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reiding-writing · 5 months

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erotomania [ s.r ]

02 - avoidance

Summary:

Your guilt over bringing Spencer into this ordeal leaves you making a painful decision for the sake of his own wellbeing.

WARNINGS: details of grievous bodily harm, hospitals, mentions of panic attacks, miscommunication for a good cause

pairing: spencer reid x gn!bau!reader

genre: ANGST

wc: 5.6k

main masterlist!!

a/n: lol shoutout to @takethetongue for letting me rant to you for many consecutive hours about my plans for this chapter and stealing multiple of your ideas 🫶

series masterlist!!

01-exhortations, 02-avoidance, 03-revelations, 04-confession

taglist (slashed blogs couldn’t be tagged): @starzqzi @duhduck @liveitdoll @alovesongtheywrote @bumblebea-xo @wolfstar-17 @yoonglestime @summerknights @spencer-reid-obsessed @rebloggiest-reblogger @blackbeautyiloveyouso @quackie15 @haileycannotcometothephonern @wittle-bunny420 @minhosdoormat @takethetongue @flowersfromautumn @holymusicalmothman

You reach out your right hand to knock as Morgan reaches your side, but as your knuckles come into contact with the wood of the door it creaks open, the hinge pin of the door not fully closed.

Oh no.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Morgan’s eyes shift at the door being ajar, his attitude immediately changing as he realises that your paranoia may actually be founded, and his voice drops an octave as he instinctively brings his hand down to un-holster his pistol from his hip. “I’m going in first, are you with me?”

His voice is barely more than a whisper as he stands with his shoulder to the oak frame of Spencer’s apartment door, and you give him a short nod before you’re readying yourself on the other side with your own gun firmly held in your hands.

Morgan pushes the door open quickly with his hand before entering the main room of the apartment gun first, you following shortly behind him in the same manner.

As you move through the apartment, your eyes dart from corner to corner, searching for any clue that might lead you to Spencer or indicate the presence of the stalker. The silence is deafening, amplifying the weight of your anxiety. Every sound, no matter how small, sends a jolt of adrenaline through your veins.

You approach the kitchen, your grip on the gun tightening. The sight of a shattered coffee mug on the floor makes your heart skip a beat. Could there have been a struggle? Is Spencer hurt? Your mind races with possibilities, each one more terrifying than the last.

Morgan follows soon after, splitting off from you to check the small office space Spencer had fashioned himself out of a spare bedroom, his eyes scanning the room with equal intensity.

You continue your search, moving from room to room, hoping to find any sign of Spencer's whereabouts. Each empty room fuels your worry, and the silence becomes suffocating. Time feels like it's slipping away, and a sense of urgency settles in your chest.

You make your way to Spencer's bedroom last, your footsteps almost soundless on the carpeted floor. The door is slightly ajar, and you push it open slowly, trying to minimise any noise as you enter with your gun raised to your eyes, index finger held against the trigger.

The sight that greets you is both chilling and heartbreaking. The room is in complete disarray, the curtains drawn shut, books scattered across the floor, shelves pulled off their brackets. But what catches your attention is the lump in Spencer’s bed sheets.

You approach it slowly, removing the blanket with your left hand to reveal what was causing the lump underneath it, and the sight almost makes you drop your weapon.

Spencer Reid. Unconscious, bloodied and beaten.

His face was gaunt and littered in dark purple bruises, a red stain on his left temple matting into his hair, and his nose bridge closer to a ‘v’ rather than the straight line it’s supposed to be.

His torso was no better, his wrists red-raw and his shirt ridden up to reveal a large bruise on his left side, a dark maroon in it’s centre fading to a yellow-green up over his ribs. You didn’t even want to imagine what else was hidden under the fabric of his clothes.

Your blood runs cold as the realisation hits you. The gravity of the situation weighs heavily on your shoulders, and a knot forms in your stomach. You can't help but blame yourself for dragging Spencer into this dangerous game.

“Morgan…” Morgan arrives at your side almost before you have the time to call out to him, concerned at how long you’d spent in Spencer’s bedroom.

That concern grows into full blown worry as he catches sight of Spencer. “Oh my God..”

He lowers his gun down to his side as he approaches you slowly, “Oh Jesus, Spencer..”

Morgan’s reaction confirms that you’re not dreaming.

You fall into immediate anxiety as you let your gun drop to the floor, falling to your knees soon after to place two of your fingers on the pulse point of his neck.

He’s still alive…

An unconscious sigh of relief leaves your throat as you feel the fast-beating, shallow pulse under your fingers, although it doesn’t do much to quell the shaking of your fingers or the uneven beating of your heart. “Call an ambulance-“

Morgan snaps out of his shock at your plea, and within seconds he’s holding his phone to his ear whilst on dial to the emergency services.

“Spence? Spencer… Please?…”

You shake his shoulder slightly to try and get him to regain consciousness to no avail, and as his body shifts under your hand you spot a small piece of paper sticking out of his balled up wrist, and you gently remove it to read it for your self as you rub your thumb over Spencer’s forehead.

It’s a torn scrap of lined paper housing only six words. The same six words that had urged you to involve Spencer in this mess in the first place.

These violent delights have violent ends.

You crumple up the piece of paper in your hand as your eyes spring with tears, and you let both of your hands fall onto Spencer’s mattress as your mind sends you into a state of dissociation.

This was your fault.

This was all your fault. You’d gotten too comfortable with Spencer and accidentally lead your stalker right to him.

You were broken from your thoughts when you hear the sound of sirens and see the flashing lights shining in through Spencer’s curtains, and before you know it EMTS come running up to you, with Morgan explaining the situation as they load Spencer onto a stretcher.

You watch as Spencer is rushed out of his apartment with hot tears running down your face, anxiety and guilt overtaking every sense in your body as he’s taken around the corner and out of sight. “Hey, hey, he’s breathing, he’s gonna be okay.”

Morgan tries to soothe you, but his own anxiety is plain on his face and in his eyes.“You need to stay calm, okay? Can you do that?”

“This is all my fault-” You remain on your knees at the side of Spencer’s bed, a trembling hand covering your mouth as your body sends itself into a fit of hyperventilation.

“Hey- hey...” Morgan kneels down at your side and embraces you, rubbing your back as he helps you breathe through this moment. “This isn’t your fault. Okay? This wasn’t your fault.” He repeats in a calm, slow voice.

“No you don’t understand Morgan-” You push your arm against Morgan’s chest as he attempts to coax you out of your impending panic attack. “I- I’m being stalked and I confided in Spencer about it and I lead him here- I- put Spencer in danger because I was paranoid about my own well being and now he’s- he’s-“

Morgan takes a small step back and holds your shoulders. “Wait wait, you’re being stalked?” He looks at you with serious concern in his eyes. You hadn't mentioned that you'd had a stalker to anyone else on the team.

“I didn’t want to tell anyone… I thought I was just being paranoid, but I got scared and Spencer let me spend the night here a few days ago… and- I told him everything and- I lead my stalker right to him…” Your voice cracks as you speak, and you force yourself up to take a seat on Spencer’s bed as you try not to lose your composure any further than you already have.

“Hey-“ Morgan continues to kneel in front of you, putting his hands firmly on your shoulders. “Hey, look at me... look at me, okay? You are not at fault for this. I'm not gonna let you blame yourself for this, you hear me?” His voice held a more commanding tone than he would usually use around you.

“How can I not blame myself for this?” You take a sharp breath in through your nose, wiping the back of your hand over both of your eyes in attempt to rid your cheeks of the dampness of your tears.

"Hey, listen to me." Morgan holds your shoulder firm and he leans in so that you can't break eye contact with him. "This is not on you, and I don't ever ever want to hear you say or think otherwise."

He seemed incredibly sure of himself. Morgan had been a rock for you for a very long time now, and he'd always been right.

He wouldn't fail you now would he?

“we have to tell the rest of the team…” Morgan urges solemnly. "…and they're gonna ask questions... especially about why you didn't go to them before. Are you ready for that?" He was trying to prepare you for the onslaught of questions that were about to be dumped on the two of you in the next hour.

You give him a small nod as you take in a slow, shaky breath, trying to regain a regular breathing pattern. “Mhm…”

“Hey... look at me?” He shakes his hand against your shoulders slightly. “You’re not alone, okay? I’m here with you. The team is with you.”

Morgan looks at you with a small smile. “We’re not gonna let this sonofabitch get away with anything.” He’d already started mentally planning the investigation he was about to launch into finding your stalker.

“What about Spencer? I need to make sure he’s okay…”

“He’s in good hands. He’s going to be fine. We have to focus on tracking down the one responsible for this. Okay?” Morgan’s plea sounds more like an order as he pulls you to your feet, keeping his hands braced on your shoulders in case you were lightheaded from crying.

“Okay-" You muster up a small nod, taking a shaky breath in through your nose.

“C’mon, let’s go tell the team.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The team had reacted how you’d expected them to.

They were surprised and bewildered by the situation, especially Prentiss, who just kept saying:

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Morgan, on the other hand, was already a step ahead of the rest of you and was briefing Hotch on how he would start searching for your stalker, one of the pros of being an expert on obsessional crimes.

“I’m so sorry…”

JJ gave you a reassuring smile, although accompanied the ‘I'm gonna have a serious talk with you about this later’ look.

Hotch then brought attention to you, seeing that you were struggling, your eyes still red and slightly bloodshot. “Okay... We’re gonna put together a profile to track down your stalker... but for now, go home, alright? You need to get some rest.”

He looked to Morgan who gave an affirming nod, agreeing with Hotch's decision. “I need to see Spencer first-“

Hotch turns to Morgan, gesturing for him to join you. “Go with her.”

Morgan has no objection to Hotch’s order, and he quickly makes his way across the room to join you on your way out. You can sense the protective, domineering aura radiating from him as you two walk out of the conference room, ready to take the trip to the hospital where Spencer was being treated.

You take a short stop on the way to get some flowers. It’s a little cliche but you wanted to do something to express your regret over what happened to him, and flowers were the only thing that came to your mind.

You leave Morgan in the car as you step into the quaint flower shop around the corner from your house, greeted by the sweet aroma of blossoms and a kaleidoscope of colours from the arrangements of flowers covering the walls.

“Oh hello sweetheart, it’s been a while since you’ve given us a visit.” The sweet voice of the flower shop’s owner calls your attention, and you give her a soft smile as you walk over to her, giving a short wave to her two children also working behind the counter. “Hi Mrs Fontana, yeah it really has been a while huh? How’s everything holding up?”

You loved the homey vibe of the shop, family-owned businesses always appealed to you for some reason, it made them feel more genuine, rather than a large corporation solely focused on making as much money as possible.

“Everything’s well my dear,” She gives you smile as you walk over. “What can I get for you today?”

“I’m not actually sure yet, I’m looking for something to bring to a friend of mine in the hospital,”

“Hospital? Is everything okay?” Your confession caught the attention of Mrs Fontana’s two children, who joined the two of you in your conversation with shared looks of mild concern.

That was another thing you appreciated about small businesses like this, it meant you could form a friendly relationship with the people who ran it.

“He was pretty badly injured, so I just want to get something to show my sympathy you know?”

Rachel, Mrs Fontana’s daughter gave you a soft nod with a sympathetic look of her own. “Yeah i get you, one of my friends ended up in the hospital a little while back through a car accident so I know how it makes you feel,”

“What happened? if you don’t mind me asking of course, it might help us pick out a proper arrangement for you,” Mrs Fontana’s son Riley piped up next, leaning his hands against the counter.

“He got into an accident, he was rushed off to the hospital a few hours ago and I’m on my way to go and visit him now, joys of being in the FBI I suppose,” You keep the details of the origins of Spencer’s injuries to yourself, not wanting to dump all of your problems on the three, no matter how well you’d become acquainted with each other since you’d started frequenting the shop a few months ago.

“I can imagine-” Rachel reaches over the counter to place a comforting hand on your own.

One furrowed expression of consideration later, you were being led towards the back of the shop to have a look at some of the flowers. “Traditional sympathy bouquets usually contain tulips, carnations, and hydrangea, but there’s no real ‘rules’ for what can and can’t go into them,”

You give a small nod at Riley’s explanation as he pointed towards a few collections of brightly coloured tulips. “Yellow and white are the best colours to go for if you’re looking for a symbolic bouquet, although I know that some people don’t really believe in colour symbolism so it really is up to you,”

You mull over your options for a moment as your eyes flicker across the different collections of possible flowers.

“Or if you’d prefer something more simplistic, roses are always a great option, they can mean so many things depending on the context in which they’re given,” Rachel shrugs lightly as she walks past you and Riley to grab a few clusters of lily of the valley for a separate bouquet that she was putting together.

You end up choosing a mix of purple tulips and roses, Spencer’s favourite colour, and you watch as Riley organises them into a neatly wrapped bouquet. “Thanks Riley,”

You give him a soft smile of appreciation and he returns it with one of his own. “It’s no problem at all,”

You bid the three florists a goodbye as you rejoin Morgan in the car, propping the flowers gently in the backseat.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

You absentmindedly mess with the brown paper wrapping of the bouquet as you enter the hospital, leaving Morgan to speak to one of the receptionists to find where Spencer had been roomed as you focused on keeping yourself from falling into another potential panic attack.

“He’s in room 315, up the hall on your right, although he’s still unconscious.”

Morgan and you make your way to the room, and when you get there the door is slightly open. You can see Spencer lying on a bed with bandages all over his abdomen and one over his nose.

He’s fast asleep.

You sigh softly as you walk into the room, half relieved he’s stable and half guilty that he’s in this position in the first place, and you pull up one of the plastic chairs from the corner of the room to take a seat next to his hospital bed, carefully leaving the flowers on one of the side tables.

Morgan stands back, his eyes flicking over to you as he leans against the wall.

It was a weird thing to think, but... Spencer looked quite peaceful when he was asleep, considering the circumstances of the situation.

You hesitantly take one of Spencer’s hands in in your own, the frigid coldness of his fingers again becoming apparent compared to the warmth of your palm as you cupped his hand between both of yours.

“Can I- have some privacy for a minute? Please?” You give Morgan a half pleading look as you squeeze onto Spencer’s hand slightly, to which Morgan responds with a small nod of reassurance, stepping out of the room and closing the door behind him.

The minute the door clicks shut you feel the tears threaten to spill from your eyes again, and you take a sharp breath in through your nose in a fruitless attempt to combat them.

“I know you can’t hear me right now but I just want you to know that I’m so sorry…” The first tear falls hot against the skin of your cheek, landing against the back of your hand as you lower your head towards the floor. “If I’d’ve just kept it to myself-“

You cut your ramble short as your voice cracks.

“I put you in danger because I was being selfish instead of thinking logically, and I’m so sorry…”

Spencer makes a slight but noticeable movement, his eyes fluttering open slowly as they adjust to the harsh white lighting of the hospital room.

He blinks the sleep out of his eyes and his vision focuses... eventually landing on your tear-streaked face, and he mutters out your name in a mix of drowsed-confusion and concern at the fact you were crying at his bedside.

“What the- hey, you- what’s wrong?”

Of course the first thing Spencer would ask whilst waking up from a grievous assault was if you were okay.

“What’s wrong with me? You’re lying in a hospital bed half beaten…”

You remove one of your hands from his to wipe your cheeks with the back of your hand, trying to regain a fraction of composure instead of breaking down in front of him.

“Hey- Hey no-“

Spencer’s face is filled with concern and worry as he sees you on the verge of a breakdown, and he tries to sit up for a moment, but he grimaces when he feels his wounds. “Hey, it's okay, okay? I’m okay, please…”

“Spencer don’t sit up-“

You get out of your seat to encourage his shoulders back down against the hospital bed as he tries to comfort you despite him being the one that is actually in need of comforting. He begrudgingly obliges to your gentle insistence as he moves to lie down again, although propping himself a little higher up against the angled head of the bed so that he wasn’t completely lying down, and he puts his hand gently on your cheek to wipes away a tear that you’d missed. “Please don’t cry...”

His hands are oddly comforting, like a cold shower on a sunny day. You don’t know why, but something about these small touches that you had with Spencer felt comforting in a way that you couldn’t even begin to fully comprehend.

“Hey, please... I’m okay. You need to be calm, okay? It's okay. I’m okay.”

Was that his go-to line for comforting someone when he himself was clearly hurting? If so, you found yourself rather endeared by the whole thing if not more guilty.

That soft, velvety voice of his saying, “you need to be calm.” was weirdly soothing.

“This is all my fault I’m so sorry-”

Tears freely cascade down your cheeks as you shift to take a seat on the edge of the hospital bed, squeezing one of his hands in between both of your own as you apologise.

Spencer looks at you with concern in his eyes, but he tries his best to reassure you. “Hey, look at me. Please don’t cry. This is not your fault. I promise you that.”

He brings your hand to his chest, gently pressing it over where his heart is as he rubs his thumb over the back of it.

Feeling the gentle strokes of Spencer’s heartbeat under your palm helped a little, but it didn’t stop the guilt from flowing through your mind, overwhelming your senses. “I lead him right to you…”

“Hey... hey look... look at me.” Spencer lifts your chin up and makes eye contact once more. “You don’t know if that’s what happened. Okay? You don’t know.”

Spencer sounds so soothing and genuine, it’s hard to doubt what he’s saying.

As you make eye contact with him you see something in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before. It was small and subtle, but there was something there... a longing of some sort.

“No Spence I do know-“

You wipe the sleeve of your free hand over your cheeks in another attempt at wiping them from the dampness of your tears. “He left a quote from the book, in your hand,”

Spencer pauses, and the corner of his lip tugs into a frown at your revelation. “...what?”

You can see Spencer’s eyes flicker with concern as he takes the information in.

“I never should have brought you into this I’m so sorry Spencer…”

Spencer is surprised how much you’re blaming yourself when he doesn’t think the situation is entirely your fault at all.

“Hey.” Spencer brushes the hair away from your face. “Stop saying sorry.”

For a moment, there's an electric moment between the two of you as Spencer continues to touch your face. His eyes linger over the remnants of tear stains on your cheeks.

“He’s escalated from sending me things to hurting people that I care about…” You lean your cheek into the palm of Spencer’s hand.

“You’re hurt, because of me."

Spencer’s eyes continue to flit over your form as the silence between the two of you hangs heavy in the air.

His chest rises as he takes a deep breath, his hand still lingering on your cheek. He looks down at your face as his hand traces an outline against your cheek and jaw line. “It’s not your fault… I promise. You couldn’t have known.”

“I just- You mean so much to me Spencer, and I-“ You cut yourself off with a deep breath through your nose, trying to calm yourself down enough to word your sentence properly.

“I can’t bare to see you like this… Especially when i’m the reason it happened…”

“Hey no... listen... I’m okay.” Spencer gently caresses your cheek with his thumb.

“I know… I just-“ You let out a soft sigh at the gentle sensation of his thumb on your cheek.

“I’m so sorry…”

Spencer continues to look at you for a moment, his eyes taking in your appearance before locking with yours.

There are flecks of light green throughout his golden brown irises, and you find yourself on the verge of getting lost in the way the colours shift in the overhead lights.

Spencer gives a soft sigh, muttering your name softly under his breath. "It's okay. Stop apologising."

“Sorry-“ You cut yourself short as you instinctually apologise for apologising, pursing your lips together with a nod instead.

“I just wanna put this guy behind bars… Before he hurts anyone else…” Your fear that spencer is still in danger begins to make you feel increasingly regretful about coming to visit him.

This guy had obviously attacked Spencer because he was a ‘threat’ of some kind to the stalker’s objective of forming a romantic relationship with you, and you feared that you continuing to see him would only put him in more danger.

"I know you do..." Spencer’s hand moves from your cheek to caress your hand slightly as he speaks, his voice barely above a whisper. "And we will. We will do everything we can to do that."

Spencer’s eyes flicker downwards in the briefest of glances before locking his gaze on yours again. "Please... please stop blaming yourself."

“I’m sorry…”

“No more sorries,” Spencer’s voice is soft as it caresses your ears. “You did nothing wrong.”

Spencer tugs on your hand gently with his fingers so your eyes flit back to his. “I’m okay,”

His eyes are clear and they are only gazing at yours.

"I just- I love you a lot spencer, I just want you to be safe…" You feel a few more tears rolling down your cheeks as your guilt threatens to make you cry again. “I’m putting you in danger just by being here…”

Spencer lets out a small sigh and tilts his head. "Hey... hey, listen to me."

Spencer caresses the back of your hand with your thumb to get your attention.

"Stop apologising and just... stop beating yourself up, okay? None of this is your fault, okay?"

Spencer's voice is soothing as he speaks to you, and he makes eye contact, caressing your arm gently. "If I had the choice to go back, I would let you stay over all over again."

“Spencer-”

“No, listen to me. I would not change a single thing. I’m just sorry I couldn’t help you solve this earlier so this didn’t have to happen.” You can see something in Spencer's eyes as he interrupts your attempt to chastise him, a hint of longing as though there’s something he’s trying to keep hidden.

There’s a soft smile on his face as his eyes flicker over your face.

Spencer slowly props himself up on his elbow as he can look at you properly, ignoring your soft plea for him to remain lying down.

Your eyes flit between Spencer’s chest and the buttons of his hospital gown as they shift with his body. It makes your stomach tingle. You can see the steady rise and fall of his chest, and a part of you wants to collapse into his arms and let him tell you that it’s all going to be okay.

“Can I ask you something..?” Spencer’s question is quiet and hesitant, and if your ears weren’t hyper aware of his voice your not sure you would have heard it.

You give him a small nod, eyes flickering away from his chest to look at his eyes once more

"What does... love mean to you right now?"

Spencer’s eyes lock with yours like they did before, although this time there’s a silent insistence in them.

"Because right now, you’ve said that you ‘love’ me, and I don’t know what that means to you."

"I-"

You blink a few times as you pull away from him a little further, straightening your posture to sit up properly again as your mind computes his question.

You can almost see the thoughts spinning through Spencer's head as he monitors your expression. His eyes still flicker between yours, and you can hear the heavy breathing of his chest as he stares at you.

The longer you sit there staring at each other, the more you start to realise how close Spencer's face is to yours. Even his breath is so close to yours that it's making your heart rate rise to the point where you can feel it in your throat.

"I- You’re one of my closest friends Spencer…" You instinctively dry swallow as if it was going to help you get out of the conversation "I don’t want to lose you- I can’t risk that, not after everything we’ve been through,"

Your words seem to have triggered something in Spencer's mind, as his eyes quickly fix on yours, your name falling from his lips as he shifts himself to sit up further.

Spencer leans in towards you slightly, his lips slightly parted. "I can tell that whatever 'love' is to you... it's not the way that friends love each other. It's different. And I think... I think I'm starting to understand why." The words seem to fall out of Spencer's lips like they're burning to be let free.

"I... love you."

Spencer blurts out the words with genuine emotion, his eyes filled with warmth and compassion, his eyebrows furrowed together.

"I love you, and... and the feeling I get when I'm around you... it's different than anything else I've ever felt, and-" Spencer cuts himself off before saying anything else, his voice breaking towards the end as if he's trying to hold back tears.

His words cause your heart to drop in your chest. But not the type feeling you’d get after your anxiety lifts after solving a case. Not the type of feeling you’d get after the man who you’d been subconsciously pining after for years has just confessed his love for you.

It was that feeling you get when you expected something bad to happen and it turned out even worse than you could have possibly imagined.

"Spencer…”

Your simple utterance of his name seems to cause Spencer to lose any restraint he had left.

“I'm so goddamn in love with you…" he whispers so softly you can barely hear it.

Spencer's eyes are locked with yours, a deep passion in his eyes that he doesn’t think you’ve ever seen from him ever before.

"I-" Your mind seems to short circuit as he doubles down on his confession, and you feel as though you’re going to throw up from the pit you’re feeling in your stomach.

"I can’t do this- I’m sorry-"

You shake your head as you stand up from where you were sat on the edge of Spencer’s hospital bed, a sudden wave of lightheadedness washing over you as you do.

"Please don't do that." Spencer’s voice is gentle as he tries to reach out his hand towards you. "Don't just... hide from this because you're scared, okay?"

Spencer pauses for a moment before speaking again, his voice a bit of a murmur. "You... you love me too, don't you?"

The words are quiet and uncertain as he seems to question himself, his eyes never wavering from yours.

"I’m sorry Spencer-" You subconsciously retreat from his outstretched hand, pulling on your sleeves with your own. “I should go-”

"Wait-" Spencer’s voice is filled with emotion, his beautiful hazel eyes silently begging you not to leave as they glass over with tears.

"Please... Can I please have a moment to just..." Spencer pauses for a moment, searching for the words he wants to say.

"I don't want to let you walk out of this room so you can pretend you don't feel the same way that I do." Spencer takes a breath and tries to calm himself. "Please... please just stay... let’s talk about this…"

"Get some rest Spencer…" Your voice wavers as you walk away from the bed to leave the room.

“No, wait, don't-”

Spencer's voice trails off to a murmur as you close the door behind you, leaving him alone in the hospital room.

Spencer drops back against the bed, and as he spots the bouquet left on the side table the tears that had welled in his eyes finally trickle down his cheeks.

Was he making a mistake...?

No, what is he thinking?

You just need time to process everything... that's all.

Spencer sighs and closes his eyes, trying to keep his mind off of the fact that the love of his life had just walked out the door.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #mgg #criminal minds angst #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid angst #erotomania

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gfcheol · 2 years

Text

confidently lost | k. mingyu

pairing: mingyu x reader

genre: smut (this is really filthy i'm so sorry lmao)

word count: 2.8k

tags: dilf!mingyu, divorced!mingyu, babysitter!reader, age gap (reader is in early 20s, mingyu early 40s), daddy kink, sir kink(?), mommy kink (mingyu wants to make reader a mommy), breeding kink, mild size kink, dirty talk, unprotected sex

summary: it's not easy to work your way through college, luckily for you, your babysitting job pays exceptionally well. and your boss is absolutely gorgeous.

you'd never really been fond of the colour grey. the way moody clouds clogged up the sky with cold indifference; or the concrete jungle of the city urged you to succumb to stressful days - it had always left an uneasy feeling within you. there was no warmth to it, no playful side, no joy, nothing.

although you'd found a new appreciation for it, once you started working for your current boss - mr kim mingyu. grey looked different on him. his suits seemed elegant, rather than arrogant. there were no harsh edges around him, nothing cold in his radiant smile or his salt and pepper hair. he was a kind, dedicated and gorgeous man, who always treated you with kindness, no matter how late he came home. and on top of all that, he was also a wonderful father. he was able to make a color as hopeless as grey shine.

"mr kim", he had introduced himself with a firm handshake, keeping his gaze steady as you felt your whole body flare up. "although mingyu's just fine with me. you're from uh- what are they called again? 'tiny treasures', right?"

you must have looked like a fish out of water then, gawking at him with wide eyes and parted lips, as though he had two heads standing on his shoulder. as much as you had tried, your eyes kept wandering to his broad chest and tall frame, feeling almost entranced by his presence alone. "uh- yes, mr kim. i'm currently still in college, so this is me trying to uh- make some money on the side. your daughter's two, right?"

"eunji's birthday is in december, she'll turn three then. i work from nine to five - her mother only gets her every second week of the month, so i appreciate any help i can get around the house", his smile had almost knocked the breath out of your lungs. even then you had known that this was going to be a problem. "and it's mingyu, sweetheart."

"when do you want me to start?", you'd merely replied, voice sounding disgustingly nervous.

his smile had turned into a smirk. "when are you able to?"

working for him simultaneously felt like a dream and like an absolute nightmare. yes, he might be a kind boss and eunji was nothing short of adorable. even his house seemed almost too perfect to be true. you were very certain of the fact that his job probably payed him handsomely - judging by his designer clothes and the many expensive toys eunji was entertained with. and yet, you felt this strange expanding in your chest sensation, whenever mr kim handed you your payment for the day. maybe he made you feel uneasy with his perfect little life as a confident man in his early fortys. maybe you felt like you didn't quite belong there, despite his welcoming presence.

or maybe, just maybe, it was your massive crush on him that fueled your anxiety. but who was to say?

"oh, shi- did i wake you two?", your ears perked up at the sound of your employer's voice, fingers still entangled in his daughter's soft hair. soft snores escaped her parted lips, her tiny arms holding still holding on to your torso. no matter how much you enjoyed hearing eunji's tiny giggles, you still felt relieved once she finally calmed down enough to fall asleep.

"hm? oh no, don't worry, sir", you replied, voice hushed. "uh sorry- do you mind taking her? my legs are starting to fall asleep."

"oh no, we can't have that", he chuckled, rounding the coffee table to lift her up from your lap, placing a soft kiss on top of her head. there were smile lines around his eyes as his beamed down at you and you swore, you could feel your heart skip a beat.

sure, you were quite aware of the age difference between you two. and yes, you were also quite aware of how stupid it would be, to start fucking your boss as someone who needs his money to go through college. but by god - were you not allowed to fantasize even a little bit?

he was goddamn gorgeous. his chest was broad, shoulders wide, biceps bulging even in dress shirts, and worst of all - his smile. there was always this wolfish glint in his eyes whenever he gifted you with a smile that left you questioning your sanity. it felt both, dangerous and exciting - as if you were breaking the rules just by talking to him. sometimes in moments like these, it did feel like he knew what kind of effect he had on you. and worst of all - he seemed like he found enjoyment in it. although you decided it'd best to bury that thought as deep as you could in the depth of your mind. who could afford to hope for something so naive?

your eyes followed him as he carried his daughter to her room, stretching your legs from underneath you. you hummed in relief at the blood rushing to your feet once again, letting your head fall back on the couch. exhaustion spread through your body, only suppressing a yawn with great effort. you were so ready for bed at this point.

"thank you again for coming in so late", mingyu sighed out, closing the living room door behind him with a soft 'click'. "i know, you usually don't really do weekends."

you offered him a faint smile. "oh please, it's nothing, mr kim. was there an emergency at the office or something? if i'm allowed to ask, that is."

to your surprise, he paused for a second, smile slightly faltering, before he moved to run his fingers through his hair. "it's mingyu, darling", the response felt automatic at this point but still never failed to make you feel all giddy. "i know you mean well, but i feel like i belong in a retirement home everytime you call me by my last name."

"i'm sorry, mr mingyu."

he snorted at that, casually leaning against the doorframe. "so she's afraid of using my name, but not afraid of teasing her boss?"

the heat that spread on your face felt unbearable to you, and yet you merely offered a shrug, suppressing the urge to giggle like a teen with a crush. "who said i was afraid?"

"if not afraid then-", his head tilted to the side, glancing up and down your still seated body. you felt so very exposed under his gaze, sinking further into the couch cushions. "is it nervousness? do i make you nervous, sweetheart?"

"n- do i have any reason to be nervous?" your question may have been bold, but the look of surprise on mr kim's face was worth the embarrassment crawling into your skin.

another pause on his end. his eyes trailed off into the distance, chasing something only he was aware of, his hands busy rolling up his sleeves. "i had a date today."

oh. oh fuck.

despite yourself, you felt your heart sink. how silly of you to hold any sort of expectations in regards to him. what did you think was going to happen? he was a grown man, free to do whatever who whomever he wanted, without any kind of obligation to his damned babysitter. "oh?", you flinched at the sound of your voice, sounding meek even to your own ears. "that's great. i hope it went well?"

just like that, he snapped back into reality, attention zeroing in on you. his smiley demeanor faded, replaced with an intensity you usually only saw from him during very particularly draining workdays. "i know eunji has a mother, i'm not looking for a replacement. she's my everything - i'd do anything for her, so it's... difficult to make the right decision on who's allowed into our lifes."

"your date sounds like a very special lady to be allowed such a privilege." mr kim sat on the edge of the sofa, the distance between you feeling almost too much to bare. he nodded along to your words, keeping his eyes trained on your face. were he any other man you'd try to escape his look, but you found yourself transfixed by him - unable to move even one muscle.

"that's exactly my dilemma", he frowned, arm stretching out across the back of the sofa, hand suspiciously close to the back of your head. "i already have someone to take care of my baby girl, and she does such a fantastic job too."

"that's- so kind of you to say, sir." his fingers brushed against your hair and you felt like you could die right then and there. you couldn't help but lean into his soft touch, a faint gasp escaping your lips. "i- i enjoy working here quite a lot! eunji's wonderful. such a quick learner too."

he hummed in response to your neediness, boldness shining through as he inched closer to you, until you felt the hear radiating off his body. "y'know...", he trailed off, voice raspier than just a moment ago. "all i kept thinking, while i sat there with this lovely lady was how i already have my two girls waiting for me at home."

you didn't feel like breathing anymore. "mr kim?"

"fuck-", his hand travelled from your hair to your cheeks, squeezing your lips together between his fingers in a swift motion. his face was so close now, you could make out every fine line on his handsome face, his breath ghosting across your skin. "you always look so pretty with my daughter in your arms. would make any man think."

his lips were so close to yours now, if you wanted to you could simply lean forward to connect yours with his, yet your remained still under him. "i've- i never wanted to assume intent, sir. i love... being around you and eunji."

"tell me you don't want this, sweetheart. tell me and i'll stop at once."

a whine. "i want you so fucking bad, sir."

the kiss was everything you could have hoped for. he tasted like way too expensive wine, feeling intoxicated just by the taste alone. his hands roamed your torso, trailing up and down your sides, groaning into your mouth. you felt electrified connected to him, static shock alerting your every nerve of his taste, his weight on you, his sounds.

"feel so good, sweetheart", he rasped as he grinded against your hips. "let daddy treat you well, yeah?"

the moan you left out at the nickname was involuntary, arching your back off the couch, you felt like a fucking mess. "oh fuck- daddy."

he laughed softly, toying with the top buttons of your blouse. "not mingyu but daddy?", his tongue swiped across his bottom lip. "wanna be a good girl for daddy? so needy for me, fuck."

one by one, he opened your blouse tantalizingly slow, teasing you every so often with a small kiss to the corners of your lips. all you could do was whine out your complaints, holding on to his shoulders, rubbing your palms against the soft material of his shirt. mingyu hissed at the sight of you in your bra, head dipping low to mouth at the top of your breasts.

pushing your chest out, against his face, you whined out a string of curses. your body felt too sensitive, every touch and every kiss setting you ablaze with want. you tried your best to look for any sort of friction, your panties already clinging to your wet cunt.

"shhh", he cooed, freeing your tits out of their confines. "don't wanna wake up our girl, right mommy?"

your eyes widened, head snapping up to meet his dark gaze. even through your hazy mind, you could feel your heartbeat quickening at his words. he met your expression with a smirk. "would you like that, honey? give eunji a sibling? become a mommy yourself?"

your response was immediate, your lips crashing into his once with newfound need, fingers finding purchase in his greying locks. pushing against him, he landed on his back, lying there with awe in his eyes as you climbed right on top of him. the feeling of his hard on in his trousers overwhelming you as you ground your hips against him in a rocking motion. the friction against your clit, letting you moan out in desperate pleasure.

his hands landed on your hips, your skirt all bunched up, revealing your thighs to him. guiding you into a steady rhythm, he couldn't help but gently thrust up into you. he grit his teeth, hissing at a particular pointed angle. "let me stretch you out first."

"n- no, wanna feel you now, daddy", you responded, hands on his pecs. "don't care if it hurts."

"there's no 'if' in this, baby", he sighed, squeezing his eyes shut in concentration. "are you sure?"

frantically, you nodded your head 'yes', hips still slowly circling against him, addicted to the pleasure shooting through you. mingyu softly pushed against you, hands making quick work of his zipper. with a sharp hiss, his cock jumped free, your mouth watering at the sight alone.

he was fucking huge - without a doubt the biggest you ever had so far. his tip already glistening with precum, you reached out with trembling hands, thumb swiping across his leaking slit. "shit", mingyu groaned out, trying his damnedest to keep his hips from bucking up. your fingertips trailed along his greying happytrail, relishing in the subdued noises he couldn't keep quite in.

shifting in his lap, you pushed your panties to the side, shuddering at the feeling of cold air hitting your cunt. "gorgeous", he said, fingers digging into the meat of your thighs. "and already so wet for daddy?"

"yeah, all f- for daddy." you let yourself slide up and down his length, coating him with your wetness, before aligning the tip with your pulsating cunt. his eyes met yours for a brief second, the hunger in them almost consuming you whole. without any prior warning, he finally rocked up into you.

not even halfway in, you already felt stuffed, tears forming in your eyes as you worked to accommodate his sheer girth. the stretch was deliciously painful, nails digging into the back of his hands.

mingyu did his best to soothe you, fingers rubbing gentle circles into your clit, bottom lip caught between his teeth. "'m so sorry, baby. i know it's too big", he cooed. "you need a- fuck- you need a second?"

as stubborn as ever, you shook your head with a pout on your lips, sinking further down on him. "hurt so good."

"yeah?", he half moaned, half hummed. "you like getting your cunt stretched out by just a- anyone? or is daddy special?"

once fully inside, you felt yourself clench around him, wetness dripping down his balls. the squelch of you moving up his cock sounded almost pornographic to your ears, the added stimulation of his fingers on your clit, forcing soft moans out of you. "no, just f- for you!"

even though the pace was agonizingly slow, you couldn't trust yourself to move any faster, thighs already trembling from the pleasure coiling in your stomach. though mingyu's resolve seemed to run slim, as he pushed himself off the cushions, pressing his chest against yours. the material of his shirt rubbing against your nipples as he thrust into you again and again, new pace making you head spin.

"oh fuck", you mewled, face buried in the crook of his neck. mingyu showed no mercy on you, his motions swift and smooth, fingers still expertly on your clit, working you towards your orgasm. everything felt like too much and yet not nearly enough. your mind was empty, fully succumbing to the heat in your stomach.

"you gonna cum f'me? let me fucking fill you up?", he grunt out his question.

with a shaky nod, you squealed into his shirt. "yes, fuck! please, sir-"

"oh fuck." and with a loud smack against your ass, you finally burst, vision turning white. you felt his pace stutter at your orgasm, chanting his name like a prayer. and all through that, mingyu kept his pace, fucking you through it like his life depended on it.

as soon as you felt your body go limp from exhaustion, he hoisted you up from his lap, laying you on your back, before he started drilling into you once again. with no more regard to your pleasure, he moved almost animalistic, panting right next to your ear. there was something insanely hot about the way he chased after his own release, using your body however he saw fit.

you let out a whine. "need your cum in me, daddy. fillin' me up to make me a m- mommy."

his hips stuttered at that, pressing kisses to your neck as a reward. "you want my cum?" and with one last thrust he stilled inside you, pumping you full. "then fucking take it."

if you'd felt full before, this was nothing compared to it, ropes of cum flooding your cunt and spilling out of you. you vaguely thought about the promise of pregnancy that mingyu mentioned, a soft smile gracing your lips as you pressed a soft kiss on to his temple.

his hands felt heaven sent as he smoothed over the skin of your thighs, feeling content with the silence between you two. when he finally lifted his head to look at you, there was a glint shining in his eyes that wasn't quite there before - and for a moment, you imagined what he might have looked like at your age. "hi."

you snorted. "hi yourself."

"this was amazing", he leaned to kiss you, careful as not to crush you with his weight. "i meant what i said, sweetheart. i don't want anyone else but you - if you'll have me."

the question seemed almost ridiculous as you grinned against his lips. "you're silly to think i wouldn't."

"hmm", he sighed. "all mine now."

#mingyu smut #mingyu x reader #svt x reader #svt smut #seventeen x reader #seventeen smut

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arch3ontumbl · 27 days

Text

World Bearer Part 1

Bearing his child as he was fighting in Shibuya

It wasn't intended neither it was accident, the child you caress in your womb, it was the result of love. A couple of days earlier barely even recalling the dates, news came unto you as Shoko informed you of Gojo captured, impossible..

He promised

He always promises y/n, you thought to yourself having filled with worry and doubt this time the result would be different, this time he wouldn't be able to be by your side, the last smile he gave you, the last kiss, it floods all to your every bit of sanity left.

You wept unsure of what to do, this is bad for your child. It's stressing you out knowing you can't do anything and you can't ask anyone about it. It pains you that you cannot be beside him nor come to his rescue, you carry the world inside you and you can't risk to lose any of which.

Your whole relationship with him was hidden deeper than 6 feet graves could even speak, only Shoko were informed and were supposed to be the only person besides him to assist you on giving birth.

'missed a call from Shoko'

You missed her first call as you were to focused on picking up some shards of glass, you dropped the mug you and Gojo share for every morning coffee.

Broken. You struggle to bend down as your belly bump is clearly on the way, you stood up and checked your phone to your surprise

Is it finally good news

You called back as she picked up in a hurry, she seemed to hesitate to tell, she hesitated to cause anymore stress than to bear the very weight of the next possibly most powerful sorcerer to mankind in the next generation. Even the weight of the child causes a wave of imbalance in the world between curses and the burden of being expected to be the sword and shield for the most dangerous circumstances awaits your child if his birth were to be exposed and known to the world.

It's what Gojo went through afterall

"y/n listen, Gojo is out now and currently facing curses and possibly Sakuna. I am called for support for the sorcerers in Shibuya—" she paused for what seemed eternity, fueling my anxiety and worry.

"y/n I just wanted to tell you to worry a bit less, he told me to relay you his message: I'd win, I'd be there when our son is born. I'm the strongest afterall" Shoko whispered to the phone as I let out a little chuckle still with a hint of nervous yet comfort. Atleast feel a little ease for the child you bear, for the child you birth with Gojo beside you.

"Thank you Shoko" I whispered back, your voice crack and break devours the silence of the room.

2 hours pass, and shit you feel building up contractions, painfully telling you your world is about to arrive. You rush to get some lukewarm water, a damp towel, quickly sterilize some scissors and a warm blanket

Yet he is not here, he's in battle, fighting

Unable to contact anyone else you try to reach for Shoko again. Afraid, you're just straight up afraid. Your timing your contractions yourself as you lay down your soft bed sheets, slowly painting it with blood. Gojo is in his battlefield and so are you, you combat the pain as you try to push harder and harder not trying to pass out on the way.

One

Two

Three

You push, again

One

Two

You push, you can't stop here. Your child needs to get out now

You gave another hard push screaming your lungs out, cursing, fist balled in the sheets as the other scratched the bed board.

Finally, a cry

Don't faint, don't faint

You pick yourself up, positioning yourself to sit back at the bed frame for support. Picking up your child and expertly cutting his umbilical cord before you could finally fix your eyes on your child you made sure to hear his heart beat, your scared you did a step wrong.

But his heart beat as loud as he cried, you admire your child clearly reassembling your husband. His hair and the same goes for his eye lashes, white as snow, his eyes with a hint of you a hue of purple and mainly the blue skies, high and mighty, adding the captivating and deep capture of the ocean you admire from Gojo.

You cried, as your child slept in your arms. A call notifies your phone enough for you to immediately answer before it wakes up your son.

"He's here" you said as Shoko could picture your smile from the phone call before she could even speak a word, her seconds of silence sends you a break of her heart like she's about to break another bad news for you.

#anime #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk gojo #gojo angst #jujutsu gojo #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #jjk satoru #gojo

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stararch4ngelqueen · 7 months

Text

Guessing Game

My lovely little Ghost pregnancy not short Drabble.

Word Count: 7.7k

- - -

Moments of silence with your husband were usually tranquil and serene in the comforts of your own home. It was rare for the aura between you both to be fueled with unbridled tension and hesitation to even breathe properly.

The two of you said nothing for the longest time in the sanctuary of your living room, on your comfortable couch. In the silent man’s hand, he held a test, which he proceeded to set down on the coffee table in front of him.

Positive.

A little pink sign on a tiny screen, bright as day, staring at you both like a sore thumb.

That’s supposed to be a good thing, Positives usually mean good things. Happy, joyful, erratic, exciting. Good.

Positives however, can also be scary, terrifying, petrifying.

Your heart sank deep into the bottom of your stomach, a dreadful ache following suit that lingered as every minute passed in this silence.

You hated it, but you didn't know what to say.

It started off as an odd feeling, just a couple of days ago. A bit of dizziness in the morning, a slight queasiness after, but nothing more. You blamed it on allergies, or a migraine due to lack of proper sleep, anything but that single, simple idea of what it could’ve been.

The signs grew more unquestionably obvious with every day passed, the sickness, the shift in your emotions, the sinking feeling as the possibility grew more and more intense with each passing hour.

You went out during a grocery run, and couldn't stop yourself from arriving at a pharmacy, heading towards that one particular aisle containing just what you needed.

You didn’t even know when or how-

You stopped yourself right there. You’d be an absolute fool if you considered finishing that thought for a sentence.

You know how it happened, of course you knew. Question was, you couldn’t exactly remember when. It sort of happened quite often.

Just for good measure, you had also bought three other boxes, which were currently jumbled in your bathroom sink, each revealing the same exact message.

A part of you, a tiny part of you, buried underneath all the stomach burning anxiety and dread of this new onset reality was kind of delighted, excited in fact, bringing forth upon you a wish you never realized you’d forgotten about. One you believed you had no right to have after the life you lived.

To have a baby with the man you loved, truly loved. A fair amount of the population’s absolute dream.

An honest, beautiful dream, but for all you knew, it was only yours. At one point, not once did you ever think if it was his dream as well.

That was until a few weeks ago once it was brought up, during a late-night discussion in bed.

“How do you feel about a baby?”

An honest, curious question had never made the man stiffer in his life, feeling his hands on you grow stiff like dead branches before he released you, catching you completely by surprise.

The both of you were stable, financially at least. Emotionally however, all that bustled through Simon’s head were the great cons that outweighed the pros.

An honest, simple question turned into a forty-minute discussion over both your heavy worries and concerns. His concerns, his fears, his terror of bringing a version of himself to this dangerous, unpredictable world of chaos and death, bred by the man who enjoyed creating such.

You reassured him constantly, by then just wishing to end the topic then and there. An honest question grew too harshly awkward, painfully dragged out at the realization that Simon may not have wanted children at all.

It was a thorn you shouldn’t have pricked your finger on, so you were content to step back and let the topic go.

Simon’s face, brows contorted with distress still, realized your ache at this discussion. You didn’t wish to scare him, and the last thing he wanted was to scare you, which was exactly what he was doing.

When it came to you, his heart softened at the reality of you being the doe eyed mother of his child, born with your love and beauty, your charisma and valor. A headstrong boy or girl with a mother like you to guide them along the way, this world lacked that kind of bond in the places no one dares to check.

“Is this something you want?” Simon finally speaks his mind, concerned over what was going through yours.

Immediately, you begin to release everything, slowly listing out a series of options that came to the top of your head, ones he wasn't expecting to hear. Going to a clinic, figuring out your options, that sort of thing if he didn’t want the baby.

Simon immediately stops you from speaking further.

“Forget about me for just a second,” Simon states, realizing he may have come off too harshly on this matter towards you, potentially giving you the wrong idea.

“What about you?” He asks in a calm, softened tone. Me?

“Is this something you want?”

You hesitate, glancing everywhere but him as your fingers clench at the bedsheets.

His hand takes yours, his other lightly sweeping through your hair. “Tell me the truth. I won’t force this on you.”

You look him in the eyes, those eyes you absolutely adored.

Oftentimes, you hear him say he doesn’t deserve you, but sometimes you can’t help but find him adorable for him being blatantly unaware of when you think in vice versa to this.

His consideration on your behalf melted your heart to its very core.

“I’ve always wanted this, Simon.” You admit, unable to hold back the tears as you look down.

“At one point in my life, I never even thought of it, but lately… “ You huffed out a weak laugh, wiping your soaked cheeks with the back of your fingers.

“I don’t know, I’ve always wanted to be a mom, but there’s so many worries I have.”

“Like what?” He asked.

“If I’d even be a good mom,” you proceeded, the tears continuing to fall. “If I could even take that responsibility, if the man I thought I’d marry when I wanted to grow up would be there alongside me all the way and have a cute little family.”

The dreadful worries began to crowd your head, much against your better judgment. If you’d carry them to full term, if Simon would stay the entire way, if he second guessed and didn’t want the baby any longer, or if something happened to the baby?

He holds you close, cradling your head close. Softly, he hushed against your forehead, his nose pressed against the crown of your hair.

“But, what if you don’t want-“ you proceeded, feeling his head shake against your head.

“No,” he stops you. “Don’t say that, love.”

He goes quiet, growing lost in his thoughts as you continuously sniffle, patiently wiping your eyes repeatedly. His comforting hug felt so stiff, so foreign, so tense. You always melted in his embrace, but the hesitation that flooded your bones prevented you from doing so.

“I don’t know if I can hold that responsibility of bein’ a good father.” He brings himself to admit, a personal truth that hurts even him to exhale it. Maybe it’s the shock still setting in that makes him say this, but it's still pure, brutal honesty.

Your heart sinks at those words. Even if you were to try to convince him that you could physically see him pacing around a pink or blue tinted nursery, swaddling a baby in his broad arms, he’d never see it that way, feeling himself incapable of clutching something so delicate and pure in his hands.

Never did he see himself being a good father, compared to the life he had, but your words gave him a bit of an epiphany.

If the man you wanted to marry during your childhood’s hopeful dreams was going to remain to help raise a beautiful child and have a happy family, that didn’t mean you’d be doing it alone. He’d take on this role, and he wanted to stay beside you, regardless of it all.

A child with your eyes sounded wonderful. It was interesting really, you were thinking the exact same about him, the excitement and anxiety deep down in both your stomachs still.

“But I want to try,” Simon admits, holding your hands securely in his.

- - -

“Can we start this over?” You spoke up, breaking through this painfully tense silence you’ve felt unable to sit through for a second longer.

He quietly nodded, watching you rise up, plucking the test from the coffee table before walking out of the living room.

You stopped in the middle of the hallway, feeling your fingers trembling as your nerves refused to settle.

This wasn’t how you wanted this to go. You wanted to surprise him in some cuter, more innocent way, but he had caught you completely by surprise as you opened the bathroom door, finding Simon standing on the other side.

Seeing his head tilt down and catch a glimpse of that test immediately destroyed every possible opportunity to surprise him, though you knew it was something you couldn’t be disappointed at forever.

Taking a calm breath, you gather up all the excitement you could muster in your body before turning around, quickly heading back towards the living room entryway.

Before you could muster a word, you were met with a strong wall of warm, black shirt clad muscle, your husband enveloping you in his broad arms, clutching you like his only saving grace.

Simon heard your laugh erupt from your lips, this sudden gesture catching you by surprise as you hugged him back, feeling your feet lift off the floor once you secure your arms around his neck.

With your happiness came tears, joining in with your wide smile. Simon’s eyes glistened with pure, raw emotions, consisting of adoration and raw, unfiltered love the second he looked into your eyes before flooding you with passionate kiss after kiss.

He was scared though. He would always be scared, but for now, he turned his walls into open gates, allowing you to flood his very being with warmth and light, feeling the happiest he’s ever been, following second to his proposal to you.

“A little you,” he muffled against your lips after kissing you for a final time.

“A little you,” you repeated with a giggle.

“With those pretty eyes of yours.” You whisper up to him, grazing your free hand against his cheek once he set you down.

“Christ save me if it has your attitude,” He mutters against your forehead before placing another kiss on it, forcing a snort from your nose in amusement.

That night, he brought you flowers and your favorite chocolates, promising to take you out to eat at your favorite restaurant the next evening. Even after all this time, he still wasn’t a fan of public places, but this was such a celebration, he would do it all in the name of you.

5 weeks.

It wasn’t enough for an ultrasound worth seeing to check for something exciting beyond the size of a pearl or rice grain, but now there was something here. Someone there, and it would soon rely on the two of you to protect it, to love and cherish it.

This would mean you would have to be away from your military lifestyle, taking on this new role while Simon continued on with his. You had to admit you were jealous, especially as the wave of maternal thoughts continuously reminded you of this new position.

With this blessing came so many worries. Simon would have to continue his lifestyle, meaning he’d be gone for long periods of time. How could you cope exactly with this? What would happen, especially after the baby was born?

Maybe you were just thinking ahead.

Only time would really tell if you were true to your word of physically and mentally preparing for it.

Your only regret for the moment was not preparing an adorable pregnancy reveal surprise for him, though time will tell if you have a chance to make up for it.

- - -

You were craving s’mores, but not just any s’mores.

You were dying for that crispy, burnt marshmallow taste, but despised the idea of smoke from a campfire, your nose suddenly souring at the thought, and the rainy weather outside had been unforgiving these past few weeks.

You’ve taken to baking a lot lately these past few evenings, scattered along the last few weeks, keeping your area lit up with the warm stovetop light, melding perfectly with the cozy ambience of your kitchen.

Your kitchen had been your experiment room, your science lab, smelling of rich chocolate and burnt marshmallows as you set your clear glass pan onto a heat protected surface, closing your oven with a gloved hand.

A Graham cracker crust, a rich, fudgy brownie filling, and marshmallow fluff that toasted delightfully on top, thanks to the broiler in your oven.

They were just a more aesthetically pleasing version of slutty brownies, delicious looking ones at least.

21 weeks in, the changes were growing ever so obvious. Your abdomen grew a bit plush, but still thankfully secured under the sanctuary of Simon’s gray t-shirt.

Since you woke up this morning, all you craved was brownies. But fuck it, it was a better craving than something sick, like ice cream and soy sauce, or some other horridly confusing craving you discovered other pregnant women had.

Don’t even bother trying it.

“You gonna finish it this time?” Simon piqued as he stood at the other end of your kitchen counter, watching you cut into this delectable creation, hearing the crunch of the graham crackers as fudgy chocolate and gooey marshmallow clung to your knife from the cut.

It was in the oven for about fifty minutes, but the possibility of raw eggs was nothing compared to the amount of sugar in this invention. At the very least, he made sure you had eaten proper, healthier food throughout the day until now, so satisfying this craving wouldn’t truly hurt every now and then.

“Of course, I will,” you looked up at him after plating four sizable slices on the plate, bits of melted marshmallow coating your fingers of your opposite hands. “You think this is all just for me? You’ve wanted s’mores just as much as I have.”

You tilted your head to the stove, gesturing towards the kettle that whistled for attention during your discussion. “I want some of that earl grey tea too, please.”

You say that because he usually doesn’t drink sweetened tea with his desserts, that was his given fancy. Plain tea cuts through the sweetness perfectly.

“Alright, as long as you only eat two of those. That much sugar will drive you up the damn walls.” Simon mentioned while gathering two mugs from the top cupboard, setting them on the counter.

“Bite me, Riley.” You muttered in amusement, clutching hold of the tray with a still gloved hand while making the final cuts to your dessert.

“I have. Can still see it from here, love.” His voice trailed into your ear from behind you as he passed by, his form lightly, yet innocently brushing along your backside to get the earl grey from another cabinet.

You smiled, a tint of color flushing your cheeks as you licked the remnants off the side of the knife before placing it in the sink.

It was silly, really. With sugar, came the surge of arousal. Hormones really loved to mess with your mind and turned you from his ever doting, needy little wife into his ever doting, needy little wife. It was a tough price to pay.

Tough price to pay indeed.

- - -

“Once this baby sees you, an’ once it touches your skin, they’ll see you as their entire perfect world.” His lowered tone rumbled deliciously from his throat, trailing along the skin of your neck in a similar fashion to his hands.

“You’ll be a wonderful little mother.” He mutters this promise to you, this elegant truth, whether your mind allows it to be believable or not.

Simon’s soothing words mumbled along the shell of your ear, his arms secured around you like a shield of comfort, more secure than any soft blanket after being tossed in the dryer.

You were fresh out of a warmed bath, warm enough to sleep in without being scalding, scented with your favorite bath soaps and oils, turning you into a glistening queen as he sat beside the tub to keep you company, talking about anything and everything to your heart’s content until the water was bordering the edges of lukewarm and cold.

You seemed more concerned over how you appeared as time passed, as if Simon would ever view you any less than desirable. He didn't understand this sudden change in attitude at first, viewing you as nothing more than a diamond after spending decades trapped in coal. Pure, utter perfection bred from years of mind melding pressure from the eyes of the world.

Scars or not, your changing body was gorgeous to him, going through a beautiful process to nurture your growing child.

Simon’s war weathered hands worked wonders along your skin, massaging along your shoulders down to your legs, working the muscles that would eventually grow swelled with time. He never minded this, knowing you’d deserve everything you deserve and more for this laborious task of carrying his child.

Old Friends of yours, and the internet of course, recommended that moisturizing was key during pregnancy, to combat those stretch marks.

The sweet almond oil was merely a plus, as well as the vanilla scented cocoa and shea body butter you used to seal in the moisture. You glistened like an absolute goddess, perfuming his dreams as he cradled you close at night.

It was even working on him, his hands always felt a little bit softer after such a routine each evening.

“An’ before you know it, our little kid will be drinkin’ their tea through their sippy cups.”

A small smile tickled the corners of your lips, a short, amused snort leaving your nose from the comment.

There it was, that smile that Simon adored so much.

A part of him knew that this wouldn’t be the last time these raging hormones would drag you down, but what good was a husband if not an anchor to your worries and concerns?

- - -

“Just one sip?”

“No.”

“But Si-“

“No.” Came his firm reply yet again, all while reading through today’s mail.

Wine. You wanted wine. You craved it desperately, but you couldn’t have it.

Whatever idiotic, controversial topic you had read off your phone or heard from one of your girlfriends was something he wished he could rip from your head and shove it back to where it belonged.

He knew you liked wine, particularly sweet ones, and was aware you had very well missed it, but regardless, he was dreadfully against it.

He cut back on cigarettes for his baby, so like hell any single drop of alcohol was going to touch your tongue, even if it was just for a taste.

Simon got you sparkling grape cider after you spent two days complaining, but it wasn’t the same. Who cares? It was sweet and didn’t have alcohol.

“But the doctor said-“

“The bloody doctor’s not here, is he?!” Simon’s voice raised instantly, leaving you stunted as he glared at you from the corner of his eye. Like hell you were going to use that no-good doctor’s words as an excuse.

You groaned, rolling your head back before stomping out of the kitchen.

“Fuck you, Riley!” You shouted at him from down the corridor before shutting yourself in the bedroom.

“Love you as well,” he mutters, gathering the ripped open envelopes in his hands.

The silly stories of men being concerned, if not frightened for their wives’ outbursts sounded absolutely absurd. If anything, he tried his very best to hold back any sign of amusement, any twitch of a smile or accidental huff of laughter at how adorable you looked being irritated over something you couldn't have.

It’s not the worst he’s seen you before, but thinking that now, he wasn't sure if he was speaking too soon.

You’ll get over it.

- - -

“You’ll be a wonderful father, Simon.” You reassured him, remaining by his side as a subtle roar of thunder echoed in the horizon from miles away.

30 weeks, 30 weeks and the broad, physical changes started to set in.

The bump stretched through most of his shirts, but you were more than content to be comfortable in his black hoodie. You found him after dinner outside after he had done the dishes, leaning on his crossed arms against the porch fence, a lit cigarette in his hand as he took in the storm’s afterglow ambience.

You rubbed his forearm soothingly, settling your hand against his open palm as his fingers relaxed from the touch of yours.

You knew he still struggled with the new mentality of this reality.

Every day, you saw it flash across his eyes once or twice a day, leading him to disappear every so often for minutes at a time to gather his bearings. Ten minutes grew into thirty, evolving into him remaining on your front porch for an hour, watching the rain fall merely inches in front of his face.

“I never saw myself bein’ a father,” he admits slowly after such a long silence, his lowered tone almost muffled by the storm.

You nod to his confession, despite the burn in your heart to hear it.

He says this due to his mother’s words, an echo of a memory voicing through his thoughts from so long ago.

“He’s your father and there’s always gonna be a piece of him in you.”

The thought alone was more terrifying than his fear of you going into labor if he wasn’t around.

If the bastard was alive, he’d make sure he’d stay dead in a ditch far from society, making it impossible for him to ever learn of his child’s name, preventing him from even mentioning it in crude vain.

“But seein’ you like this,” He continues on, giving your fingers a gentle squeeze, “Seeing you carry my child, our child I mean, made me realize exactly why.”

You nodded slowly again, feeling a bit more considerate to his truth. He didn’t need to voice it, for it was a truth you’d known for quite a long time. You didn’t need to know a cruel, heatless man to understand that your husband was nothing of the sort, not by a long shot.

“You’re not your father, Simon.” You squeeze his hand as you say these words, feeling his gaze trail to yours.

“You know not what to do, how not to act, and I know it's not going to be easy, but I’m here too,” You gently encourage him, trying your best to keep hopeful for him to see what you saw.

“We’ve got each other, right? And like you said, once they see you, they’re gonna view you as the perfect father.”

Simon wondered how he got so lucky to have a woman like you in his life, sporting a gentle love he had only known from his mother.

Stepping away from the railing, Simon lowered his hand along the smooth fabric shielding your belly. Smoothing his palm against it, his eyes followed your fingers as they trailed along his inked tattoos, mindlessly swirling over the patterns as you stepped closer to him.

“We should get ready for bed. Now come inside, I’m not supposed to be breathing this stuff in.” You softly say to him, meeting his nod as he chucked out the cigarette towards the puddles of mud out in the yard, before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“You chose to come out here.”

“Because my husband needed his wife and child to remind him how much we love him.”

- - -

“What is that?” You ask from the entryway to the kitchen the next morning, lured in by a new scent melding with the usual aroma of ground coffee and toast.

“Food.” He curtly replied, standing in front of the stove.

The fragrant, slightly spicy smell was delightful to you, but you weren’t sure about what it was. You had an idea, but you dreaded what it could’ve been. Maybe that’s why your husband stood the way he did at the stove, purposely blocking your view from the pan.

“Simon, what is it?” You asked again, your curiosity getting the better of you.

His head craned a little, sparing you a glance over his shoulder, seeing you slightly hidden behind the wall. “You won’t like it.”

“Just tell me what it is.”

“Black pudding.”

“Oh.” The contorted face you made immediately confirmed your views on it.

“Want to try?” Simon offered as he glanced back towards the pan.

“No.” He expected that response. You were content with everything he enjoyed in a full English breakfast except that, everything but that.

“Y’sure?” He piqued while plating both your foods, setting the pan back on the stove before setting one of the plates down on the table. He motioned for you to sit with a tilt of his head, watching you hesitantly approach.

He plated the so-called monstrosity on both your plates, knowing very well you couldn’t deny the hunger, despite being well aware of your thoughts for it. Won’t like it until you try, at least.

“Why does it look like that?” Your nose almost scrunched at it as you sat down.

“Cause it’s made with blood, love.” Simon states while filling up two mugs with hot beverages. “Good for ya.”

The look you gave him made it almost impossible to hide a smile any longer.

“Won’t disappear the longer you keep starin’ at it,” Simon chimed after watching you prod at your eggs once he sat down.

“Why’d you do this to me?’ You looked at him with a bit of a pout, frowning at his held back smirk as you proceeded to put your portion onto his plate. Christ, you’re like a little child with steamed veggies.

“Cause it smells good, yeah?” Damn him for knowing that.

You shrug. “I guess.”

“Won’t cause harm in tryin’ it,” Peering back down at his plate, he worked at his own helping, hopefully taking this opportunity to change your mind on what he viewed as essential to an english breakfast.

“Here.” He offered a tiny amount on the tip of a fork to you. You hesitated, your head retching back like a kid avoiding a foul-tasting medicine.

It looked so horrid to you, even if it did look like charred, sliced sausage, but it smelled incredible.

“C’mon, or I’ll keep ya at the table.”

He sounded so strange when he teased, his jokes as terrible as this blood pudding appeared. Nevertheless, you opened your mouth, accepting the food.

“It’s spicy.” You mutter as you chew slowly. By now, Simon couldn't hold back his amusement any longer, watching you swallow before glancing back at your plate, particularly towards the now vacant spot beside the tomatoes.

“Still hungry?” He pried.

You nodded. There were many other tasty options for you right in front of you, but as you picked up your fork, you refrained from selecting anything else.

“What do you want?” He questioned after noting your continued silence.

“That.” You muttered almost shamefully.

“What?”

“That.” You craned your head to motion at the black pudding still on his plate.

A fraction of a smirk formed on his face as he placed it back onto your plate, a low chuckle leaving him. “Good, right?”

“I guess.” You shrugged before putting a more sizable piece in your mouth, almost looking ashamed to eat it.

You weren’t ashamed for eating a peanut butter sandwich with pickle slices in it. How is this worse?

It was truly amusing, if you weren’t pregnant, you wouldn’t even be in the kitchen at this very moment.

“This a new craving now?” Simon couldn't help asking midway through you popping another piece in your mouth, hearing you muffle in agreement while covering your mouth.

“Our little one’s a true Brit now, yeah?”

“Don’t say that ever again.” You chuckled into your hand, cutting another sizable piece with your fork. Simon couldn’t be more amused and ever so happy that you were his wife and mother to his child.

- - -

The anxiety of the small baby shower that was soon to happen later on in the day prevented you from getting a good night’s rest, so you settled to do your favorite little hobby: baking, at six in the morning.

Specifically, making specialty cupcakes for the party.

Usually, you would’ve used boxed mix for that quick fix, but in this case, you did what you called “doctoring up” the cake mix.

An extra egg, swap the amount of water for milk, and use the good vanilla paste from Mexico.

He walked in on you shutting the oven after checking on the baking goods, the warm vanilla swirling deliciously in the air alongside fresh brewed coffee, lightly fogging up the kitchen window in front of the sink.

Six months.

Six months went by so terribly fast. With every passing day, you beamed with motherhood soon to come, spending your days as comfortable and as lazily as possible.

Those cupcakes would soon eye him every time he opened the fridge later today, making the mystery of the truth grow all the more curious in his head.

Only you knew the true gender, a secret you guarded very well the moment you two were alone after the doctor’s visit.

“You’re banned from the kitchen once I start frosting, you know.” You spoke up, showing him a little smile as you pulled out multiple sticks of butter from the fridge, setting them on the warm stove so they’d come to room temperature faster.

“More concerned for you walkin’ around half asleep.” He approached you, watching you huff and shake your head. “I’m fine-”

“Now now, don’t wanna hear any of it.” Simon gently takes you in his arms from behind, feeling you sigh against his chest before relaxing in his embrace.

Slowly, he trailed his hands down over your belly, cradling the underside of your swollen, unborn child.

His favorite activity, his most cherished act to do during his pastime, regardless of where the two of you were, was to hold them. To rest his hands along where he imagined little hands would press, or little feet that would kick back against.

He’d lightly rest his head against the side of your tummy in silence, feeling your fingers comb through his hair as you watched with content, seeing his facial muscles relax, his brow lowering in various thoughts of how their child would look like. These silly, innocent little thoughts always lulled him to sleep, temporarily banishing any and every harsh, dark thought that threatened to overtake him.

“You sure you wanna do this?” You softly ask, hinting towards the baby shower later this evening.

The baby shower was a shared idea between you and Kate’s wife, who began calling a few times a week to check up on you, taking a sort of maternal role on your behalf, providing a fair amount of support without being overbearing.

He was never one for parties. Public parties, anything that involved more than five people at least. But he knew all who were arriving and worked alongside most of them through thick and thin, they may as well be a sort of second family.

Simon had stepped plenty out of his comfort zone alongside you these past few months, doing grocery runs with you, eating out when neither of you felt like cooking, attending local events so you didn't feel cooped up in the house too often, despite Simon’s silent persistence that he would’ve preferred you to remain at home, except for the occasional doctor’s visit.

This baby shower will be here at home, a nice little event where everyone can have fun and bring the baby gifts. After learning what it meant, he couldn’t rob you of that experience.

“I’ll be alright,” He settles your worries, taking a gentle hold of your shoulders to guide you towards the door. “You need rest, love. Get a few hours to yourself, I’ll wake you for your breakfast.”

“Wait,” You tried to stop your steps, despite Simon insisting you continue walking forward.

“Make sure the cupcakes are taken out after fifteen minutes-”

“Will do.”

“And just set them on the-”

“Heat proof pans,” Simon confirmed, “I know. Go get your rest, love.”

- - -

You’ve never seen Simon so relaxed after a delicious dinner, sitting with most of the men in the living room, sharing a couple of beers, the good beers that Soap had brought for the party, conversing happily over various topics and stories, catching up after some lost time.

Through every shared chuckle, every change in subject between the men, Simon couldn't help but shift his attention over towards his wife, standing with Kate and her beloved, chattering your head off while mindlessly resting your hand over the baby bump.

You looked so vibrant, glowing in extravagant excellence. You wore a loose light pink dress that went past your knees, with comfortable, soft puffy sleeves. Tons of tiny blue flowers decorating the fabric of the skirt, accommodating your pregnant tummy beautifully.

You sipped a sparkling elderflower mocktail, thanks to an elderflower nonalcoholic beverage Simon had gotten you that you actually enjoyed.

Alejandro and Rodolfo arrived around four in the evening, apologizing profusely for being two hours late, but the fact that they even arrived had significantly warmed your heart.

“There’s no way we’d miss this special day, Princesa,” Alejandro stated after sharing a warm, heartfelt hug.

In Rodolfo’s hands he carried a large gift, a baby gift set his sisters had made for you, decorated in various yellows and soft, pastel greens, with kisses of pink and blue, a giant mystery to what the baby’s gender might’ve been. It gladly joined the rest of the presents that piled up in the corner of the room, remaining untouched until a particularly exciting event took place.

Kate’s wife immediately helped take the gift to add towards the pile. She had been an absolute dream with you, being as mindful as Simon, if not more than him, when it came to your needs. Arriving a half hour before the party began, helping with dinner, making sure you didn't stand for so long to rest your sore feet.

She was the apple of Kate’s eye, their relationship making you smile delightfully each chance you could.

“So, what’re you gonna do about the job?” Soap couldn't help but ask Simon, a question lingering in the air like a shadow.

Despite Simon never once minding the fact that he stayed home for you, there was the inevitable possibility that he’d have to go back to work, which meant he’d be far out of his family’s reach.

He hated it, the thought alone shooting a sour taste over his tongue. He couldn't avoid the topic forever, but it was a discussion he’d need to have with you. It wouldn't be a pretty one, but he had to have it at some point.

“Don’t quite know yet, Johnny.” He replied, glancing back over towards his wife before looking towards the Sergeant. “An’ I’d appreciate it if its not brought up again.”

“No no,” Soap held up a hand in calm defense, “I get it. Honest, wouldn't blame ya if you stayed. Doubt she’d let yer ass through the door.”

Simon huffed, slightly joining in on the man’s chuckle. That’s a level of unbridled new mother rage he’s hoping he’d never get to see.

“Are these it?” Gaz called your attention from the kitchen, holding the tray of cupcakes you kept in the freezer.

“Yep! It is.” You cheerfully replied, getting Kate to gather the men towards the dining room, either filling up the limited chairs or standing around. Simon was adamant on giving you a seat to rest in, but after some quick, hushed words, you convinced him to sit down, remaining by his side once the cupcakes were passed out with little napkins.

“So, what’s the game here?” Alejandro questioned, taking the cupcake once you offered it before passing it along to someone else.

“The game is we each take a bite and tally up the color we get. Odd color wins, gentleman. Place your bets now.” Kate announces, hearing Gaz huff while peering towards the Scotsman, muttering a few hushed words.

“Ah ah ah! Not literally, you idiot!” You quickly speak out, going against Soap, who purposely leaned back against his seat to pull out his wallet.

He snickered, purposefully acting the way he did to simply get a rise out of you, finding every chance he could incredibly amusing.

“No bets at my baby shower, John.” You ordered, watching him raise his hands in playful submission.

The man himself wore a dark blue shirt. As blue as the Scottish flag, he had stated after giving you a hug when he arrived. Despite the idea of a boy, he did mention a girl would be just as, if not, even more delightful a thought.

He could see any child the both of you had absolutely loved to death regardless, not only by its parents, but by everyone else who came to show their support.

The man himself offered to begin this little game, the suspense forcing him to chuckle as he bit into the cupcake, causing cold buttercream to smear the tip of his nose.

His eyes significantly widened the second he looked down, quickly turning around for the others to view the small pocket of pink hidden underneath the dome of piped frosting.

A small chorus of laughter and cheers erupted from the table, watching the man gather himself as he set the cupcake down, licking the frosting from his lips.

Gaz was next, helping himself to the cupcake in front of him. He took a more interesting approach, proceeding to bite into the frosting rather than the cake, revealing the purposefully pastel blue dyed frosting, casting a smile upon the man’s face as the color matched the light blue button up he wore.

“Alright! We got a boy!” He announced, chuckling along with a few others before he set it down.

“Unless you’re jestin’ us and hinting that yer havin’ twins.” Soap added in while licking his thumb of frosting after enjoying another bite.

The strain and hesitant laughter that came from you was forced, feeling your hand give Simon’s a decently firm squeeze, quietly reveling in the secret blessing that it wasn’t. It was interesting enough learning from just one, you wouldn't know what you would’ve felt with the possibility of twins.

Up next was Rodolfo, who had worn a white long sleeve, but that didn’t stop him from scoring a dark blue bracelet he had lifted up in defense to failing the dress code, something you didn’t hold against him. He held up his cupcake, presenting it like a trophy to reveal the pocket of blue underneath, cheering with the others.

“Oye, you should sell these. Open up a little bakery,” He proposed before taking another bite, watching you smile and giggle. It was good to see your love for baked goods get appreciated by others. It definitely saved money from buying them elsewhere.

Your altered taste buds despised the store-bought stuff anyway.

Alejandro wore a light pink button up with rolled up sleeves, biting into his cupcake once his turn came around. His eyes widened at the blue frosting, faking a pitiful look of sadness before chuckling it off in amusement.

“Really pushing it on a boy so far!” He chuckled, shortly agreeing with Rodolfo’s comment on how tasty the cupcake was. All it was missing was a hot cup of coffee and he was set.

Kate’s wife wore a pastel pink sweater vest over a white shirt, biting into a pink cupcake to her absolute delight, almost tearing up herself over the welcomed match. Kate herself had gotten a blue cupcake, matching coincidentally well with her blue scarf resting around her neck.

“In our defense,” Kate’s wife states while clutching her beloved’s hand, “We’ll love who they are regardless!”

“They’ll be getting spoiled either way,” Kate added in, chuckling along with the flat-out truth.

Price wore a cerulean shirt, but gladly accepted your request to pin a pink little bow on the far right of his shirt collar.

By now, as the buttercream came to room temperature, a bit of pink tinted frosting clung to his mustache after his bite, but chuckling to the realization of this little mishap didn't bother him in the slightest.

“Well, look at that!” He chuckled as you quickly handed him a few extra napkins. “I’m on the same boat, they’re gettin’ absolutely spoiled by all their aunts and uncles.”

“Sure thing, Gramps.” Gaz pitched, purposely avoiding the captain’s gaze, hiding his smile in his own hand.

“That’s a name they’ll be calling you in about a year or two,” You pitched in, smiling at the smirk that inevitably spread across the captain’s face after the comment.

“Your turn, dear.” Price gestured to you, leaving you to nod along with excitement, despite already knowing the truth.

As basic as it was, you’ve never held so much disdain for this simple vanilla cupcake, this painfully bland dessert, especially when it came to the multiple test cupcakes you’ve made prior.

The toughest challenge was making the buttercream thick and pearly white, hiding the color underneath perfectly.

You’d be more than happy to make any other cupcake rather than this tragically boring mess, leading you to simply tear open the cake in your hands without tasting it, revealing to the crowd the flush of pink underneath vanilla sponge and frosting.

The tally was set.

An even number of four on four so far, all that was left was the final cupcake to break the tie, the final cupcake that sat in front of Simon.

Simon wore dark gray, insisting that it didn’t matter to him what gender the baby was, he’d love them regardless, just as everyone else. He didn’t want to think ahead and assume too fast, too nervous at the high expectations, keeping all those thoughts bottled up until he learned the truth.

He didn't realize just until now how much pressure was placed on his shoulders, being the last man at the table, a plethora of pink and blue cupcakes flooding his eyes, down to the simple, plain cupcake in front of him.

Sweet frosting coated his taste buds once he took a bite, the room dreadfully quiet after this action.

The suspense grew thicker and thicker, all eyes on him as his wife’s hand settled on his right shoulder, giving him a reassuring squeeze, soothing his heartbeat drumming in his ears.

Licking his lip, he glanced down at the cake in hand, unable to wait any longer.

Right there, in the center of the swirl of thick, smooth buttercream, topped with round pink and blue sprinkles was a soft, flush pastel pink pocket of icing.

Never in his life had he been so delighted to see such a color.

You watched Simon’s eyes light up, almost wider than saucers at the discovery. You stared at him with your hands over your mouth, a bright smile hidden underneath your fingers, your eyes flushed pink with hot tears.

“It’s a girl!” You quickly state towards the others before he could turn it around, watching multiple eyes light up, followed by large amounts of cheers and applause, those who sat rising from their seats instantly.

Simon had risen so fast from his seat, almost causing the furniture to tumble over as he secured you tightly in his arms, feeling your tears of joy dampen his shirt sleeve. His head buried deep into your neck, his light scruff prickling your skin as he purposefully hid his face from everyone who cheered in congratulations.

With your growing belly, Simon found holding you close to be a more endearing action as the days went by. Before the both of you knew it, your little girl would be squeezing between the two of you, urging to join in on such a hug, simply for the surge of attention from her parents.

Your fingers clung to his shirt, your ragged breathing muffled against his shoulder. Beneath the excitement, he heard you mutter to him how much you loved him dearly, repeating these words over and over. In response, he urged you to shift your head just enough so he could take you in a long, heartfelt kiss, before returning to you the same hushed words against your lips.

How you loved each other so. Simon never wanted to be away from you, the thought growing now more than ever.

He remained facing away from the crowd after you were let go, your attention immediately taken aside by Kate’s wife, who trapped you in a tight hug.

“Ya alright?” Soap approached Simon, seeing his refrained stance from the crowd, refusing everyone else to see him this way, teary eyed and emotional, all while keeping quiet.

Simon nodded, sparing yet another glance over towards his wife, smiling as wide as possible, bright tears beading the edges of your eyes, staining your beautifully flushed cheeks as Price took you in a hug, soothing your happy sobs with a comforting rub of your back.

This was better than you had ever hoped for, A wonderful make up for being unable to surprise him the first time.

A girl, a beautiful baby girl.

His future addition to the chamber of his heart, the apple blossom of his eye, his hopeful little dove soaring across an endless sky.

A daughter with the woman he loved most in this world.

For a moment, and just for a moment, he refused to let any dark thought in his mind ruin this happiness that flooded his bones and warmed his haunted spirit, lighting up the darkness like a small pink birthday candle.

He could hardly wait now.

#simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty #pregnancy #it’s cute stuff yk

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brandnewhuman · 1 year

Text

THE COD MALEWIFE

♡ random headcanons ♡

☆ starring ☆

♡ könig aka the most babygirl of them all ♡

Tw: mentions of anxiety, weight and mature language. Other than that pure fluff

A/N: YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND. YOU DON'T GET IT HOW MUCH THIS MAN IS STARTING TO GROW ON ME. THIS FUCKING TALL ASS BITCH AND THE OTHER GIANT JACK SKELLIGNTON FUCKER ARE THE BAIN OF MY EXISTENCE. I needed to do write for him, you can blame it on tiktok and it's sinful content and @bloodlst for fueling my obsession

He knows a lot of cool fidgeting tricks with pencils or knives because he needs to keep his hands busy when he's nervous.

It's almost like a security blanket for him when he's around too many people, he carries something he can fidget with and uses it

I can't stress this enough but tall people have back pains and oh boy if könig is tall

He is always cranky in the morning because of it and because he loves to just sleep in the weirdest fucking positions ever

Which is funny cause otherwise his postures is always very straight and stiff, it just that when he sleeps he gets all weird

About that, he hates, absolutely despises, the beds they have during missions

THEY'RE TOO SMALL OKAY? AND TOO THIN AND HE CAN'T FUCKING REST WELL AT ALL

which makes me absolutely sure he downs coffee likes it's fucking water

His breakfast is basically a big ass mug of coffee first and then some herbal or fruity tea or maybe some juice

He loves sweets but has a weirdly good self control

He just likes the idea of savouring things rather than eating all at once bc they're so good

Besides I just know he has also a tendency to gain weight more easily than the others

He just tries to be as healthy and balanced with things as much possible bro

The only times he doesn't pays much attention to what he eats is around the holidays or when he gets to see his family

Which always ends up in him putting some weight but he doesn't cares that much, he always gets in shape before getting back to work

He loves to read, he carries a book everywhere he goes and ITS THAT TYPE OF PERSON WHO CAN'T FUCKING HIDE THEIR REACTION TO WHAT IS HAPPENING IN THE STORY

You can actively see this unit of a man closing the book and like getting up and walking away two steps just to turn around and keep reading

HE CAN'T HANDLE THE DRAMA OKAY? LEAVE HIM ALONE

He does not look his age at all. Either bc of how youthful he acts or bc he looks really young no one has ever guessed his age and it's something he find quite funny so he just let people try to figure it out on their own

People are often really mean with him and sometimes really harsh. He knows they're just playing around and they mess up with everyone like that but he gets genuinely hurt sometimes

No one notices cause he always takes it like a champ tho

I feel like ghost kind of gets annoyed at him. Not for the reason you may think

He's just looks always so serene and at peace, but most importantly happy and it's something ghost can't comprehend given what they do for a living

Key word is looks

König is not a sad person by default and he recovers pretty quickly for certain things but he always carries around a weight of guilt and self doubt that is unbearable sometimes

Much like ghost, this man is kind of scare of himself really

He always worries about ending up being some sort of psycho who has no regards towards human lives

He gets so carried away when he's on the mission and often does not realise how efficient and kind of brutal he can get

He is absolutely scared of ghost. Everytime he is in the same room with him he just gets so nervous he ends up embarrassing himself more than once

Look, I may be projecting onto him but I KNOW THIS MAN AND HE HAS HIS JAW FUCKED UP FROM CLENCHING IT TOO MUCH

like I have anxiety and my jaw is dislocated cause ever since I was a kid I was always clenching my jaw while sleeping or unconsciously while going about my day so I just know that someone like him has the same problem

He has definitely popped his jaw and hurted his ear more than once and has ADORABLE CROOKED TEETH CAUSE I DO AND I WANT HIM TOO OKAY?

he is really good at signing but everyone thinks he's not because the few times he has tried to sing in front of someone he fucked up from being too nervous

He knows how to play piano. As matter of fact he has one at home

Prefers wine over beer or cocktails but has a weird ass liking for strong liquors

And BTW he is annoyingly hard to get drunk, this man could get down shot after shot and still be as lucid as ever

Which soap found out by embarrassing himself. König ended up trying to take care for him the whole night cause he felt guilty

When he gets angry is not a pretty scene. He's always so jolly and easy going even if you're rude to him so is hard for him to get angry, but when he snaps this man is not playing around

Smells of fresh laundry and lemon perfume

He is still pretty mad about not being able to be a sniper. Specially because he's good at his job, he knows he is but no one believed in him and his abilities bc of his height and his anxiety

When he was younger everyone always used to talk over him because he had difficulty with speech due to his anxiety

He used to get so frustrated to the point of crying and since no one ever had the patience to listen to him he just used to write on notebooks all the things no one ever wanted to hear

He still does it and has like a lot of diaries filled with rants, thoughts, jokes ecc

When he was younger he used to listen to the FILTHIEST SONGS not knowing what they were about because he didn't understand English well

When he's nervous his accent slips a little bit

He writes letters to his loved ones and specially his s/o when his away from home and has the prettiest handwriting ever

#könig #könig cod #könig cod mw2 #könig cod headcanons #cod headcanons #call of duty mw2 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty #cod mw2 #codmw2 #cod

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morskisir · 1 month

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The public is VERY interested in your Sniper thoughts. Please, I need them. Phobias? Eating habits? Can he dance? *Should* he? Is he aware when he makes direct eye contact he looks scary af? Is he good at poker or does he not even play?

You are one of my strongest followers o7 THANK YOU FOR THE QUESTIONS!!! I will answer them all individually below.

Phobias?

If we're talking about proper phobias and not fears in general, then he doesn't really have any? UNLESS you count social phobia, which, yeah, he's got that. (I would like to clarify social phobia and social anxiety disorder are different things but he's got both of them, so.)

Social phobia is like, specific social situations that will continuously bring you anxiety/fear. The shit that will have him shaking every single time is a person genuinely trying to get to know him. Even a simple question such as "What's your favourite colour?" could set him off into a state of anxiousness. He LOATHES conversations like that, he wants to be left alone, he's not anyone you should pay attention to, he's not interested in doing this, go away. His fear of being known past the point of "professional assassin" is deep and greatly impacts his life. What the fuck are social relationships am I right?

Another social situation would be: phone calls! You can imagine how nice it is for him to only be able to call his parents when he isn't visiting them at their home in Oz. <3 It's the fear of I cannot see this person and I don't know how they're really reacting to this. He already isn't the best at reading people's faces, phone calls are just another level of hell.

2. Eating habits?

MEAT. MEEEAAAAT- if he could get away with only eating meat the rest of his life he fucking would. Alas, meat doesn't give your body all of the fuel it needs. Heartbreaking. (Not for me I dislike meat sdgkhdskg)

He will still insist on having meat in every fucking meal, and do not, do NOT make a steak that isn't at least a little bit raw. This guy's an animal. Give him his blue steak or he'll think your cooking is shit.

Anyways, I wouldn't say he eats a lot. He eats enough, I guess. Cunt's just running on a lot of coffee + a couple of cigarettes. He's more addicted to caffeine than tobacco.

3. Can he dance?

No. I don't know if Australian schools did this, let alone in his time, but if they did: he would skip every single P.E. class where they would do dancing instead of just chucking some ball around. He is SCARED he doesn't want to be in such close proximity with someone else hksdgkj (except Spy) (who said that) He doesn't have interest in learning how to dance, either. If he's drunk and you somehow get him to dance you'll see a horrible, non-existent dance move.

4. Should he?

No. Spy would beg to differ.

5. Is he aware when he makes direct eye contact he looks scary as fuck?

Yes and no. When he stares at someone on purpose to scare them away- it works! It's reliable! He's aware of the power that stare holds! He just doesn't realise he kind of always looks like that. The Stare(tm) is simply even more intense. There is a great darkness in his eyes........... /ref

6. Is he good at poker or does he not even play?

He can play it! He's only really decent at it- it's not his thing. Only really learned how to play it through peer pressure. (there is lore to this, but uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh)

Scout begs Sniper to play with him and he very begrudgingly accepts because no one else does hdsghj. He is very bored and would rather read his tracking books, but he cannot escape the ADHD. (You call out the smallest act of sympathy he just did and he'll beat the shit out of you)

^ Scout when he wants to play poker

#ask #tf2 #sniper #sniperspy mention wow!!! unexpected!!!#nishart

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8aji · 1 year

Text

too busy saving everybody else to save yourself. // s.s.

to think of a life without him filled you up with such sorrow you thought you'd let yourself drown just to be with him one last time. — or, an account of the events that transpired after the night of august 14, 2003.

pairing. shinichiro sano x baji!reader

wc. 18k

tags/cw. MDNI, angst with happy ending, fluff, hurt/comfort, best friends to lovers, baji!reader (reader is baji’s sibling), manga spoilers, shinichiro lives, anxiety/panic attacks, smoking, mentions of death, characters cry a lot, mentions of head trauma + hospitals + needles + blood, reader gets called 'nee-chan' a couple of times but other than that its pretty gn, very suggestive (one make/out sesh), takeomi is clowned a lot + please let me know if i missed anything!

a/n. its finally done sob i spent so much time polishing this as much as i could and what was supposed to be a 1k drabble mutated into this lmfao but all in all this fic is my baby, my child, and i love it so so much i just hope y'all will like it as much as i do !! a massive thanks to @tetsutits for betaing and to @mosviqu for letting me run the storyline through her !! hope all of u enjoy lots n lots !!

m.list ˖ tags ˖ byi/dni

One step, one blink, one breath, one step, one blink, one breath; like on autopilot, the pattern repeated itself over and over again. You could feel it beating inside your skull; the pounding of your heart resonated throughout your body, acting as the fuel behind your every move.

Your blurry gaze amplified all of your other senses, sending your brain into a downward spiral of emotional overwhelm; the loud keyboard clicking, the obnoxious chatter, the drinking and munching of coffee and donuts, all of it made you want to tear your ears off. How could the world keep turning, people existing like normal, while you were being consumed by the tightness enveloping your lungs? The thought made you want to light up the whole building, watch it burn as the flames simmered the concrete to ashes to relieve the turmoil brewing inside your body.

“I'm coming for Baji Keisuke?” You asked, barely managing to string the words together in a coherent sentence, head going a thousand miles per hour. “He’s my brother.”

The officer behind the desk pulled down his magazine, looking you over and taking in your dishevelled state. “Ah,” he sighed as soon as your brother's profile appeared on his screen. “Baji Keisuke, the little rascal with the breaking and entering charges, huh?”

lips forming into a thin line, you nodded, biting your tongue so as to not insult the man in front of you who, for some reason, couldn't help but chuckle, as if a twelve year-old kid being detained was funny.

“Can I see him?”

He gave you one last obnoxious glance, before typing on his computer.

“He’s currently under police custody,” he explained condescendingly as if you didn’t know, pulling a manila folder and pressing the button on the printer, handing you a pen in the meantime. “He's only got a minor charge compared to the other brat he came in here with,” He let out a quiet cackle, not wanting to attract anyone else’s attention. To you, it was like he acted this nonchalant to rile you up, make your blood boil. And, in spite of your reluctance to admit to it, it was working. Being in his presence made you want to punch him. “We’re betting on whether the other kid’s gonna get charged with manslaughter or not.

“And just between us,” he made a come hither motion, but leaned forward on his chair at your lack of reaction. “I’m betting in favor of manslaughter, so I'm crossing my fingers for the guy to die soon, ‘ya know?”

Had you been wearing long sleeves, he would’ve been able to see you rolling them up, emotionally prepared to be charged with aggravated assault against a police officer

Fortunately, another officer called out your name, catching your attention before you could act on the violent scenarios coursing through your brain. You didn’t bother excusing yourself before leaving to find your brother.

He looked small, smaller than he actually was, as he sat on the floor with both his knees close to his chest. His eyes were puffy and red, it was obvious he had been crying; though by the looks of it, he had yet to stop.

The cell door sounded like nails against a chalkboard as it scraped against the floor. It made him flinch in surprise, snapping him out of the borderline-dissociating trance as he looked up at the intimidating officer, trying to gauge his intentions while gathering all the energy he had left in his body to fight off the man just in case he needed to. But as soon as he made eye contact with you he could feel himself lowering his guard.

He didn’t even hesitate, his body moved on his own, running past the officer and straight into your arms, letting the harsh sobs he had tried bottling up rack his body, along with muffled apologies and incoherent explanations.

“It's okay,” you mumbled against his hair, trying to calm down his heart wrenching cries. He nuzzled his face against your neck, trying to get impossibly closer to the sound of your voice. You waited for him to nod, still clutching at your clothes with all the remaining energy he had. “He's strong, he’ll be alright.”

Though at this point you were unsure whether your words held any weight against the grand scheme of things; hopefully all your promises won’t turn into bold-faced lies.

You made your way out of the cell together, holding his left hand as he used the other to rub at his eyes, itchy and dry from all the crying. The two of you walked past a couple of cells before he stopped for what seemed like a millisecond, mumbling something under his breath in weak anguish. Had you not been hyper aware of everything going on around you, you wouldn’t have noticed the slight tug at your hand.

Kazutora sat on the floor the same way Keisuke did, knees pulled up to his chest, biting his cuticles raw to stop his brain from looping the traumatic set of events like a broken film; still, it wasn't enough to stop his whole body from trembling in shock. The distress fresh in his eyes made you want to drop everything just to hold him close, comfort him like you did with Keisuke.

But you didn’t have much time, the officer behind you pressured the both of you to move, and considering Keisuke remained under police custody, you weren’t willing to risk him getting locked up again now that you had him by your side.

“Wait for me over there, okay?” You said, pointing at the waiting area. “I just have to fill out some paperwork and then we can go home.” He held your hand even tighter in his grasp in response, as if he was scared to let go. “I’ll be quick, promise.”

Reluctantly, he dragged his feet as he walked, not wanting to stray far away from you. At least there was still some sort of stubbornness left in him. You’ve never seen him act like this, uncontrollably crying and apologising, devoid of the mischievous glint in his eyes. Knowing the Keisuke you knew was still there comforted you.

“How, uh, how much is bail gonna be?” You asked once he had made himself at home on the plastic chairs. Thankfully it was someone else behind the desk instead of the asshole you had the misery of interacting with.

You knew it wasn’t going to be cheap, already having a grasp of fines and bail costs thanks to your friends getting into trouble, but even with this knowledge, their response sent a shiver down your spine.

Maybe you could use some of your own savings, or part of your college fund. Using your mom’s money was also an option, but you didn't want to put the burden on her. If you skipped a semester it could give you some time to earn the money back, but you were already behind in a few classes, and the minimum wage from part time jobs wouldn’t stack up too much, so was it truly feasible?

Fuck, you knew they were children but you couldn’t help but curse at their recklessness, their stupidity and naivety. Did they actually think stealing a bike would be that easy? And now you have to pay for the consequences, quite literally. Of course, you could always leave him here, let him face the consequences straight on. There was nothing forcing you to bail him out. But who were you kidding, you’d kill for him, of course you were going to pay.

Making sure he was still where you left him, you looked over your shoulder back at him. He was slumped over his knees, aimlessly playing with his fingers as his eyes fixated on the corridor leading to the cells, a solemn sadness washing over his features.

No.

You weren’t going to. You were going to pay for your brother’s sins, or whatever the cheesy line says, and leave to never look back. You didn’t owe this other kid anything, most certainly when you couldn't afford it. But, after knowing him for so long, the thought of him staying in the middle of four cold walls until further notice broke your heart.

“Actually,” you sighed. This was gonna cost two semesters instead of one. “Could I pay for someone else’s bail as well?”

At first, he refused to acknowledge your presence, biting harder into his fingers. He tried self-soothing through slow back and forth rocking motions and the unintelligible words that spilled from his mouth, hugging himself tighter the closer you got.

He didn’t move, frozen in place as if the lack of movement would make him invincible to the naked eye. He didn’t cave in no matter what you did, not when you kneeled in front of him nor when you whispered his name in hopes he would acknowledge your voice.

It only took a couple of seconds after that for him to shyly meet your gaze, warming up to you in an instant and clinging onto you just like Keisuke had done, though he did so with a lot more desperation, this sort of comfort foreign to Kazutora. He felt so small in your embrace, burying his face in your shoulder, the only thing he could do was claw at your body for reassurance. Other than that, he didn’t speak, didn’t cry, he almost didn’t move, to the point it had you questioning whether he was actually breathing.

Once you coaxed him out of the cell and got a hold of your brother, your sole focus was on guiding the boys beside you out of the precinct as fast as possible, one hand holding Keisuke’s while the other rested on the back of Kazutora’s head. They didn’t need to spend more time than necessary in this place, surrounded by grimy cell blocks and seemingly socially inept officers who couldn’t keep their rambunctious laughter down.

Wakasa was sitting on his bike outside the police station waiting for the three of you, and though initially it was supposed to be just the two of you riding along with him, he wasn’t surprised you paid for your brother’s friend’s bail. He kept a fairly laid-back exterior, lit cigarette hanging from his fingers replacing his preferred strawberry flavored lollipops, inhaling back the smoke that seeped from his parted lips and freaking out on the inside.

The two of you were hanging out when multiple calls blasted through your phone, prompting you to rush to where you were now. First it was one from the hospital, one of the bearers of bad news that didn’t let you dwell on the fact that Shinichiro had written you down as one of his emergency contacts. Then came the call from the police station, sinking your heart down to the bottomless pit in your stomach.

“Everything alright?” He asked, putting out his cigarette, smothering the stick with his boot along with the other three he had finished while you were inside.

You hummed in response, words dying in your throat. The silence around you itched and burned, made your skin prickle with discomfort, and even so, no one dared say anything besides the occasional noise of acknowledgement. They weren’t dumb. They were one-hundred percent aware of what they were doing, and this wasn’t something you could blame on their age either. Yes, they were kids, but a twelve year old should be able to discern right from wrong; aware that stealing is bad and that murdering people is wrong.

And deep down, you knew this was even more fucked up than it appeared to be. You knew Kazutora wouldn’t have cared for the victim had it not been Shinichiro. The only reason he was shaking like a leaf, flinching when Wakasa fastened the belt of his helmet against his head, was because he hurt Mikey’s brother. That’s not to say Keisuke was innocent, it was clear he wasn’t. Intentionally breaking into someone’s shop to steal a very valuable, very expensive, piece of equipment and potentially complicit in someone's murder.

You wanted to tear your eyes off at the thought. Did they really think they could get away with this? That it would be as easy as stealing some candy or gum from the corner store? You wanted to curse them out for being so stupid, so naive. But looking down at their sunken faces, eyes bloodshot and teary as they sweated fear from every pore on their fragile skin, it made you want to excuse all their horrid behaviour, ignore the fact they committed a crime and in the process they mortally wounded an innocent man.

You held down an involuntary gag at the violation of your principals, the memory of what had just gone down stirring unwanted bitterness inside your stomach. You were no one to criticise the two kids sitting between Wakasa and you. They could be stupid, but you were the weakest of them all.

“Let’s get going then.”

You could question your moral compass later, first you had to get them home.

The voices of the characters talking in the background faded into an uncomfortable white noise as your muscles dissolved along with your bones, breaking through your skin and seeping into the cushions of the couch. Each time you breathed in the more stressed you became at the uncertainty of your friend’s mortal status.

You hadn’t received any news from the hospital, and though you knew that if they hadn’t called by now, they probably wouldn’t at least until tomorrow morning, that didn’t stop you from imprisoning your phone close to your chest. Maybe if you channelled all your strength into your hold then you’d lose the urge to cry.

In spite of their initial resistance, it didn’t take long to put the kids to bed. The two of them drifted off to a bitter, yet hopefully replenishing, sleep as soon as their heads hit the pillow. It wasn’t surprising, the whole incident had drained the both of them to their core.

“‘Sure you’re okay?” Wakasa asked, and had it not been for his voice you're sure you would’ve dissociated the rest of the night. Maybe the kids would find you the next morning still sitting on the couch, frozen like a statue as you stared at the ceiling, and freak out because they’d think you had died along with ‘Shinichiro-nii’.

You hummed, it was the only response you could muster it seemed, with your eyes zeroing in on his shoulders, then his cheeks and then his earrings. Looking straight into his eyes would do you no good. It’d blow your cover in less than an instant, and though it’s fair to say it was a shit cover, amplifying your grief through your dejected silence instead of toning it down, it made you feel safer from the imminent doom. Still, shitty cover up or not, Wakasa knew you weren’t okay. You wouldn’t be able to fool him even if he was stupid, and at this point, he’s convinced you wouldn’t be able to fool anyone; a single glance your way was enough to tell you were silently crumbling.

He let his head fall backwards against the back of the sofa, sighing in acknowledgement. No matter how many times he asked, deep down he knew you would only cave in at your own account, But at least his question somehow managed to bring you back down from the maze your brain had started fabricating to earth. And maybe, just maybe, if he gave you enough space that’d prompt you to speak. He didn’t mind waiting. Not for a couple of seconds, or the couple of minutes those seconds turned into, or the couple of hours they mutated into next, and so on until days and weeks and years had passed, until the scarcity of time felt infinite.

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” You broke the silence, biting the edges of your words as if you wanted to hide them back inside, voice shaky and heavy against your tongue.

He hesitated, sharing a seat next to you inside the same sinking uncertainty boat, “Shin-chan’s stronger than you think.” He tried reassuring you, or himself he wasn't sure, but at this point the more he tried to tell himself his friend was still breathing, the more it felt like a lie. Shin-chan was stronger than the two of you thought, but was he really? “He’d be heartbroken to know you had little faith in him.”

At least he got you to chuckle, “I’d be heartbroken to know that I was right.”

You fell into an uncomfortable silence not long after, the stakes of the conversation too high, and if you continued talking you’re sure you’d end up giving Shin up for dead. But like this, maybe you could finally force yourself to get some sleep. The weight of your eyelids had doubled, eyes growing heavier against your will, and though you didn’t want to, just in case something happened while you were unconscious, you knew you’d be of no use without at least a few hours of rest. Plus, you promised yourself you’d never lose any sleep over a guy, ever, and you weren’t about to make an exception for Shinichiro Sano.

Not even an hour in your slumber, you almost threw your phone to the other side of the room as its desperate cry pierced your ears. You’re sure Wakasa almost had a heart attack with how fast straightened up next to you, and it wouldn’t be a surprise if it somehow managed to wake up both Kazutora and Keisuke, although your brother was more of a chronic heavy sleeper.

“What are you waiting for? Answer it!” Feelings heightened in his barely awake, panicked state, the desperation was palpable in his words. And though uncommon for him to act in such an erratic manner, he had bottled everything up the whole night, it was time for the stoic facade to break.

But, even so, in spite of your friend’s heartbreaking desperation you didn’t move. Not after the third ring or the fourth. You didn’t dare move, staying frozen on the couch, groggy from waking up yet hyper-aware of everything going on around you despite your mild dissociation. The sole thought of moving towards made your brain press against your skull, screaming at you to stop.

Not answering meant that Shinichiro could stay both simultaneously alive and dead, his fate linked to whether you picked up the call. If you didn’t, maybe he wouldn’t die after all, he’d stay stuck in the unknown limbo of immortality until you made a call.

But then again, this was your only chance to get an update on his status. And it wasn’t only you anxiously waiting on any sort of news. Wakasa was waiting; Keisuke and Kazutora, although asleep, were as well, and you could only fathom Benkei and Takeomi’s reaction. Mikey and Emma were probably up to date, the hospital must’ve called their grandfather before they reached out to you. And looking back at the people that depended on you, it really wasn't fair to put your own self-indulgent selfishness over the needs of others, was it?

It wasn't. Of course it wasn’t, but after putting everyone before you for as long as you’ve lived, didn’t you deserve to be selfish? At least once, when it pertainted the condition of the unrequited love of your life, didn’t you deserve at least that much?

“Hello?” Wakasa answered through furrowed brows and twitching lips. From the way he spoke, you could tell he was biting on the inside of his cheek to release some tension, putting enough pressure to draw blood. “This is Wakasa Imaushi speaking,

“–can’t get to the phone right now, can’t you just talk to me?” Voice getting progressively louder, he challenged the person on the other side of the call. “He’s my best friend, don’t I deserve to know whether he’s alive or not?!”

Only when his voice broke at the weight of his own desperation did you manage to snap out of your trance, snatching the phone out of his grip, ignoring his glassy eyes as you spoke into the receiver, mumbling your name through a shakily put together voice.

You’re not sure whether you imagined it or not, almost choking on a withered sob, but you could feel the moment your teeth sunk into the skin of your hand, digging hard enough for blood to prickle to the surface, preventing any other noise from coming out.

With your vision blurry and a tightness in your chest you could not describe, your body had gone completely numb, and yet your nerve endings were scorching under any semblance of atmospheric pressure, forcing you to feel everything, everywhere, all at once.

Had Wakasa not been there to catch you, you’d have collapsed on the ground, a pitiful wailing mess. Tears soaked through the fabric of both your clothes as you held each other close. For what felt like hours, the two of you stayed like that. Face buried against his neck and his against the top of your head, he rocked you back and forth in his arms until your tears stopped mixing themselves with your spit, sharp inhales tuning down into soft sniffles. And though his eyes burned with unshed sorrow, he kept on humming at your unintelligible mumbling.

“See? I told you he was stronger than we thought.” He whispered, though it sounded closer to a whimper, and nuzzled his cheek further against your hair. As if trying to ground himself, he gave you a tight squeeze, still in doubt whether he was trying to convince you or himself.

Only after a while, once both of your breathing had evened out, did you raise your head up from its hideout, hesitant footsteps catching your attention.

“Nee-chan?” You heard a tiny voice coming from the hallway, a little insecure, as if he didn’t think he deserved a proper response.

“I’m sorry ‘Tora, did we wake you?” You peeled Wakasa’s arms from your body, rubbing the haziness of your eyes away. He shook his head in response, carefully moving away from the shadows after acknowledging your lack of anger.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

His puffy eyes shimmered red under the soft moonlight coming through the living room window. He took meticulous steps in your direction, side-eyeing Wakasa and still wary of you, not knowing how you would react after his intrusion. Each one was lighter than the other, the wooden floors refused to creek underneath his weight, almost as if he had trained himself to become weightlessly invisible.

Slowly as to not startle him, you stretched your arms in his direction, beckoning him towards you and silently encouraging him to trust you. Even after drying out his tears once you tucked him in bed, holding his hand a little longer while Keisuke slept next to him, you’re sure that wasn’t enough to reassure him you wouldn’t blow up on him. For Kazutora, interacting with most people felt like trying to navigate an active minefield.

Hugging him close to your body, you pulled him on your lap and softly rocked him back and forth; the same way Wakasa had done with you. He nuzzled closer to you, letting himself relax against your touch once he registered you weren't a threat, basking in your warmth.

The silence the three of you fell under was deafening, uncomfortable even, though you didn't intend for it to be. Kazutora had this question stuck in his throat, sitting heavy against his vocal cords while the bitter taste of bile stained his tongue.

“Is…” he trailed off, still doubting whether he deserved to be asking such a question. “Is Mikey’s brother going to be okay?”

He tensed up at the lack of immediate response. The lack of positive reassurance that he hadn’t completely messed up everyone's lives made the grip he had on your arm grow tighter in fear of you letting go.

You didn’t. You weren’t planning to do so. Even if nausea piled up at the end of your oesophagus as the conflicting set of emotions brewing at the pit of your stomach, you were sure he needed you as much as you needed him to keep yourself grounded

“He will.” You brushed your fingers through his hair, lips curled up into a smile once you felt him relax against you once again. “Right now he’s resting, we can visit him in a couple of days, if you’d like.”

The silence amongst you became heavy once again, but inside Kazutora’s head the cacophony of your words bounced against the thick layers of bone and skin like worthless cries of distress. What he did was inconceivable, and in spite of that you still cared.

“I didn’t mean to,” barely a whisper, the words died out before they could be properly enunciated. They prickled and ached and stung at the walls of his throat. Something he couldn’t name but feel deeply inside his bones stopped himself from vomiting it all out. But mess after mess, like building blocks stacking one on top of the other, they piled up and pulled him down like a ball and chain made out of his own flesh and when he tried to pull at it to set himself free he could feel everything spilling out in a tangled cry. “I didn’t mean to hurt him, I’m sorry!” he cried, clutching onto your shirt and arms, anything he could get a hold of to ensure you wouldn’t leave him alone. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

Holding him tightly and shushing his cries, you could do nothing more than let his tears wet at your shirt, mumble that it was okay even if it truly wasn’t; even if the two of you knew it was a lie. The weeping child in your arms did nothing but pull at your heartstring, conflicting feelings arising in your chest. In spite of the fondness you felt for the kid, the same fondness you felt for all of your little brother’s friends, you had unconsciously developed a grudge towards him, bitterness and resentment for hurting Shinichiro.

His lashes rested against his skin, casting thin shadows under the sunlight streaming through the window. He had always looked peaceful when he was sleeping, chest rising and falling as if following a metronome’s tempo. You can remember taking long summer naps next to him and the rest of your friends, you always being the first one to wake up. Every summer the three of them arrived late to at least five Black Dragon’s meetings because they had slept in. Shinichiro had developed this antsy habit of arriving weirdly on time yet slightly late ever since then, he couldn’t tolerate the idea of letting down whoever was waiting for him; you wonder how he’d react if he knew the shop wouldn’t open today.

So peaceful yet fragile., never in your life would’ve you remotely imagined you’d be sitting next to your best friend’s hospital bed, eyes puffy and droopy while his head laid covered in bandages. The beeping of the monitor filling up the unnecessary silence that wouldn’t have otherwise been there had he been awake.

Had he been awake, he would’ve talked to you non-stop, retelling everything that went down to the most insignificant detail, sprinkling hyperboles as much as he could just to appear a little cooler in front of you. But it's not like he had to try anyway, to appear cooler, that is, you already thought he was the coolest person in the whole wide world; though you’d go as far as saying he was the coolest person to ever exist. The sole idea made you smile, tears welling up in your eyes as you wondered if he’d blush once he found out how highly you thought of him.

And of course, had he been awake, he would’ve been worried about everyone but him. He would’ve asked about Mikey and Emma, if they had slept over at the hospital or at home with his grandfather, who he would’ve proceeded to ask about. He would’ve bitten his tongue to prevent himself from even mentioning the economic implications of his stay, but you would’ve been able to read right through him.

Then, had he been awake, he would’ve asked about Keisuke and Kazutora. He would’ve be worried about them, berated you with a flurry of questions, emotions switching from anger to guilt in less than a millisecond; angry at your deplorable encounter with the police, guilty because he was the one that called, and maybe if he hadn’t, then Mikey’s friends wouldn't have gotten in trouble.

He would’ve asked about the shop, if anyone was there watching over it while he was resting in the hospital, deflating a little after finding out it wouldn’t open for the day. He would’ve asked about Wakasa and Benkei and Takeomi, ask if they were aware of what happened, if they had already started making fun of him after finding out a twelve year-old sent him straight to the ER; he would’ve sighed at your response, shaking his head because instead of making fun of him his friends were worried.

Finally, he’d ask about you. And maybe you would’ve cried or laughed or screamed. Maybe tears would’ve pooled in your eyes, the fact your friend was breathing finally sinking in. Maybe you would’ve giggled at your past unjustified worries because he was here now and you never should’ve doubted him, not even for a second. Maybe you would’ve broken down, fatigue deep in your bones pulling you to the ground until you could do nothing but lay cold and empty and happy on the floor because you had not dared sleep but at least the existence of his consciousness remained.

But the only one speaking was the wind blowing through the curtains, kissing his forehead and messing up his hair just to give you the opportunity to put it back in place through the insecure brush of your fingers

Resting your forehead next to the palm of his hand, you sighed in defeat; maybe you should’ve let him rest alone. You had spent the whole morning next to him, ignoring any hunger cues alerting you it was time for breakfast or lunch or any sort of meal time that could fuel your body from complete exhaustion. Still, even if you wanted to fall asleep, it was like your subconscious wouldn’t let you. Every time you closed your eyes and felt yourself slip into a deep slumber, you were jolted awake to your own dismay.

Not being able to rest had started to eat away at your own sanity. Only eight hours had passed, but every second felt like a thousand and at this point, you had become a walking contradiction; hungry but unable to eat, tired yet unable to fall asleep. Your body was failing you, unable to react to any sort of external or internal stimuli, and you’re sure wouldn't be able to cry no matter how much you wanted to do so.

But even then, apparently you could still scream.

The weight of his hand on top of your head caught you off guard. It almost made you fall from the chair and smack your head against the bed’s metal skeleton. Maybe if you got a concussion and slipped into a weird pseudo-coma after a harrowing God-knows-how-many-hours-long surgery he’d feel guilty enough to make up for the tachycardia that had your heart beating where your brain should be.

“Hi.” He smiled, words a little slurred as the remaining anaesthesia wore off.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Oh, I see ‘you missed me alright.”

And you did. Even though less than a day had passed since the accident, picturing a whole lifetime without him was enough to permanently alter your brain chemistry. But he was here now, he was back and he was safe and the toothy grin he sported reminded you of home.

“Don’t ‘cha know it’s rude to eat in front of someone who can only chew on ice chips?” He joked, flinching as the nurse adjusted his IV drip.

You were forced to leave the room after a flurry of hospital staff came running at your volatile reaction; Of course, you were quick to reassure that your friend had only woken up and that everything was fine, before leaving for the cafeteria; giving them some space to work on Shinichiro would be good. Plus, not that he was ‘okay’ and you weren’t worrying about his health every second of every minute of every hour, you could address the sudden pangs of hunger poking at your stomach.

“I’ll buy you dinner once you get out.” You smiled, scooping some of the jell-o into your mouth through your innocent smile. But, again to your dismay, the mischievous glint in your eyes ratted you out. Shinichiro knew that ‘dinner’ meant the cheapest ramen you could find, maybe add an egg to spice it up, and ice cream you’d eat directly from the tub; a long lived tradition between the two of you. “I’ll even add chives this time.”

“Gee thanks,” he mocked, as if he’d rather do anything else than eat stale ramen with you. As long as he got the chance, he’d do anything. He’d probably lick the floor for you—not that he’d ever let you know, but if you asked he would, no questions asked. That’s what happens when you love someone. You’d be willing to do anything and everything for them even if it's irrational. “Can I choose the ice cream flavour at least?”

You hummed, focusing on scraping the plastic spoon against the plastic container in your hands to avoid his gaze. “Only this time though, so don’t get used to it.”

“Everything’s looking good so far, we’ll do another check up in a couple of hours.”

Right, you were still in here. Talking like everything was seemingly normal made you forget that you were still in the hospital, watching over your post-op, bedridden friend.

“Lay with me?” he asked, not before the both of you thanked the nurse who excused himself after gathering the remaining equipment. “Please?”

You shouldn’t, something inside your head made sure to let you know even if the urge to hold him close was overpowering. He had just barely woken up after a long emergency surgery, and you taking up space would be of no help for him to get the rest he needed. But the silent plea in the puppy dog eyes you had trained yourself so hard to resist, the subtle pout and the cute dopey-ness that had yet to wear off were far too tempting to resist.

His little celebratory cheer made you inwardly squeal as you slowly moved to his side, watching him wince in pain while he slowly shuffled himself closer to the edge in a clumsy attempt to make some space for you.

The thumping of his heartbeat reverberated in his chest, the stress melting from out your bones. You couldn’t help but sigh in content once you laid your head on his chest. Now that you were wrapped in each other’s arms, it felt like you could finally rest.

“Tired?” He mumbled against your hair, breaking the silence that had settled in the room as you basked in each other’s presence. You hummed in response, nuzzling your cheek against his body and almost purring like a cat at his warmth. Letting your eyes close involuntarily, you couldn’t help but be lulled to a premature slumber. With how comfortable you looked, and because your obnoxious yawning was too contagious, he wanted to do nothing but follow in your footsteps.

Instead, his eyes stayed wide open and stuck to the ceiling as if the off off-white paint that covered the concrete was the key to shutting down his brain long enough for sleep to take over. It didn’t matter that his blood had been infused with what felt like at least twenty hundred thousand milligrams of various pain-deafening substances that were sure to knock him out in a matter of seconds, falling asleep seemed to be an unattainable goal.

Whatever they had injected into his body increased his senses’ sensitivity, multiplying it times a hundred instead of dulling them down to nothing. And it didn’t stop at the uncomfortable overtly bright fluorescent lights or the suddenly deafening sound of unoiled wheels from hospital carts being rolled around. It was the way he could feel you barely resting your weight against his body, as if scared the least amount of pressure would make his heart stop. The way he was met with your now dull eyes, almost bloodshot but not quite, sunken with a thick coat of desperation, or fear, or some sort of premature grief, as soon as he woke up. Or how, in spite of only being gone for less than a day, it seemed like you had spent a lifetime unable to exist alongside everything you held dear.

Hyper aware of all those little details and more, it hit him without warning, and suddenly, he could feel the overwhelming urge to cry.

It prickled uncomfortably at his eyes, the skin around his charcoal orbs itching like it was on fire. His mouth felt cottony, smothering his airways and cutting his airflow while his tongue rested uncharacteristically heavy in his mouth with the weight of unsaid words. It broke all his bones at once, leaving him numb on the ground, still like a corpse, and unable to suppress the dooming feeling of his own life spilling from his pores, mixing with his blood until the air around him turned thick and metallic.

In the blink of an eye he had been one step closer to the grave, barely hanging onto a thread of consciousness as the view of his shop turned blurrier and blurrier, and now he was breathing. His lungs had finally regained consciousness and he could feel everything around him overwhelmingly loud and clear and close and real.

Now awake, he could feel you laying on top of him, almost passed out due to the immeasurable amount of stress he had put you under. And maybe if it wasn’t for his reckless habit of parading around life with his guard lowered or for the lack of proper security measures at the shop—because who on earth would rob him? There’s no way he could be that unlucky. Impossible. Or maybe it was his inability to dodge, to hold his stance in a fight because even if he was strong, without proper technique he was rendered useless and, holy shit– he could’ve died.

He could’ve died and then Manjiro would’ve been forced to grow up way too soon because he would have to take care of Emma and grandpa—although knowing both his siblings, Emma was more likely to turn into the head of the house. And then his friends would’ve been left to grieve his death, make sad speeches about the best moments they had together and, fuck was Takeomi terrible at writing; his speech would just be a big mess of incoherent words stuck together. And what about the shop? Who was he leaving the shop to? And what about Inupi? Inupi was just a kid and he can’t just leave him all alone; he had promised to himself to take care of him the same way he took care of his siblings— fuck, Izana as well. Who was going to look after his brother? He was planning to introduce him to all of you guys soon. The two of you would’ve gotten along so well and,

And you.

What about you?

You looked beyond heartbroken. Words couldn't begin to describe exactly what somberness mulled deep within that brain of yours. If this is how you reacted to the possibility of him dying, then how would’ve you reacted to him actually doing so?

A choked sob rips through his lips, the sound painful as it breaches its forceful containment.

“Shin–”

“I’m sorry.”

“What…” you trailed off. The strained cry had erased any speck of slumber. For a second you thought you had dreamt it, that your brain had finally gone off the rails and you were hearing imaginary voices. That was until you looked up at him, eyes welling up with unshed tears, body stiff as if to prevent them from falling. “What’re you sorry for?”

“I just remembered the beach trip we were planning for Manjiro’s birthday,” he sniffled, “and I think we’re gonna have to cancel.”

“That’s okay, we can reschedule—”

“Yeah but I– I know he was really excited for it, all his friends were.”

“We’ll talk to them, make sure they understand—”

“And you were excited about it too,” avoiding your eyes even after you had tried to coax him into meeting yours. He felt so far away, almost unreachable despite laying right next to you. “And I know how much you love the beach and I really wanted to go with you even if we were gonna have to chaperone six hyperactive children,

“And, and I know the guys were gonna come with and we had it all perfectly planned out with this huge dorayaki cake thing and now we’re gonna have to cancel because of me—”

“Wait,” you shush him as gently as possible, sitting up and holding his hand tightly between yours. “What do you mean ‘because of me’?”

Almost as if he had never started, your question managed to shut down his rambling like forcefully closing a water faucet. He had this estranged, far-off look darkening his face, eyes glassy, almost as if he were dissociating. It made your stomach churn with anxiety. Never in your many, many, years of friendship had you seen him lose himself like this.

“Because,” he paused, trying to swallow down the knot grappling at his throat, fighting off the urge to tear it off with his bare hands. “Because it's my fault we’re cancelling.”

“I– What’re you talking about?”

He groaned in desperation. Why was this so hard to explain?

“I’m the one who’s bedridden.” Still dizzy after waking up and to the best of his ability, he tried sitting up, wincing in pain to then give up and lean into his forearms. “I’m the one with random needles poking through my skin, fresh off the ER because my skull was bashed into with one of my own tools and maybe, just maybe, if I had been more aware at the time, I could've avoided the hit.”

“Shin, this wasn’t your fault—”

“But it is! Can't you see?”

“Shin–”

“D’you know what I did when I heard someone break the glass?” He looked at you expectantly, voice raised in frustration. “After I called the cops; do you?” You shook your head in response, knowing that any attempt to help him calm down would be futile. “I grabbed a wrench.

“After the operator told me to hide and wait for help because I told them it sounded like more than one person was inside, I grabbed a stupid wrench and decided to face them,

“I decided to face them even if I'm well aware I wouldn’t be able to take two people at once.”

And though he seemed to be dead set on believing that somehow he managed to land himself in the hospital, you wouldn’t allow him to give himself up to the restless thoughts, no matter how badly he wanted to indulge the bitter part of his brain that had gotten used to putting himself down.

“Someone hit you from behind,” you tried, “you were ambushed, of course you wouldn't be able to take them on.”

His defeated sigh gave you some sort of uncomfortable comfort. Knowing it made you glad that he had finally given up was a conflicting feeling you wish to never re-examine or experience again.

You sat up, swallowing the foreign relief down, and scooted further up the bed’s backrest. Your elbow rested well above the pillow where he laid, and you couldn't help but use your leverage to gently brush your fingers through his hair, only relaxing once he visibly melted against your touch.

“You didn’t do this to yourself, this wasn’t your fault.” You whispered, fingertips soothing his worries as they ghosted the skin of his forehead. “You’re not responsible for every single thing that goes wrong, no matter how much you try to convince yourself you are.”

He can’t recall a single moment in his life in which he felt like he was relieved from his self-imposed duty—the duty of an older brother, primary caretaker, and practically a parent. Someone who must put everyone’s needs above his own well-being. He’s responsible for everything going on around him, the good, the bad, the neutral, the everything. It only made sense that the break in and the subsequent series of events were, in part, his responsibility.

And he knew it was irrational thinking because how on earth would he have known what was going to happen? But he couldn’t help it, not when all the consequences of his actions reflected on the bigger picture; everyone relies on Shinichiro Sano, and it was his duty to fulfil.

“And I promise you no one is disappointed in you. Not a single one of us.” You press your lips against the top of his head, smiling through your own teary eyes at the little hum he involuntarily let out. “We’re all so, so happy that you're awake and talking and I bet Manjiro would rather move his beach birthday party a hundred years from now than lose his brother six days before his birthday,

“The beach is not going anywhere, and neither are we, okay? We are not going anywhere.”

And you knew it wasn’t not enough. Your words weren’t enough to shut up the swirling negativity spiral in his brain. But at least it was enough to calm him down, enough for him to fall asleep in spite of the dampness kissing his skin; he might have successfully managed to suppress the heart wrenching sobs, but he was not strong enough to hold back the tears that cascaded down his cheeks.

You follow through not long after, head lolling to the side in an uncomfortable position that would for sure leave your neck aching for days. But you wouldn’t have it any other way. There was no dreaming this time. No nightmares or worst case scenarios crafted deep within your subconscious. In spite of the gloomy circumstances, the two of you had fallen asleep. Finally, being in your arms was beyond comforting. Plus, indulging in the rest your body had craved for hours made it easier to regain consciousness once Manjiro decided to jump on the two of you in surprise, never minding the possibility of further injuring his brother by mistake.

Being on the receiving end of his lovable violence hurt more than you thought it would, one of his hands landing straight on your stomach and the other on Shinichiro’s chest, but you couldn’t blame the kid. Based on what Keisuke had confided in you last night, Manjiro had witnessed both his best friends’ arrest as well as his brother being pulled out unconscious on a stretcher out of the shop.

Beyond a muffled apology, he didn’t utter anything else, like his voice had given in. He clung onto Shinichiro’s body like his life depended on it.

A swift knock on the door caught your attention, though Manjiro didn't even bother looking up, face tucked against his brother’s body, letting himself relax as his brother’s fingers threaded through his blond locks.

Emma poked her head from behind the wall, hands holding onto the door frame for balance. From where you laid you could see how her eyes were almost as puffy as yours. They were rimmed with a bright red, the same shade that was splotched all over her cheeks and nose. Mansaku stood beside her, holding onto his hat.

You could physically feel the relief washing over Shinichiro the moment he saw his whole family entering the room. He laid lighter next to you, with a brighter smile decorating his lips. It was like his body had melted from hard concrete right into a puddle, your previous conversation seemingly forgotten as a twinkle of warmth returned to his pretty eyes.

Careful not to let Manjiro fall in the dent you were leaving as you stood up, you beckoned Emma over. She cuddled up to Shinichiro, clinging onto him while her soft sniffles filled the silent room, and you swore you had almost started tearing up again at the sight.

Mansaku placed a hand on your shoulder, making you flinch in surprise as he acknowledged your presence. Like a wordless thank you, he nodded at you before stepping closer towards the bed, letting his hand rest on Shinichiro’s, and gently squeezed as if making sure his grandson was truly there.

In no way shape or form was it the perfect family meetup—a perfect one wouldn’t entail the eldest-grandson-slash-parental-figure stuck in a hospital bed. But by the way they huddled together, Shinichiro pinching Manjiro’s cheeks, the latter not even fighting him off like he usually would, and patting Emma’s head in reassurance, with Mansaku displaying the ghost of a smile as he stood next to his grandchildren, the four of them gave off the feeling of everything being okay.

The familiar warmth between them left you to watch the scene like an outsider in a third-person point of view. It made you feel like you were intruding, messily glued to one of those fancy family portraits.

In spite of both your families spending the majority of their lives around one another, you weren’t a Sano. No matter how close Keisuke and Manjiro were, no matter how much Shinichiro and you acted like a married couple with at least five children, you were never going to be one. You knew this from the start, but even so, the knowledge didn’t stop the churning of a deeply seeded loneliness inside your stomach.

You didn’t bother with your goodbyes. Even if you had promised Shinichiro you’d spend the rest of the day together—pretending to be bothered and reluctant when you sealed it with a ‘pinky promise’ to hide the fact you’d willingly play nurse whenever he needed it—something from within told you it was your time to leave, you weren’t that important after all.

The question swirled inside your skull, bitter as it scratched your bones, as you leaned against the walls outside the hospital. At first, you intended to camp out in a waiting room, maybe join them after you had finally calmed down, but instead your legs had taken you right outside, landing you in a secluded area between the building and the many trees surrounding it so you could confidently retrieve the crushed package from your back pocket without disturbing anyone

Your thumb burned as you attempted to roll the sparkwheel of your zippo lighter, the metal forming uncomfortable crevices against your skin. You had to hold back the urge to bite down on the cigarette you had clumsily stuck between your teeth instead of your lips, frustration welling up and threatening to burst from the seams that clumsily held you together.

Waiting for the uncomfortable itch to burn at your throat, you traced the outline of the red koi fish at the corner of the lighter, eroded after thumbing at it like a nervous tick over the years. Every time you felt your eyes water you made sure to compulsively take another drag, as if the smoke could cloud your thoughts, mixing them up with the familiar nostalgia.

Anyone would think that after incinerating your taste buds with each stick you burn, you’d get used to the taste. Whoever said it gets easier the more you do it was a liar. They were as disgusting as ever, flavour the exact same as those you had tried when you were younger, fooling around with your friends. It first started when Shinichiro and Takeomi brought a couple of cigarettes they had stolen from his grandfather to one of your hang outs. It prompted the three of you to continuously choke and make fun of each other for doing so until there were only mustard coloured butts squished on the floor.

Neither Takeomi nor you had really enjoyed the experience, but for some reason, Shinichiro was quick to grow fond of the taste. He made sure to carry around a twelve-pack wherever he went, lighting up cigarette after cigarette in strategic places so the smell wouldn’t stick to his hair or clothes. Not soon after, the rather unhealthy habit had extended to the remaining two of you, who couldn’t help but carry your own packs to satisfy your newly birthed cravings.

Looking back, you’re sure younger-you did that to be a little more like Shinichiro, just like Takeomi, and for other even more childish reasons like appearing more mature and attractive in his eyes; you clearly remember him having a thing for older women for a while. Sure, the two of you were the same age but still, you felt like he didn’t see you like you wanted him to, and the only way for you to change that would be to gain some more common ground with him right?

So yeah, just like Takeomi, you wanted to be more like Shinchiro, but unlike Takeomi—as far as you know—you had started buying cigarette packets mainly to share back and forth with your best friend in, what you would call, a weak attempt at flirting.

At least the cringe memory managed to rip you out from the insecurity whirlpool you were being sucked into, making you groan while softly hitting your head against the concrete wall. Thank god Wakasa existed to berate you into stopping the unhealthily embarrassing habit. Back then you were just a kid, but were you being for real? Were you seriously intending to build your whole life around a man to the point you’d indulge in one of the most common and deadliest habits in the world for a slim chance at a high-school romance? Fuck, was younger-you so painfully stupid to even think–

“One of you is already in the hospital, we don't need you to auto-hospitalise.”

The old man’s voice made you jump, fumbling with the cigarette until it fell to the floor. You tried to hide the coughing fit to the best of your ability while frantically stomping on the lit stick laying on the ground. It didn’t matter that you were an adult, you were still terrified of getting caught smoking by the man.

“Would you mind sharing one with me?” He asked, ignoring the way your face morphed into a confused frown. With nimble fingers, you opened your cigarette pack once again, handing him your lighter when he was unable to fetch his from his pockets.

“You still smoke?” You questioned, adding a hasty ‘sir’ once you noticed how informal you had sounded.

He chuckled in response, taking another puff. “I only stopped doing it in front of the children.”

This time it was your turn to chuckle, playing with the gravel underneath your feet to avoid looking at the man at your slip-up. Still, even with your gaze fixated on the ground you could tell he was looking at you in curiosity.

“I didn’t mean to laugh it’s just,” clearing your throat, you stumbled with your words, debating in your head whether you should come up with one of your horrid cover ups or tell the truth. “You always smoked around us when we were little, like you didn’t care.”

You thought he would’ve left you alone after that, knowing you were purposely disrespectful towards him. It would’ve been better that way. Then you would’ve been left to wallow in your own self-pity in peace, with no one to stop you from finishing the seven remaining cigarettes. But he didn’t, taking you aback as he stayed rooted right by your side.

Had you been anyone else, he would’ve called them out. To cover up his own embarrassment or to make up for the disrespect? Not even he could be sure. But he had seen you grow up next to his own grandchildren, sharing your love and caring nature with them along with your mild irascibility and your talent for keeping Shinichiro on a tight leash. He couldn’t help but grow fond of you, even if most of your one-on-one interactions had consisted of you running away from him before he managed to scold you.

He had only stopped smoking once Manjiro was born, self-awareness finally sinking into his thick skull as he watched his two grandsons play together. No one had questioned him back then, letting him sit on the couch undisturbed while he read the morning paper. It was only after Sakurako had passed away, that he had started to notice the many areas he was lacking, watching both Shinichiro and you fill the gaps in each other’s broken homes while he alienated himself from the responsibility of taking care of his family. The two of you worked so in sync, he would be of no help—or at least that was what he had told himself.

“I wasn’t the best grandfather.”

“You think?”

“I know.” He smiled at your attitude; snappy as always, the only difference was the way you now recoiled in embarrassment at your slip ups. Using his fingers to get rid of the ash, he tapped on the back of the cigarette before taking another drag. “Thank you for taking care of them when I couldn’t.”

Not even a noise of acknowledgement, your vocal chords had closed themselves shut at the man’s sudden mild vulnerability. Out of all the things you expected him to ever say to you, a ‘thank you’ was never on the list. He was always sporting his characteristic cartoonish frown, speaking to everyone in a clipped tone with pointed words.

“You’re more important to us than you think.” He stepped on the cigarette butt. “That is one of the reasons why I can’t let you believe what happened to my grandson was in any way your fault.”

“‘Sorry?” You mumbled in confusion, his words pulling yet another frown onto your face; did you miss any pivotal points in the conversation? How had the conversation switched from his apparent familial issues to you?

“I know you feel guilty for what happened, even if you weren’t involved.” He sighed, not bothering to look you in the eye before continuing his speech. “You’re not responsible for your brother’s doing.”

“Yeah,” you scoffed in mild amusement, as if that wasn’t something you’ve been trying to tell yourself; all Bajis share their fuckups. But then again, of course he wouldn’t understand. “Easier said than done.”

This time you didn’t try to make up for the way had snapped at him. And bless the man for being able to read the room, because he didn’t push the conversation further. Deep down he knew you needed the outlet; you may have already cried, but all your anger was still pent up inside of you. And after everything you had done for him and his family, it was the least he could do for you.

“It doesn’t matter what we believe, we’re always responsible for everyone’s mess.” You scoff in dismay. “It’s like we were born for our families to have a provisional caretaker.

“So thank you for trying to tell me I didn’t break into Shinchiro’s shop, I know I didn’t, but it's still my mess to fix.” The aftertaste of the words laid heavy in your mouth, trickling down your throat like bitter bile tearing through the tissue. You didn’t like how they sounded; they were too impersonal, too selfish. You took a deep breath, holding yourself upright in spite of the pang in your chest. “Not that i wouldn’t have taken care of Shin if someone else had been responsible for what happened, I lo– I– I care too much about him to just leave him be but its just—”

You cleared your throat, “If I had made sure I knew where Keisuke was going or, or if I had actually tried to listen to him when he told me he didn’t know what to give Manjiro for his birthday then maybe– just…”

You trailed off, unable to finish your sentence without breaking down the walls of the dam you thought you had finally managed to piece back together. You didn’t want the responsibility of rebuilding them back up, you don’t think you’d be able to do it as quickly as you’d want to. But you weren’t venting your sorrows to the wind. Mansaku Sano was still standing next to you, hands locked behind his back as he waited for you to continue, and though he was well aware of the times in which he had to remain quiet, he also knew when it was time to speak up.

“Then what?”

“Then,” you swallow, “then none of this would’ve happened, and he would’ve been okay.”

Your body itched for another cigarette, pawing at your skull for you to smother down the tears spouting from your eyes, even if the smoke would make your eyes teary once again. But with Mansaku Sano standing next to you, you didn’t dare touch a single one; it didn’t matter that you had just finished spilling your pent up emotions, you drew the line at smoking with Shinichiro’s grandfather. The thought sprouted a melancholic smile on your lips; Shinichiro would have a field day when he finds out what just went down.

The only thing left you had to ground yourself was the cold metal of your lighter, already starting to heat up at the warmth of your skin. You ran your thumb over it once again, the pattern already engraved in your mind. The habit had probably developed out of your need to be comforted by familiarity—of course the lighter was the right candidate, from its colour and texture, size and temperature, you had everything about it memorised like the back of your hand.

“It’s a really nice lighter.” You hadn't realised you were playing with it until he spoke up; twirling it between your fingers over and over again, flipping it open and close, lighting it up before shutting the lid and extinguishing the flame.

“Thanks,” you sniffled, and right after you finished speaking, your voice hoarse and tired, you regretted ever doing so. You felt like a child once again; like when your mom tried to comfort you after you had scraped your knee, or when a couple of older middle-schoolers had beaten your friends up. A child like when the day was finally over and you had to go back home from a play-date, or when your favourite toy had fallen inside the river while walking over a bridge. You regretted speaking the minute you had discovered your voice sounded as weak as you felt, and yet, at the mention of your beloved trinket, you felt the warm giddiness wash over your body forcing you to speak. And so, once again like a child, you did. “I got it at a summer festival, Shin got it for me.”

“I thought you said you wanted to come visit him.”

For a minute Keisuke didn’t speak. He looked straight at the ground, feet planted on the floors like roots had grown out of him as he held your hand.

Earlier this morning he had clung onto your waist while angry tears rolled down his cheeks. The moment he caught sight of you putting your shoes on the genkan he had broken into a run, letting his body smash against yours, and almost making you lose your balance. Both you and your mom had tried your hardest to calm him down for what felt like hours but to no avail. He persisted, begging for you to let him accompany you to the hospital.

Outside of Shinichiro’s room, it was a whole other story. All of a sudden he had decided he didn’t want to see him eye to eye. His reaction made you internally groan in frustration. Had you listened to your own gut feeling telling you Keisuke wasn’t ready to come with you, it would’ve saved him the stress of making a choice for himself. Instead, you were too weak to his puppy dog eyes and wobbly pleas, and now his eyes had started to water as he tried to hold back his own hiccups.

“I promise Shin-nii isn’t angry at you,” you cooed, kneeling down to the floor and looking up at him. When had he gotten this tall? When had he grown this much? Were your efforts enough to shape him into a decent person? “and if you truly don't feel comfortable we can go home, I promise I won’t get angry.”

He rubbed at his teary eyes with his free hand before nodding at you, trailing behind you as you stood up and knocked on the door.

“Hey!” you poked your head into the room with a smile, one that faltered as you tried to keep your mouth from falling open in awe once you noticed how the sunlight streaming from the window kissed every inch of Shinichiro’s skin as he quietly read the book you had given him as a joke. He looked up at you, pearly whites all up for display, and mumbled a soft mumbled a soft ‘hey’ right back at you; he looked so pretty he could be mistaken for an angel. “I brought Keisuke with me, ‘that okay?”

He hummed in response, marking the page he was reading before setting it aside. Even after the events that took place at the shop, you knew he wouldn’t mind your brother visiting—he had a soft spot for him after all. The verbal confirmation was more for Keisuke’s sake, who prompted by it, let go of your hand and walked into the room, a tinge of fear staining each step he took.

Shinichiro grinned, gently waving his way. And though the both of you had always found some sense of comfort in the warmth of his smile, it took less than a second for Keisuke to burst into tears. Sobs wracked his body as he stood frozen in the middle of the room, frantically drying out his cheeks with his forearms in vain. Tears kept pouring from his caramel eyes down to his cheeks until they stained his striped shirt.

At the sight of his distress, Shinichiro tried standing up as quickly as possible, almost ripping off his tangled IV. Thankfully, you managed to stop him before he could; the moment your brother had started crying you were already by his side wrapping your arms around his fragile figure.

Much like you had done the past few days, you combed his hair with your fingers while shushing his cries. It had become almost like a habit, Keisuke running to you in the middle of the day, hugging you close while you dried his tears for him. You’d think he’d ran out of tears by now, but something you didn’t take into account was how similar the two of you were, always feeling everything too much, all at once.

“You’re okay,” you whispered into his hair, “you’re okay, and Shin-nii’s okay, see?” you asked him, holding his tear streaked cheeks and motioning his face to meet your gaze, waiting for his breathing to even out before you coaxed him into looking at Shinichiro. “We’ve got you, the two of us, we've got you.”

He smiled at him once again, though you could see a twinkle of sadness in his eyes, as extended one of his hands for him to take. Warily, he warmed up to the invitation, wiping the remaining tears from his face before dragging his feet to the edge of the bed, asking if he could sit with him in a very un-Keisuke nature; it was unusual for him to ask before acting on his impulses.

Shinichiro softened once he felt Keisuke nuzzling his cheek against his chest. He ran his fingers through his dark locks, and as he did so you couldn’t help but think how his hair kept getting longer and longer with each day; hopefully no one from the school office would call you letting you know it was time to chop it off once classes were back in session.

In between hushed whispers, they talked amongst each other for a while. At first, Baji kept giving one word responses, still insecure in spite of your reassurance, but it wasn’t long before he started to loosen up, giggling between sniffles at Shinichiro’s questions and mocking his ‘honorary-brother’ back with teary jabs.

It was a solid dynamic they had been able to build after years of trust and consistent interaction; your two favourite boys extending their love to each other like they were flesh and blood. In that way, the two of them were similar, fiercely loyal and willing to give themselves up for those they loved. You were grateful that Shinichiro was there for Keisuke as he grew up, unknowingly making up for everything you lacked.

The mumble of your name caught your attention, popping your nostalgia blown bubble. Keisuke and Shinichiro alike were beckoning you over, the latter extending his arm as the two of them scooted over and patted the free space next to him.

He held your hand like you were a princess stepping onto a carriage, gingerly helping you keep your balance as you toed-off your shoes. You let out a sigh once you plopped yourself on the bed, letting his arm curl around your shoulders while he kept your hands interlocked, rubbing the skin with his thumb. In spite of the giddiness warming your stomach, you forced yourself to roll your eyes in response when he teasingly asked if you were comfortable, pretending to be bothered by his apparent clinginess

“‘Your sister made you try the jell-o cups already?” he asked Keisuke, the younger boy looking up at him through puffy eyes and wet lashes, and once he shook his head in response he whistled, turning towards you as if disappointed. “You haven’t made him try ‘em yet?”

“‘Came straight to see you.” You brushed off, pretending you didn’t feel his body tense beside you and smiling to yourself in subtle victory when he gulped.

“You should’ve gone to the cafeteria first.” He scolded jokingly, clicking his tongue as if that would help him hide his blushing cheeks that hurt from his own shy affection. Soon after, he switched his attention to your brother, ruffling his hair before speaking, “Remember those jell-o cups you used to share with Manjiro and Haruchiyo? The ones they sold at the konbini?”

“Yeah, but they don't have ‘em anymore,” Keisuke pouted, brows furrowed in thought. His sharp canines poked at his bottom lip, tilting his head up at Shinichiro and grinning. “Mikey almost fought the cashier guy when we found out they stopped selling them!”

“Yeah, I remembered that.” He chuckled, recalling the time he had heard the employee complain about Manjiro’s sudden aggression on one of his morning milk runs. “But guess what?” he sat on his forearms, dragging out the silence to build anticipation. He waited for the two of you to raise your heads from his chest, sharing an evident impatience as you urged him to continue. He took a deep breath before grinning once again. “They still sell ‘em over here.”

“No way! Really?!” The boy stood up in less than a second, forcing you to grab onto the neck of his t-shirt to prevent him from falling flat on his ass while he cried in glee, tears seemingly forgotten. Those jell-o cups in particular had been a staple of everyone’s childhood; you had been eating those snacks for years and years. You can clearly remember the clear disappointment in his face when he told you they had been discontinued, his somberness rubbing off on you.

“Yeah!” Shinichiro exclaimed back, scooting closer to your brother and placing one of his hands on the bed railing behind your brother, aiding you in your task of preventing Keisuke from falling to the ground. The memory had suddenly made its wake into his consciousness after mulling over ways to comfort your brother and coming up empty handed, until he had suddenly turned to his bedside table where an empty plastic cup sat with a flimsy disposable spoon. “Manjiro and Emma got a bunch from the cafeteria to take home, you could do the same.”

You were almost taken aback by the speed he used to turn his face towards you, surprised he didn’t give himself whiplash before he asked you with as much excitement he could muster, “Can we?! Please, please!?”

His pleading words made his bronze eyes sparkle under the fluorescent lights and though you know you shouldn’t, you can’t find it in yourself to say no. You smiled and nodded without a shadow of a doubt that you’d do anything in your power to keep the toothy grin you missed on his lips.

“Does that mean I can go get one now?” He pleaded, tilting his head and yet again putting on display the best puppy-dog eyes he could muster. “Please? I haven't had one in years, I wanna know if they’re the same as I remember.”

“Knock yourself out.” Shinichiro said before you could respond, ruffling Keisuke’s hair before the latter jumped down, ignoring the fact you didn’t give him a proper response before running off to the cafeteria.

You sighed unimpressed, turning towards the man beside you and letting yourself slump against his figure. His chuckle only made you roll your eyes.

“What? Were you planning to say no to him?”

He knew you too well for your own good.

“Shut up.” With a gentle push you force him back down on the bed, elbowing him lightly in the process and pressing your head back against his chest. You almost hum in satisfaction when he let himself fall back down without resistance, caving in under your touch. “I could’ve said no.”

“Yeah, right.” This time, he was the one rolling his eyes, mocking your mannerisms and chuckling when you smiled, hoping the apparent ‘nonchalance’ would mask his now increased heart rate, and the faster beating coming from the vital sign monitor.

“I could’ve!” You tried to sit up in retaliation, pretending to be annoyed, yet you didn’t resist when he pulled you back down. He held down his own giggling once he felt you cuddling up closer to his side, tracing random patterns on his dotted hospital gown and realising too late how close both your hands were. The proximity made you nervous; even if the two of you were practically laying one on top of the other, holding hands felt like a foreign act of intimacy.

Subtly enough, you tried reaching out for the tip of his fingers, moving what seemed like less than a millimetre per minute. Soon enough, he took notice of your plan; hesitantly, he moved his own towards you, letting your fingertips rest against each other for a couple of seconds, like he was asking for your permission, before interlocking his fingers with yours.

“You really can’t stay away from me, can you?” he teased, gaze focused on your entwined hands through his lashes as he felt too shy to look anywhere near your face. It seemed that hiding the pink-ish blush staining his cheek had become his number one priority; you were so close, so everywhere, he wouldn’t want it any other way, even if the closest he’d get to you would be through friendly teasing, bordering the line of ‘definitely, a 100% and unmistakably platonic’ flirting.

In your mind, you were desperately scavenging for any semblance of a comeback, preferably witty and with the same energy he was giving you.Instead, all you did was sigh.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

You blamed the gusty confession on a moment of weakness, likely born out of your depleting energy mixed with the way his hand fit against yours like two perfectly carved puzzle pieces. You weren’t sure why you had said what you did, the way you did; voice softening as the longing you had suppressed your whole life coated every syllable that rolled down your tongue.

He hummed in response, giddy and satisfied, before backtracking in confusion. The lack of sarcasm or annoyance lighthearted mockery caught the two of you off-guard, though it seemed to have a bigger impact on him as his body tensed up for a moment. If you were to look up at him, you’d probably see his head tilted to the side, with warm cheeks and the ghost of a frown clouding his features.

And that’s exactly why you don’t.

Not like this; you wouldn't allow yourself to do so, wouldn’t even dare. Not when the stakes were this high, multiple worst outcomes served on a silver platter for you to choose because once you look up at him he would notice the way you see him, like he hung up each individual constellation up in the sky on his own and then all of it would be over for you.

For the both of you.

“Do you, uh,” the slight shake in his voice made you gulp, like you had an inkling of a very possible question he could ask. Maybe this would finally be the end of your friendship which, to your own dismay, could be very easily broken by other things that weren’t death itself, “do you know if Keisuke has talked to Manjiro yet?”

You cleared your throat, holding back the sigh of relief, and shook your head. “I don’t think he knows how.”

“He’s scared?”

“I think so,” you pondered, “they’ve been friends since forever, I think he’s scared of losing…him.”

Knowing that both you and your brother’s situation overlapped in so many ways felt weird; both Baji siblings were scared to lose their respective Sano brothers. It sounded funny, almost cute, like both Bajis and Sanos were meant to stick together generation after generation. You would’ve giggled at the thought, explain the parallels between the two relationships to Shinichiro and laugh at the silliness of it, yet the fear that had taken possession of your body the last couple of days lingered at the thought.

Scared of losing him.

You almost choked on the words sitting heavy in your mouth, like you had confessed to a crime. Had you been alone, maybe they would’ve urged you to cry.

“Hey, ‘you okay?” You hadn’t realised that the worry had bled onto your face, dripping down your cheeks and coating your eyelashes with sorrow until he spoke up, tearing you away from your trance. But you couldn’t help it, the lingering torture you endured at the hands of your brain replaying past events, from the bailing your brother out of jail as he sobbed to having Wakasa answer the call for you, Kazutora crying in your arms and Shinichiro blaming himself for his own accident, the more you felt like losing yourself in his embrace, tightening your hold on his hand. “You left me there for a second I thought–”

“No.”

“What?”

“No, I’m–” you stuttered, “I don’t think I’m okay, I–”

Rejection after rejection, you’ve seen what felt like an infinite amount of his confessions go sideways, and yet he handled each and every one of them with grace. You’d attribute his resilience to the amount of first hand experience he’s had with it, and though at first it had taken a big toll on him. By now, rejection was nothing to him. He could make a fool of himself in front of anyone and he really wouldn’t care; he has told you so himself.

But you were not Shinichiro, and you could never be him.

You were resentful and impulsive, oftentimes reacting way before you think. You were impatient and whiny, though you tried your best to suppress that particular trait to no avail. You were a selfish, self-destructive being that somehow managed to keep the insecure neediness brewing inside on the down low.

And you could go on. You could go on because you were stubborn, volatile, melodramatic and a part of your brain really does think you were just setting yourself up for failure listing every single negative character trait that comes to mind. But it didn’t matter because that just further proves you're not Shinichiro Sano, that you were never going to be Shinichiro Sano because you were weak.

Too weak to answer the call, too weak not to try and escape uncomfortable situations, too weak to hold back the urge for a smoke, too weak to forgive Kazutora, too weak to confess your feelings for your best friend even after bawling your eyes out at the thought of a life without him.

Too weak, too weak, too weak.

Being weak is all you’ve ever known.

The thoughts poured and they wouldn’t stop, crashing against each other like the same bumper carts you rode along with Shinichiro at the funfair with your siblings. Back then, you were all smiles and laughter, and right now you wondered if the two of you would’ve held hands if it wasn’t for Emma sitting in the middle of you both.

And he was so warm next to you, not pressuring you to clarify whatever word-vomit you just spewed instead of a proper comeback. So sweet as he squeezed your hand to let you know he was there to help in whichever way he could to lull your worries to sleep. So kind as he took care of you when you should be the one taking care of him. Always so him.

You had no right to be a coward, at least not in front of one of the strongest and bravest people you’ve ever met. It wasn’t fair. Listing your flaws from the top of your head would never justify your body preventing itself from spilling the truth just so you could try and grasp at the fragile strings of self-pity to sew yourself back together as unspoken words necrotize your tongue.

The same way you wouldn’t dare look at him, you wouldn’t dare stay away from him. It’d kill you just to try. So fuck every martyrish thought in your head, fuck the burned cigarette butts stained with indirect kisses, fuck the many nights the two of you spent stargazing in his garden, the infinite amount of chocolates you bought him for valentine’s day to make up for the emptiness of his locker; and the countless times he had dropped everything he was doing for the chance to spend just a couple of minutes with you. Fuck the worn out red koi fish engraved on your lighter and the possibility of breaking the promise you two made of never straying away from each other.

“I can’t stay away from you,” you took a deep breath, “I think I’d rather die than live a life without you,

“The sole idea of losing you almost sent me over the edge, and even after you were out of surgery I was a mess,” you stopped yourself again, giving yourself the chance to swallow down the knot in your throat; it didn’t work. “I was going insane without being able to talk your ear off because even when I talk about something you couldn’t give a shit about you still give a shit, you give so many shits when it comes to me, too many,

“You’re loyal and gentle and charming and you’re always smiling, and it's like, it's like you're absolutely everything good and even then you genuinely have no idea how wrapped around your finger I truly am,

“And I don't think I’ve ever properly thanked you for existing because I don't think I’d be the same person I am right now if it wasn't for you, and even if I'm not perfect, I- I wouldn't trade myself for a better version if that meant you wouldn’t be in my life.

“So, yeah, I guess you’re right, I don’t think I can,” you let your shoulders sag, like the confession finally burned years upon years of cover-ups and excuses and fake scenarios you had come up with before bed stored in the darkest depth of your brain. “Even if I wanted to, I wouldn't be able to stay away from you.”

Pensive, he melted further against the pillows, letting his muscles melt at the sound of his own sighing. Even if you weren’t directly looking at him, you hear his smile reverberating throughout his body, and the sole idea of him possibly reciprocating your feelings made you impossibly giddy; a little too giddy. It was easy, after all, to get your hopes up once you lose yourself in him, his warmth and comfort. And for less than a second, you can see your hypothetical future with him pass right in front of your eyes, forcing you to accept a premature victory. But as the silence between the two of you started to drag itself out, you couldn't help but reluctantly welcome the acrid heartbreak tearing through your skin.

“I’m sorry,” you tensed up, “I shouldn’t have–”

“No, no, it's–,” he blurted out tongue tied as if your words had snapped him out of a trance, mirroring the same giddiness you had displayed with the same hint of hesitancy, “no one has talked about me like that, I guess it just caught me off-guard.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, I don’t– don’t think I'd be able to stay away from you either– not that I want to, of course it's just– sorry give me a minute.” Looking off to the side, he tried to collect himself, clearing his throat and pinching his cheeks, the skin already stained with all sorts of shades of pink. For him, it was inevitable not to become all shy and flustered, the least he could do was bite his tongue so as not to break into a fit of giggles, prevent himself from swinging his legs and twirling his short strands of hair like a lovesick middle schooler. All because of you. “Just, um, just to be clear before I look like an absolute fool, not that I don't look like an absolute fool on a daily basis, but this is a confession, right?”

You raised your head up in confusion, tilting your head and furrowing your brows. Had you not been so baffled by his self-explanatory question you would’ve fawned over this version of him, giddy and soft and in love with you because just by looking at his eyes you could tell he was looking at you like you hung the moon up in the sky—it was easy to decipher; after staring at him the exact same way countless times, you were bound to familiarise yourself with such display of devotion. And had he not looked this adorable, you would’ve teased him for being so painfully and hopelessly dense, but you didn’t have it in you to do so, only managing to nod in response.

“So you like like me?” He continued, waiting for your reassurance, either a nod or a smile, or any signal that he was right. “So you are in love with me?”

“I mean, I wouldn't say I'm in love but if that's what makes you sleep at night.” The more you stared at his face, the dimples on his cheeks, the creasing of his eyes at your words and the giggle he couldn’t help but contain, the wider the smile creeping at his lips became.

“Will you say it then?” He prodded, moving closer to you, now unable to hide the twinge of pink that grew what seemed like a thousand shades per second.

“I don’t know,” your legs innocently dangled from the side of the bed, trying to win back control of the situation by cutting down on your proximity, and sitting up properly from your half-lying position, “will I?”

“Please?” he begged, cupping one of your cheeks with the palm of his hand and pulling you closer until you could feel each other's breaths. His skin was warm against yours, the roughness of his palm from working non-stop at the shop offset by the tenderness he carried around for you.

And though you wanted to drag this on, enjoying the back and forth, you were so whipped for this man that you couldn’t stop your nonchalant act from crumbling as soon as you heard him once again let out a shy giggle after he nudged your nose with his.

“I love you.”

Voice dreamy and saccharine sweet, like confessing to your lifelong desire, you whispered, and just before your lips touched, through lidded eyes and uneven breath he whispered back ‘and I love you’.

After his own confession, you were unable to pay attention to anything that wasn’t him. All your senses were muted as his soft lips gilded against yours. The taste of the honey chapstick you applied almost compulsively melted against his tongue, and he wondered if like him, you could still faintly taste the strawberry chapstick you had gifted him a while ago; the same one he hadn’t stopped using since, going as far as asking the hospital staff to retrieve it from the pockets of the jeans he was wearing the day of the accident for him.

He bit back a whimper when he felt you bite down gently on his bottom lip, unable to ignore the way you smirk against the kiss once your hand makes its way up to the side of his neck to rest on his pulse point, in the perfect position to feel his heart doing somersaults underneath your touch. It made him want to melt right against you; the more you wandered down his body, the bigger the urge to hold you grew.

His calloused yet delicate fingers traced your skin, running from the apples of your cheeks down to your chin, coaxing you to fully give into him as he traced the tip of his tongue against your lips. He could feel himself grow hard once you gave him permission to enter, basking on the hidden whine you let out at the feeling of the warm muscle enveloping your whole body, drool pooling at the corner of both your lips.

Away from your face, he trails his hands slowly down your torso confidently ghosting the skin before the facade is broken the moment he almost freezes up once he gets to your chest. The blush on his cheeks deepened as you took notice of his apparent nervousness, laughing it off before he continued his path down to your hips,

He was sure he was ready to die right here in your arms the moment you softly suck on his tongue, his eyes almost rolling towards the back of his skull as you hands grazed his clothed dick. The teasing touch made him groan, the vibrations against your lips feeding the urge to get closer to him. And almost like he had read your mind, you shivered at the tight grip of his hips guiding you over lap until you were resting flush against him.

“‘Want you so bad.” He panted in between giggles, nudging your noses together and pecking your lips over and over again. You barely managed to catch your breath between his kisses; when he leaned away you pulled him in, and when you did so he tried to follow the path of your lips until they were once again interlocked with his. The two of you ignored the satisfying burn of your lungs like the feeling of your bodies close against each other was good enough of a replacement for oxygen itself. “–Waited so long for this.”

He pulled you down a little harder against him, bucking his hips against your. Mewling into the kiss, you wrapped both your arms around his shoulders, perhaps taking too much enjoyment in the minimal friction against your core. The sensation of him rutting desperately against you forced you to meet his attempts for more with an equal amount of want.

“You feel so good.” you cooed, whimpering as he sucked at the skin behind your ear. “Shin, Fuck, you’re so good at this.”

Before he could stop himself, he was groaning at the praise, peppering kisses along your jaw and neck and refusing to come back up to meet your lips to hide the raging blush tinting his skin, spreading from his cheeks up to his ears.

“You like that? Like it when I say you're doing a good job?”

He hummed, though it sounded more like a whimper, and waited no time to pull your face back against his, connecting your lips again in a messy kiss, to, presumably, stop you from teasing him. He took the opportunity to indulge himself, once again tracing the outline of your lower lip with his tongue and nipping at the supple skin in retaliation.

In spite of your own reluctance, you broke the kiss first, finding the way he tried to chase your lips with his eyes half-lidded in pleasure, indescribably cute. You took a minute to fully take in this version of him, his breath uneven and with a thin sheen of sweat making some of his black locks stick to his forehead. His lips were puffy, glistening with saliva as they part involuntarily in an enrapturing appetite.

He looked so pretty like this, you didn’t think you’d have it in you to control yourself.

Once you had lowered the sheets covering his legs, one of your thumbs proceeded to draw circular patterns on his exposed thigh, chuckling at the way he flinched before relaxing against you. Gently ghosting your fingernails over his skin, you hiked up his hospital gown until you had full access to the band of his boxers, toying with the elastic but doing nothing aside from that.

“You want to do this here?” He pulled back, eyes wide and dazed with need yet frazzled at your sudden boldness, as if nearly dry humping in a hospital wasn’t bold enough. His hands played with the hem of your shirt, sending shivers down your spine every time his fingers grazed your skin. He looked like a deer caught in headlines, a way cuter version of Bambi, and you couldn’t help but nuzzle your nose against his cheek before kissing him gently, once, twice, thrice.

“Only if you want to.”

“I do,” he swallowed, clearing his throat to keep himself lucid as he felt the tips of your fingers breaching the hem of his underwear, cold against the warmth of the covered skin. “Fuck, I really do, I need you s’bad I–”

“You fucking disgust me.”

Like a pair of surprised kittens, the sudden interruption had the two of you jumping away from each other, almost falling off the bed while desperately trying to pull the sheets back into place. In turn Shinichiro tried helping you regain your balance, grabbing your arm before you crashed against the floor, nearly pulling down one of the hospital monitors in the process.

“Don't you know how to knock?” You bit back, taking his comment more personally that you should’ve.

“Didn’t think it’d be necessary.” Wakasa crossed his arms in front of his chest, shifting the lollipop in his mouth from one side of his cheek to the other. Standing beside, Benkei held a teddy bear and a lavender flower arrangement, mixed along with baby’s breaths and eucalyptus. If anyone had to guess, the bewildered expression he sported only meant he’d rather have his friend die than see whatever blasphemous activities you were performing. But then again, he probably expected to see his friend bedridden and weak instead of the free front row tickets to your ‘dry humping a post-concussed Shinichiro’ expectale. “‘Thought the worst thing we’d come across was him sleeping.”

“Why did you think coming across me sleeping d’be the worst case scenario!?” Shinichiro butted in lightheartedly, though you wouldn’t rule out the possibility of him actually being serious. “Are you saying I look ugly when I sleep?”

“No, you dumbass,” Wakasa deadpanned; even with his usual unbothered facade you could tell he was grateful for the ordinary banter, questioning his stupidity with a hidden smile. “How’re we gonna talk to you if you’re asleep.”

“Wait, what happened? I didn't see,” Takeomi joined in, panting as he held a couple of balloons that had ‘it's a boy!’ written all over them. “These two assholes left me while I was getting something to eat.”

The two of you groaned at the sound of his voice, pressing the heels of your hands against while Shinichiro hid his eyes behind his forearm. Even if you wanted to be lowkey about the whole situation, sweep it under the rug to avoid facing the embarrassment over again, you knew you wouldn't be able to hide it from anyone, not even Takeomi, and he wasn’t the brightest.

Shinichiro’s hair was a tousled mess and his skin was dusted pink. Both of your lips were puffy, glistening under the fluorescent lights, and your breathing was uneven still. No matter how much the two of you tried to regulate it back to normal, it seemed to follow the rapid rhythm of each other’s heart beat.

“Nothing happened.” You grumbled, willing to attempt a lousy cover up in spite of your friend’s, including Shinichiro, giggling. Once he found out, it would be impossible for him to let it go. But even so, it took a lot of effort not to join in your friends’ laughter; it was funny to fuck with him—not literally—his puzzled frown as he borderline begged for someone to let him only feeding in your teasing. Still, once he found out. “We were just talking.”

“Yeah, talking about fuck–”

“Wakasa!” “Dude!”

The two of you exclaimed as the blond tilted his head to the side, making his earring jingle. A teasing smile stretched on his lips as the four of you waited for Takeomi to process what was just mentioned. Knowing the speed in which the neurons within his brain transported information, it’d take a little while.

To everyone’s surprise, it only took him a couple of seconds to do so. You could visibly see it in his expression, morphing into one of amazement the minute realisation hit him straight in the face

“Did’ya– No way, you finally fucked?” And though his lack of decorum made the two men beside him laugh louder and the two of you groan as if to muffle his voice, he paid your reaction no mind other than using it as an affirmative response to his question. “No way, congrats dude! Who would’ve thought you needed to almost die just to lose your virginity.”

“I hate you so much.” Shinichiro playfully complained, a stupid grin threatening to make its way onto his lips disproving his claim. Seeing his four best friends standing around him right after waking up from what could’ve been a tragic accident made him feel all sorts of things he found himself unable to explain. It almost made him want to cry once again—happy tears this time.

“Anyway, now that you’ve got someone to stay with,” you changed the topic, interrupting yourself to fix the stray hairs sitting on top of Shinichiro’s head before caressing his cheek with your thumb, “I’ll go check whatever Keisuke’s doing, I‘ll be back in a sec.”

“Wait no, don’t go…” You had to resist the urge to give him another quick peck at the way he dragged out the ‘go’, and instead, grabbed your phone from his bedside table to respond to the missed messages coming from your mom. “Don’t leave me with these people.”

“Very funny Shitty-chiro.” Takeomi fake laughed, letting himself fall on one of the chairs nearby, stretching his arms before fully slumping against the backrest and looking at you. “But’s fine, I left Haruchiyo in charge, Senju’s with them as well.”

“Well that doesn't make things any better, does it.” At your snapping voice, he raised his hands up in surrender, as if the idea of letting a 13 year-old in charge of two 12 year-olds didn't have multiple flaws. Doing a 180° turn, you turned towards Shinichiro, grabbing his hand and giving it a squeeze. “I’ll be quick, promise.”

“Wait, before you go,” Wakasa interrupted, stopping you from slinging your bag over your shoulder. He took the bright red candy out of his mouth with a pop, using it as a little wand to emphasise his speech, before he continued. “Who confessed first?”

“Yeah!” Takeomi sat at the end of his seat, gaze switching from Shinichiro to you and vice versa. “How did Shinichiro confess to ya’?”

Again, faster than the usual processing speed of his cognitive skills, he managed to string the hints together, gasping at the silence that settled between the two of you as you tried to silently decide who should say what. Shinichiro opened his mouth like a fish, as if trying to come up with something to appease his friend’s reaction before giving up and averting his eyes, pointing at you with his thumb.

Wakasa’s smirk only grew the more Takeomi seemed to sink back into the chair in dejection. “‘gotta pay up Omi-omi.”

The ruffling of bills and the complaints birthed out of the apparent loser’s mouth distracted you momentarily. You were about to laugh at the scene in front of you, two of them waiting with their hands stretched out as Takeomi reluctantly placed the wrong amount in his palm, grunting when Wakasa noticed it wasn’t the amount they had agreed on, before it clicked in your head.

“Pay up,” you mumbled to yourself, “Pay up, pay up? Wait, did you three bet on us?”

“Kinda,” Benkei sent you a reassuring smile, counting the hundred yen bills that were handed to him once again; when it came to money matters, Takeomi wasn’t someone you could trust. “We bet on who’d confess first.”

“And you didn’t bet on me?!” Shinchiro exclaimed, a little louder than he intended.

“Sorry man, ‘didn't have faith in you,” Wakasa folded the five crinkled bills in half before stashing them in his back pocket. “After your failed attempt I kinda accepted you weren’t going to win, Benkei was always betting against you, though.”

“But ‘ya admit it!” Takeomi jumped from his seat, waving his now empty wallet in the air like he was fencing with the worn out leather rectangle. “He did confess first!”

“Hell no, it only counts if it was a successful confession.”

“So the bet wouldn’t count if one of them got rejected? What's the point then!”

Wakasa groaned, pressing his temples with his thumb and middle finger, “It only counts if the two of them understand whatever was done was a confession.”

“But the lighter was him confessing!”

“Takeomi, that was the vaguest confession to ever be seen by the entirety of mankind.”

“What confession are you talking about…?” You interrupted the animated discourse with a question. In spite of enjoying the banter between your friends, you remained in the dark. Shinichiro had never confessed to you, or even remotely tried to do so. You were a hundred percent certain, after all, had he done so you were sure you’d be dating by now.

“The lighter you always carry around,” Takeomi responded, “the fish one.”

Instinctively, you patted the pocket where your zippo lighter sat, carefully trailing your thumb lightly over the red imprints as you pulled it out. It looked almost exactly the same way as it did during the summer festival. The only difference, aside from the way the metal reflected the cold hospital lights instead of fireworks and paper lanterns, were the couple of dents on the metal and the previously well-defined engraving softening over the years.

“S‘not just a fish,” Shinichiro chuckled, letting himself fall back on the bed while hiding his flustered state behind a seemingly lame explanation. At this rate, he was sure his skin could be permanently stained a pinkish-red. “It's a red koi fish.”

“Wait,” you snapped your head from the lighter to him, letting your mouth fall open in surprise, “you, you meant that?”

“What do you…mean?” Shinichiro poked, voice twisting and forcing the ‘mean’ to come out strained. Watching your shoulders tense up and, somehow, simultaneously relaxed made him wary of the whole situation, like the universe itself was playing a prank on him. And though unlikely, he wasn't ruling out the possibility of random cameras popping up from behind the door or through the window or maybe from underneath his bed with a huge poster reading ‘you’ve been pranked!’.

He had given you that lighter seven years ago, the engravings were probably faded by now, there was no way…

“Red koi fish mean romantic love, don’t they?”

It took him a couple of seconds to properly run your words through his brain, before his eyes widened in amusement mixed with the mild disappointment his seventeen year-old-self had forced himself to ignore after his confession had gone wrong. “You knew!?”

“Uh…yeah? We learned that in literature class.” You shrugged with a sheepish smile in an attempt to tame down the laughter that had started bubbling in your throat at his mortified reaction. He groaned at your response, throwing one of his arms over his eyes, the sound mixing with a cry as the movement pulled on the IV digging into his arm.

He licked his lips a couple of times and rubbed the skin above the needle in an attempt to soothe the ache. Stalling, he was trying to buy time before he asked anything that could potentially hurt him. “Why didn’t you say anything?” Aside from flustered and pouty, slightly amused at his own failed attempt, he appeared to be a little sullen, perhaps even sad. It was obvious to you, though you didn’t know why; maybe he was blaming himself for losing the opportunity to get in a relationship with you way earlier. Or, maybe he blamed himself for putting any sort of pressure on you; back then, he wasn’t a hundred percent sure how you felt about him, so maybe you had purposely ignored his advances because you didn't want him. But that couldn’t be it, could it? Less than a couple of minutes ago the two of you were confessing your love for each other, so if that were to be the case, when did your feelings for him start to change? “Did, uh, did you not like me back then?”

Looking at his hopeful yet gloomy expectant features, he appeared so small and vulnerable in front of you, you wanted to give him a hug. The question had visibly caught you off-guard, your brows furrowing as soon as he was done talking. Who would’ve thought that a seemingly innocuous event from your past would come back transformed into an apparent irrational insecurity. It prompted yet another silence upon the two of you. And though it felt eternal, it lasted only a couple of milliseconds, interrupted by both your annoyance and Takeomi munching on the chips he bought at an inflated price on one of the hospital’s vending machines.

“Do you mind?” You turned towards the obnoxious mistake you had chosen as a friend, snickering as he shrugged in questionable indifference, mumbling a muffled ‘go on’ before motioning you two to continue with a shake of his hand. But at the lack of positive feedback from anyone in the room he stopped himself to explain.

“What? It’s like watching a live romcom,” he shoved more chips into his mouth, “The ones we watch every friday, ‘ya know what I mean?”

“Okay,” Benkei clapped both his hands together, gathering everyone’s attention before he pulled Takeomi into a standing position and pushed both him and an amused Wakasa towards the door. “Seems like all of us are hungry, we’re heading to the cafeteria real quick, we’ll send Baji back up when we’re done, sounds good?”

“Sounds good, thanks, Benkei.” You smiled at him, watching the three of them leave and sighing in satisfaction when you saw the way the gentle-giant punched Takeomi��s arm once they were far enough for his complaints to appear silent. “But to answer your question,” you turned towards Shinichiro once again, sitting at the edge of the bed and resting your hand on top of his. You could see the way he visibly relaxed against your touch, the warmth of your skin coaxing his insecurities away little by little. “I did like you very much back then, too much for it to be considered healthy, I'm pretty sure…”

“Why didn’t you say anything then?”

“Well, I, you know,” you stumbled over your words, suddenly feeling the embarrassment for your younger self was all over you. Why didn’t you say anything? Well, in hindsight, you didn’t think Shinchiro had it in him to use a literary reference as a means of confession. Not because he was stupid, that was Takeomi's role, but because it was very un-Shinichiro. You had been witness to the countless failed confession attempts and nothing included anything as subtle and detailed as the lighter he had gifted you. Back then, he professed his brimming infatuation with an honest smile, the well-rehearsed question ‘would you go out with me?’ and absolutely nothing else. And though the ‘courting’ period included him acting all whipped and soft, he was usually very blunt when it came to asking people out, gentle but direct.

Although, thinking about it a little bit more in depth, he had always been very romantic, sometimes cringy with the shitty pick up lines, but during movie nights he had always chosen movies with clear romantic subplots, and you can recall that one romance poetry book he kept borrowing from the library, unable to finish it before returning it—at least that’s what you thought, by the amount of times he had taken it home.

When you were both in middle school and high school, he would watch couples holding hands with a gentle smile, sometimes going as far as spacing out and letting a dreamy sigh fall from his lips—he always brushed off the person asking the reason behind his sighing, but you were paying attention to him more often than not, so of course you knew—and of course, you couldn’t forget the many times he had shared hypothetical scenarios with the four of you, most of them consisting of him fantasising out loud the sort of dates he’d like to have with his hypothetical s/o or what he would do for them before being relentlessly teased by all of you.

So, in retrospect, him trying to confess through a pretty much evident symbol extracted from one of your favourite books was a very un-Shinichiro, Shinichiro thing to do, if that made any sense.

“I think…I might’ve gaslit myself into believing it was a coincidence, didn't wanna get my hopes up.”

“I thought, I– I thought it was pretty obvious that I liked you.” He chuckled, scooting to the side in order to make more space for you to lay, next to him, the same you had done most of the days you had spent here. “Everybody knew I did.”

“Wait, really? I thought you were being friendly!” You let out a laugh, watching him soften up even more at your obliviousness and simultaneously hold back laughter of his own. “Don’t laugh at me! You were flirtier with Wakasa than with me!”

“You can’t blame me!” He finally laughed along with you, interlocking your fingers together and pulling you close until you were squished next to him, and waited for you to get comfortable before continuing his spiel. “Waka’s my best friend, we’ve always been like that, and you know it.” He nuzzled his cheek against your head, muttering the words in the quietest way possible, like he didn’t want to be heard by anyone but you. “Plus I couldn't flirt with you, I'd blush and cry afterwards.”

“Yeah, I’d’ve cried if you flirted with me as well.”

“Hey!”

“I mean it in a good way! Happy tears or whatever.” You sighed with a giddy grin, caressing his cheeks with the back of your hand before smushing them together, forcing a pout and giving him a quick peck on the lips. “I promise I’ll forever be in love with you.”

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