911 words | rating: t | high school au
Samatoki was in a bad mood again, bad enough that no one dared sit within a two-table radius of him and Ichiro at lunch.
It was raining, so they were eating in the cafeteria that day, instead of heading up to their usual spot on the roof. Ichiro could feel no fewer than a dozen anxious pairs of eyes on them at any time, like their classmates thought Samatoki might blow up at any second and start punching people at random.
Which was kind of unfair, because Samatoki would never just hit someone unprovoked. Ichiro knew him well enough to know that.
But maybe it was kind of understandable too, because no one knew Samatoki as well as Ichiro did.
"What happened?" Ichiro asked, after watching Samatoki stab a croquette enough times to render it into mush. "Need me to beat someone up?"
Samatoki snorted, but finally set down his chopsticks. "Tempting. But nah, it's just…"
Ichiro gave him a moment, and an extra slice of chashu from his ramen too.
"Some little asshole confessed to Nemu again," Samatoki grumbled.
"Ah." Ichiro should've known. Nemu was adorable, so of course she was very popular. And Samatoki was… a tiny bit overprotective, so of course he didn't like that very much. Ichiro could sympathize. "Did she…?"
"She turned him down, and that punk had the gall to come up to me and ask for tips to win her over! The fucking audacity."
Ichiro grimaced. Poor kid. He must've been either real brave or real stupid to approach Samatoki like that.
"She's just a kid!" Samatoki snarled, scarfing down half his portion of rice in one go. "We're third-years, and even the dumbfucks in our class know better than to waste our time with shit like that. She's only a first-year, and already she's got one of these idiots coming up to her every other week."
"Don't call them dumbfucks," Ichiro chided, before lifting a hand to brush away a grain of rice that had gotten stuck to the corner of Samatoki's lips. "But you're right. Everyone knows high school's too early to confess."
Doppo—a second-year Ichiro recognized as one of Jiro's friends—choked, loudly, seemingly on air as he passed their table with a tray of trash to throw out. Ichiro looked up with a blink, Samatoki with a glower.
"What?" Samatoki snapped. "What the fuck is it?"
"Hey." Ichiro gave Samatoki's cheek an admonishing pinch, then withdrew his hand and licked the grain of rice off his thumb. "Something the matter, Doppo-kun?"
"N-nope!" Doppo squeaked, already backing away. "Nothing at all! Just… just…"
"Just what?" Samatoki demanded. "Spit it the fuck out."
Ichiro dropped a hand to one of Samatoki's and gave it a squeeze. He could tolerate Samatoki in a bad mood—could kind of enjoy it, even, because it was usually when Samatoki would let himself be spoiled and pampered the most—but he knew a pissed off Samatoki wasn't exactly palatable to everyone.
"It's just, um…" Doppo shifted his weight from foot to foot, prey animal style. "You… that… that's not why…"
"For fuck's sake," Samatoki muttered. He jerked his gaze up to a spot over Doppo's shoulder, where Hifumi was sitting a few tables away, practically doubled over—clearly eavesdropping and trying not to laugh. "Izanami! Translate!"
"He's trying to say that's not why people don't confess to you, senpai!"
"Hah?"
"They don't think you're too young for love, they think you're already too in love!" Hifumi pointed to Samatoki, then Ichiro, then lifted one hand with just his pinky finger sticking up. "You know, with each other?"
Ichiro turned to Samatoki, just as Samatoki turned to him. They blinked in unison, as everyone who hadn't already escaped the cafeteria at the start of Samatoki's outburst held their breaths and stared.
After a beat, Ichiro looked down at where his hand still held Samatoki's. His thumb still felt a little warm, where it had brushed Samatoki's cheek.
"Did you not know?" Hifumi called out, with what could only be described as a giggle.
"Shut up for a minute," Samatoki ordered.
Ichiro gave his hand another squeeze. Maybe not just as a gentle scolding this time. Maybe, this time, because he just didn't want to let go.
It had been easy to assume relationships were something that happened after high school, later in life. It had been easy to think high schoolers only had time to date in light novels and anime.
Why else would no one have confessed to Samatoki before? Samatoki was gorgeous, cool, and strong. Talented, and way smarter than people gave him credit for. He was everything anyone could ever want, in Ichiro's opinion.
Oh.
Ichiro's opinion…
"Ah," Ichiro murmured, brushing his thumb over Samatoki's knuckles. "I might be in love with you."
Samatoki drew a sharp breath.
"Too soon?" Ichiro half-joked, with an upwards twitch of the corners of his lips.
Samatoki was silent and still for a moment, before abruptly turning his hand in Ichiro's and lacing their fingers together, pulling Ichiro to his feet. "Can I be a hypocrite real quick?"
Ichiro nodded, eyes alight, breath caught and held by anticipation in his throat.
Samatoki held his hand a little tighter, pulled him a little closer, and seemed to not give even one solitary damn about all the eyes on them.
He only had eyes for Ichiro, and only had one thing left to say.
"Not nearly fucking soon enough."
7 notes
·
View notes
Im of the full (possibly delusional) belief that Durge is not the species that they physically appear to be.
You’re telling me this being crafted from nothing but bhaal’s flesh and his blood - this demigod - is actually a dragonborn/tiefling/human/elf/etc.
No. This thing is bhaal’s flesh and it just happens to look like that. They’re an imitation of a species, they’re not truly a (full)mortal being, they have no heritage aside from bhaal.
As a result I’m sure there’s some…oddities.
For example, a demigod child, not fully mortal. I doubt they adhere to the lifespan of whatever species they look like. Looking younger than they should. (less so perhaps with long lived races like elfs and half-elves where that is par for the course).
A dragonborn durge that by all accounts looks like a blue dragonborn but their breathweapon is acid. A tiefling durge that seems to be a Mephistopheles tiefling but they cannot cast mage hand, instead smiting like a zariel bloodline tiefling.
An elf or tiefling durge that doesn’t read as fey or infernal trough identification spells. Because they aren’t either of those things. Perhaps they could read as divine but not quite.
Members of a race that durge is supposed to be looking at them and sometimes when making eye contact they read as wrong. And some kind of uncanny effect triggers in their brain.
Give me more freaky durge who isn’t really what they appear to be at all. Just a little murder demigod crafted from dead god flesh to be the shape of something else.
4K notes
·
View notes