you both know this game started the second he ran into you in the halls of Shiratorizawa Academy. 
Tendou finds out another month later than your game of tug of war has ended. 
You haven’t texted him in three days. Which is fine, because Tendou has his own life and his own job to work, but he starts to get worried. 
He spirals once—thinking of the worst case scenario. What could have happened to you? Are you hurt? In trouble? 
Have you cut him off because you’ve found someone? 
Tendou won’t lie and say it wouldn’t hurt if you found someone. As much as he wants you to be happy and as much as he understands that doesn’t necessarily involve him, it would still hurt. 
So, he spirals. He spirals on the third day of not hearing from you, wondering and worrying about whether or not he should text you, whether he should call you or leave you be. 
And then there’s a knock on his door. 
He’s not expecting anyone—the one thing that never changed when he moved to Paris is the fact that he has nearly no friends. Which is fine, for him. He enjoys the quiet of his little corner of the world. He’s happy here. 
He’d ask who is there, but he doesn’t bother this time. More than likely, he thinks, it’s the old lady that owns this building. Sometimes she stops by, to bring Tendou random things like leftovers she made too much of or some craft she’s recently done. Tendou thinks that she’s just a little lonely. 
But the old lady is not at the door. 
In fact, you’re probably pretty far down on the list of people he’d expect to show up to his apartment. Maybe at the bottom—but either way, he pauses. 
He thinks for just a second that he’s hallucinating. That maybe he’s gotten a little less sleep than he needs this last week, he’s just imagining you standing in front of him, suitcase dragging behind you and a wide smile on your face. 
“Are we having a staring contest?” 
Your voice is just barely enough to throw him off—so you’re not a hallucination, then. 
In the next second he’s pulling you into him, forcing you to drop the handle of your suitcase as he holds you close with a disbelieving laugh. 
“Why—why are you here?” He asks. Maybe he didn’t mean for it to sound like that, but he can’t help it. He didn’t think you’d ever visit him. He was fine with that, fine with seeing you in Japan—because there’s nothing but him for you here. But here you are.
Here you are. 
You pull back from him with some effort to look him in the eye. Your smile isn’t any smaller—in fact, Tendou thinks it’s a little wider than it was before. 
He can count the amount of times your eyes have twinkled like this on one hand. 
(They’re like the stars.)
“Well…” you trail off. Tendou tilts his head to the side, ushering you into his apartment when he realizes that you’re still standing half in the hallway. You leave your suitcase and shoes at the door. Tendou heads to the kitchen to get you a glass of water, or something. “You always talked about how I’m the right person at the wrong time—
“I think that this is the right time.” 
That’s all Tendou’s been waiting to hear. He’s been waiting since high school to hear that—to know that—and finally have you, finally be yours and vice versa. 
Two long strides and he’s back in front of you, wrapping one arm around you and cupping your face with his free hand before he’s finally—finally—kissing you for the first time, a desperate sound vibrating between you as you drape your arms over his shoulders. 
It’s everything Tendou’s ever imagined—everything he’s thought about since he first saw you, since he first met you when he was someone that let his trauma and his past define him. It’s tender, slow but eager and Tendou thinks that if kisses could heal, this would be it. This would be the kiss that fixed him. 
“You mean it?” He asks between kisses, nearly sobbing when you nod and laugh against him. He’s quick to grab your thighs and pick you up, forcing your legs around his waist as he carries you to his bedroom. “You’re—you’re here for good?”
“I’m here for good,” you confirm, pressing the lightest of kisses to his neck. And gods—your touch is everything to him, it sets his skin on fire and leaves him breathless, losing his fucking mind as he tries to wrap it around the fact that you’re here, and you’re not leaving. “It’s our time, Satori.”
Tendou breathes your name—reverent, quiet in the dark of his bedroom. 
“It’s our time.”
Tendou is incredibly gentle with you. 
You won’t have sex tonight—it’s not the time and you’re both exhausted, limbs heavy as you lie down in his too-small bed together, lips locked and hands roaming the other’s body. But regardless Tendou is gentle, soft with his movements while you shiver at the touch of his cold, thin fingers. 
In this moment Tendou wishes he had dated more—that maybe he would have some experience with how he should be touching you, what you might like because he’s fumbling with his movements, the only sure thing about him being the way he kisses you. 
But none of that matters when he realizes how your hands are unsure, how your palms are clammy and your breaths come out shaky against his lips. You’re just as nervous, touch tentative as you thumb at the waistband of his sweatpants. 
And you’re quiet—the only sounds that fill his bedroom are your breaths and the little, nearly silent keens you let out when Tendou slips his own hand down the front of your pants and into your underwear to swipe his fingers through your dripping slit. 
If Tendou thought your voice sounded like paradise, your moans are more than that; they’re his own taste of heaven, his own little piece of love in its purest form, slipping past kiss bitten lips and falling stagnant in the closed off room of Tendou’s—and now yours—apartment. 
You’re both buzzing as you touch each other, nerves alight with desperation and sweat slick skin sliding against sweat slick skin. You don’t part for long when you do, just enough to shed the rest of your clothes and for Tendou to admire your body in its raw, to compliment you with hushed praise and sweet, soft kisses to your skin. He kisses everywhere he can reach—but then he reminds himself that he can do this as many times as he wants, he doesn’t need to kiss everywhere now. 
For now, you two have all the time in the world.
Tendou can’t stop telling you how beautiful you are once he’s started—he just keeps voicing it, telling you exactly what he loves about you in as much detail as he can manage until he can’t speak with the way your hand wraps around him and you follow him over the edge, a quiet, needy moan catching in your throat when he kisses you again. 
Everything is perfect, Tendou thinks. 
Everything is right where it’s meant to be now. 
Tendou gets to thinking as he lies in bed with you, naked and satisfied. 
You two have changed so much. In good ways, of course—improving yourselves and working towards a contentedness that you can only ever give yourself. 
He went on dates in the last year and a half. Of course he did—you both agreed not to wait for each other. 
But they never made him happy. They never felt right, not with you so close and yet so far away from him. 
He wonders if you went on dates. If you met people and never saw them again because nothing felt right without him. Because it was always going to be you, for him—it was never going to be someone else. He always knew you were his person. 
And he thinks, and he thinks, and he thinks. A million things run through his mind—where you’ll work here, whether you two will move out into a newer, bigger apartment together soon, if you’re bringing your things or if that suitcase is all you brought with you. 
None of it really matters to him. What’s important to him is that the two of you came together, fell apart to find who you were beneath—because of, in spite of—your pasts, and fell right back together again. 
Tendou looks out the window—at the stars, at the lights in the city, at the cloudless sky. 
And he thinks—
Maybe his little piece of the night sky is here with him right now, in his arms. 
Because it’s finally the right time, and he’s starting to feel his life fall into place for the first time in as long as he can remember. 
All this time, though, he thinks he was among the stars. 
You brought him down to earth. 
And you gave him a reason to love earth enough to stay down. 
Nothing is perfect—life will continue to be difficult, and Tendou still has hard days. 
But those are few and far between nowadays. 
And that’s really all he’s ever wanted his whole life. 
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rosesandtoshi · 2 years
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MOVING BLOGS
@kentimestwo -> @sakutani
rbs appreciated <3
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