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blueparadis · 7 months

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꒰ WHEN WE COLLIDED ꒱ ⋮ RAN HITANI.

───❪ SYNOPSIS ❫ ⋮ A decision always changes the course of one's life but mainly it affects just one person, the one who takes the decision. However, an accident doesn't, it affects more than one person. Ran seems to believe he can have both in his favor if he plays his cards at the right time.

───❪ TAGS ❫ ⋮ MDNI, 18+ & M RATING.

(sub!)ran haitani x (switch!)fem!reader, one sided pinning, manipulation, death via accident ( MCD ), fruity!ran agenda, yandere themes, mention of implied cheating, domestic violence ( not by ran ), bad marriage,slow burn, eventual smut.

───❪ PLAYLIST ❫ ⋮ stay by stephan, too close by sir chloe, million dollar man by lana del rey, i am the dog by sir chloe, me and my husband by mitski, movement by hozier, don't you know by james young, do i wanna know by arctic monkeys, sex with a ghost by teddy hyde, stuck on a puzzle alex turner, cherry waves by deftones, the witch by Rosenfeld & khemis.

part one. ┊summary: The monotony in the life of Ran Haitani has a flicker of excitement. It turns up for a second and then goes out. But, for a hungry animal to denounce the prey, even if it is a slice is nothing but a mockery of the ways of nature. word count —2,5k┊

The tiny fancy bell hanging just above the entrance of the restaurant seems to be swinging more than usual tonight. The sound echoes through the long quiet corridor that takes a left turn towards a diverging compound full of people, gossip, sophisticated drinks, and food. Ran takes a glance as the glass door opens and then retracts to his phone again. The door closer does its job as the footsteps of the customer steadily make it toward one of the two-seater tables. Even with all the hubbub, Ran could perfectly hear the sound of boots, the greetings, the laughs, the food orders — the only mixture of sounds that does not seem to irritate him, and it should not, certainly for any restaurant owner like him. One should be happy if none of the chairs go empty for a long while. Ran is, but it has now become more of a dull luxury than a happy Friday evening that seemed to be well-spent. There is a certain monotony in everything, even at the oddest of surreality, like a speck of ink over a silky dress. Harmless but annoying once it is spotted. Ran knows that. He is more aware than anyone who is present here to spend a lively evening than other treacherous ones; just to be scooped out of this monotonous life, even if it is just for a few hours.

There is an elderly couple sitting by the giant glass window on a table of two. Next to them sits a family of eight, two young couples and the parents, perhaps. A toddler has lost her way while roaming in between the cubicles of the diner, while her mother is worriedly running behind her. Ran smiles at that, thinking adults often fail to keep up with children, even their own. There are people everywhere he sets his eyes, some are eating, some are busy talking, and some are waiting all by themselves, some are meeting for the first hello while some are meeting for the last goodbye.

All these remind him of himself, in bits and pieces, that he abandoned long ago in his sprouting youth when his parents died. As per the local news, it was an accident and made it to the headlines the next day. Ran still remembers how he let Rindou sleep on his bed in the dorm room while he was awake the whole night thinking about why he felt such a weight on his shoulders. They were immediately sent home; to be taken care of since such a merciless strike of tragedy tainted their fates. But of course, he remembers nothing about it now, nothing too vivid to be haunted by it and also, nothing too positively significant to look forward to making a family. He remembers how he used to come to this very building holding his father’s hand during every summer break while Rindou would stay at home. It was not a restaurant back then. He remembers how his mother always asked the maids to handle Rindou. He remembers how his father sent Rindou and him to boarding school just to enjoy his sparkling youth with their mother. Nubile hearts are far too young to tend to their brand-new hearts except for each other.

A year later tragedy befell. At such a young age, one could barely understand what was happening let alone feel it. But Ran remembers it all. It is like a set of scenes flashing at the back of his mind whenever he catches a glimpse of familial activities. Sometimes he feels guilty about not grieving for them enough but then again, there was not much time, he spent with his Oka-sama and Otou-sama, whenever he looked back on the days of his childhood. Before Rindou, he had two years; two years of holding his dad’s hand whenever he was off to work, and roaming inside the giant mansion in the name of exploring while he was slowly eaten away by loneliness, agony, and vexation until Rindou came into his life.

Ran was not alone, not anymore. He could barely wait for Rindou to walk all by himself. He would spend hours sitting by his crib and playing with Rindou’s toys. And, when Rindou learned to walk, Ran had so many things to share, so many hide-outs, so many discoveries, so much to catch up on. He loves his brother immensely but a tiny part of him was always envious of him. Well, it had nothing to do with the affection and attention Rindou used to get from Oka-sama and Otou-sama but those two years. . . those two years of wandering inside the mansion, seeing things that he was not supposed to see, hearing things that he was not supposed to hear, not for a boy of his age, never left him. The howling silence followed him since then.

Even now he hates giant empty spaces, especially checking out new penthouses or apartments in other lively parts of Roppongi; that is solely handled by Rindou along with practicing in his law firm. Ran loves having a room full of people yet does not understand the process of starting a family, courting someone, falling in love, or to put it simply being too fond of them over others, marrying them, taking vows, and so on. It never ends. It is too demanding and risky for someone who never had a family in the first place. It makes his skin crawl, and stomach turn so much that whenever he looks in the mirror he sees nothing but an empty can waiting to be crushed and discarded. But everything fades when he enters a room full of people, all the anguish and anger. So, he clearly does not understand this theory called ‘family’ yet every friday, Ran Haitani comes to his restaurant situated at the cream of Roppongi just to know what family is, just to know what is holding him back from having one.

Truth be told, he has now got the hang of it. Coming here, watching all these people bask in neon lights, monitor the staff sometimes, and if his mood permits he might hit the bar section to indulge himself in something less turbulent than family, responsibilities, and relationships; ‘to live a little’, as put by Rindou. But tonight he is more invested in something else entirely. He has no intention of drowning himself in desires.

There is a couple sitting by the entrance of this giant diner. From his position, he can only see the face of the guy and the back of the girl. Even though he is seated diagonally at that table, he can barely make the crescent of her face, even the reflection of her face on the glass is blurred. Ran tilts his head and rests it on his hand: index finger at his temple and the others at his cheek creating a dip. The loose strands of his hair graze his forehead. There are people coming and going in the range of his vision but he is not moving, not his eyes, not his mind, only steady intake of breaths and exhaling deeply occasionally. From the looks of it, they seem to be on their first date. Awkward. None of them is talking. While the guy is constantly glancing at the girl every now and then, the girl seems to be busy checking the menu. The guy's face seems familiar. Maybe he could remember his name, or where he has seen him if only he could get a glance of the girl. . . although, Ran is not surprised, not in the least. He is aware of how this restaurant of his has turned into an expensive date spot over the years. Of all the restaurants he owns, he never thought that this place of all places would witness more relationships and heartbreaks than others. Since no one seemed to break the ice, Ran took the liberty of doing it by himself.

“Waiter,” he waves his right hand. He still has not distorted his posture. “Has table number 34 ordered anything yet?”

“No sir,” the waiter supplies. Ran still has his hooded eyes lingering over them. He flicks the first two fingers of his right hand beckoning the staff closer to him. “Tell them that they don’t need to worry about the bill. Everything is on the house.” He pauses; and clicks his tongue hearing his phone vibrate. “And—” he declines the call and then switches up his gaze again at the waiter. “Also, tell them how good they look together. Just drop some easy compliments. It’s their first date, after all.” Ran gives his signature smile to him.

Before the waiter could bow and take his leave Ran gets another call. This time he picks up and the first thing he says is how he is waiting for the rain to be over, since he forgot to bring an umbrella he would rather wait than book a cab. He disconnects the call and clicks his tongue again. He would have loved to see their reaction, especially hers. Be it a hazy reflection than seeing her through his lavender gaze, at least he will be able to see her smile. Another call and he leaves his seat walking towards the exit.

“Good evening ma’am. Good evening sir—” the waiter begins and Ran rampages out of the hall holding about his phone against his ear, his other hand swinging while walking, just some inches away from her seat. He takes the turn and begins to walk through the lonely corridor. He could easily turn his head, look back, and have a glance at her. But he does not. He has more pressing matters to attend to. Was it tempting? Obviously. In his line of work, he has seen a lot of men and women dress with delicate sophistication but rare is the case where he is tempted to take a second glance. But as a matter of fact, he did not even get one decent look. So, looking back and seeing her face would not count as a second glance, would it now?

“. . .so let me know when you would like to order,” The waiter switches his gaze from you to the man sitting in front of you. “Like I said, everything is on the house. Enjoy your date, Sir.” He glanced at you with an assuring smile and took his leave. It takes longer than usual for you to register what just happened. Did someone just volunteer to pay for the food thinking you came here for a blind date? With this man? You never thought someone would mistake you and your almost ex-husband to be a couple. There were no sparks, no roses. Just thorns and burns in this relationship. A laugh breaks out on your face like a plague but you bite the inner flesh of your lower lip not to show the sheer disgust on your face. Anyone could tell that it was not a happy marriage. The man who had been painstakingly present in your life for the past two years and now that you have finally made up your mind to cut ties with him, someone, someone in this crowd thought that you were set on a new beginning, ready to read a new chapter in your life with him. How fucking funny! You took a sip of water brushing aside these blood-boiling thoughts. There is no point in dwelling on the past, especially when it is bitter and bruised, not healing.

“Y/N, are you listening?” Taiju placed his palm over yours to have your eyes on him. You turn out to be stubborn. Your eyes were still stuck on the plate full of food. You have been playing with your food while he keeps talking about his business. He gave a squeeze to your palm, “You’ve been distracted since the beginning. Is something the matter? Maybe we should meet—

“We should not,” you spoke out of the blue, breaking from your trance. His face contorts, his eyebrows squeeze in and out, his lips become flat and suddenly he feels that something is stuck in his throat. It is hard to breathe. “I mean, I’m willing to give us a chance. Just this once.” A smile smothered his face in an instant while you took in another deep breath. He still has not let go of your hand. He has been meeting you once every week despite his busy schedule, despite having the world at his fingertips. He has decided to give you time when he could have easily dragged you out of your parent’s refuge and taken away your freedom. But he did not; he showed kindness. There must be a reason for that. Your husband, your almost ex-husband, does not do anything without thinking it through, without any ulterior motive.

“I — I can’t forgive you, for what you did— even if I wanted to. Even if my heart really wants to.” Now that is a lie you have been telling yourself for a week so that you could say it to his face. You stammer— you fail to say in a steady manner because there was this one time when he was not at par with what you were saying and so, he hit you. He hit you because he was not in his senses, he hit you because he was angry at others, he hit you because alcohol was in his body; if he were in his senses he would not have thought of hurting you, not even in his worst nightmares or so he claims. It was just one time, started with a slap on your cheeks amidst a party full of guests and now you two were sitting on a restaurant chair opposite to each other— so close yet light years away from each other. But when you decided to take a break, he let you. When you would finally tell him that you had decided to walk out of this marriage would he let you do that too?

Were you being dramatic? Were you overreacting? Were you being an utter fool to lose all the wealth and status that come with being the wife of an upcoming prominent minister? if that is the case, then so be it. You have let him spread his wings, and grow his claws so much that it ended up hurting you. No more. Before coming here you have rehearsed what to say and what not to say, still, your heart wavered when you had a chance to flee from his clutches. This was supposed to be the last day, the last meeting with him instead you promised more. Why was that? Just because a random stranger thought you two had the charm of a new couple. You have rehearsed so many times saying, ‘I want a divorce’ but now seeing his earnest eyes, his voluntary kindness; an unknown emotion kept creeping upon your shoulders. Was it fear?

“It’s okay.” It really isn't. He beams. “Take as much time as you need. I can wait.” Liar.Liar.Liar. Married life with him was like a black blob among the whites of the wedding. And now you had to go back to him, living every day as a pitch-black nightmare.

part two ┊summary: Ran starts to gather pieces of his puzzle even barely has any piece of it, he could see a glimpse of the final picture. He has never been taught not to play with his food when he was a child and he never did unless the food feels stale and tasteless on his tongue. word count — 2,6k┊

The moment Ran entered the bar, his eyes spotted Hanma sitting on one of the stools near the counter. Hanma sits on that spot every time he has to meet him yet expects Ran to wander around like a lost child amongst those neon lights, perhaps call and ask him, “Where exactly are you?” in a warry distraught tone just so that he can answer with, “In your heart, sweetheart.” But that is only possible if Hanma hears the same music as him. They met at college together. Ran does not really have many friends but Hanma cuts out from the rest. While Rindou was his victim of everything, Hanma was his partner in crime. he was his batchmate. During the graduation ceremony, they had to dance together due to a dare and since then, Hanma never stopped calling Ran ‘Sweetheart’ Heck, he even saved his number with a heart sign right beside: sweetheart ♥️. As for Ran, if he is in high spirits, he would definitely return the favor by calling Hanma, “Shu~” But it is a rare occasion.

This was no such occasion. Ran tastes the gut-wrenching bitterness of the drink as he takes the seat beside Hanma. “Everything ‘kay? You look …uhm disturbed.” Ran does not answer him. His mind is stuck on that guy who was too much of a show-off for a person who agreed to go on a blind date. He tried to remember him since he was sure he had seen him somewhere. Hanma ducks his head sideways to meet his eye. Ran scoffs but with that handsome face of his, it is not pinnable. “Anything new? Or do I have to listen to some relationship bullshit?” He finally responds.

“NAH! Not today. But there is an opening in London. We could launch a restaurant together. My agent called me this morning so I wanted to let you know.”

“And, you couldn’t have done that on the phone? Or in text or email?” The annoyance was too prominent to ignore. Hanma took the last sip of his drink and quipped, “Just missed you, sweetheart.” leaving for the dance floor. Ran takes his time playing with the drink, letting all the ice melt and the drink comes at room temperature by taking slow sips. He notices a girl staring at him. He stares back for a while. She did not budge. He turned around and raised his hand. “Give me a napkin please.” He writes a number, waves the napkin at the girl who is now getting her neck bruised by another girl, and tucks it under his empty glass eyeing the waiter. Filtering through the crowd, he walks up to the door and texts his brother. The wave of cold breeze soothes his muscles.

Expect a call soon, dear brother.

He has done this so many times to Rindou yet he falls for it, every damn time. It fazes him how Rindou is doing as a lawyer. He concludes that he must be doing good since he does not have to take care of his ass like he used to do during childhood. Not every weekend he meets Hanma. On such days when he does not meet his Shu, he goes to the bar, drinks a few strong shots, and instead of Rindou’s, he writes his number. But he never takes them to his home. Either Ran goes to their house, or it's just the bathroom of the bar or Hanma’s house. He is now walking towards the main road, scouring through his memories to pick even the littlest of that guy. There is a name at the tip of his tongue so he takes his chances by looking it up online. Bingo. He knows the guy. Taiju Shiba. He scrolls through his feed casually, locks his phone, and slips it inside his slacks, heaving a deep breath and preparing himself for the hardest part of his every single weekend. The walk from the bar back to his restaurant, that is, to his home is full of loneliness. So, he takes a different route to his home.

There is a black cat at the back door of his restaurant. Sometimes he goes there just to feed it. Sometimes he does not. Even though he tried not to be a regular presence in its life, that stray cat has grown attached to him. After meeting Hanma on most weekends, he takes a detour. He likes the cold and silence of the night. And, just after crossing the back door of his restaurant, he is followed by that same stray cat. He could have named it but he did not want to grow attached to it. It thrills him that the cat has grown attached to him. He takes a puff of tobacco as he finally stands on the front side of his restaurant at the other end near the lamp post. He could have gone straight home from the bar without taking the detour but he does not since Ran has nothing much to do as he reaches his home. No one to see, no one to talk to. So, he takes the detour, to kill some time.

He spots you, your blue dress peeking from under the winter wear. You were waving at the guy before he left you all alone. What an asshole! He does not get much time to see your face properly, to weigh your beauty since as soon as your almost ex-husband left in the car you stumbled upon your heels. Somehow you managed to balance yourself but the opposite side of the road started to become blurred. One blink and the man smoking on the opposite side of the road became almost invisible. The second blink and the man was walking towards you, perhaps with the intention of helping you. Was your weakness that spottable? You jerked your head roughly sideways in hopes of getting a clear view. And it did come to you: a clear view of the man who was tugging at your elbows to keep you steady. “Are you okay?” Ran asked, barely holding you. He really does not want to touch you, he really does not but with your unstable stance he was left with no other choice. You might be getting a panic attack or your blood pressure might be dropping. He does not know which it is, or which one he should take precautions for.

“Hey. Hey. Focus on me. Focus on my voice.” He repeats, unable to balance you properly. Finally, he gives up. Ran sees your mouth wide open, gasping for air and one of his arms clung by your waist while the other cups your face firmly. He quickly takes out one of the toffees from his pocket that he bought from a slum boy while walking back to his restaurant and slips it into your mouth. Your hands desperately clutch onto the collar of his trenchcoat as you feel something sweet and fruity melting at the center of your tongue. You hold on to that: his collar and that sugar rush in your bloodstream and the strong musky cologne mixed with the aroma of tobacco. Your nostrils did not fail to pick up the mint-flavored breath as he spoke. It makes your senses more awake than the candy.“Are you okay now? Can you go home al—”

Ran Haitani did not get the chance to finish his sentence since you pushed him rushing to the nearest lamp post and finally threw up. You have not had any food, not even a bite, and no wine either. It was just bile you threw up and a red colored button which must be the toffee that the stranger gave you. Right, the stranger who saved you from falling. The moment you turned your head you noticed a white handkerchief in front of your face. Your gaze shot up trying to see the face of this stranger. Hair slicked back with a side particularly bleached with purple streaks in bits, hooded attentive eyes, thin lips. When you did not take the handkerchief, busy gauging his behavior, he crouched down, coming to your level. Now you two were looking eye to eye. Your pupils flared up as the handkerchief was slowly starting to move toward your jaw. Taking the handkerchief in a snatch you stood upright, walking in the opposite direction to him. He should not have saved you, he should have let you rot at the corner of the footpath. He is such a genuinely kind person. He would get hurt if he gets involved with you. That is what happened to every man who came near you after you moved out from your husband's house. So, it is best if you just brush it off. . .

“You should eat something before going home.” Shit! He noticed. You started to walk again hoping he would not follow you or bother you, thinking ignoring might be the best option and you were right. However, his bulky voice turned up again, louder this time. “I’d like my handkerchief back, girl.” Your ears heated up as you turned around. Ran has not moved from the lamp post, not one bit. He still had his hands shoved inside his slacks with his eyes transfixed on you. The aftertaste of the vomit was still lingering at the back of your throat. All you wanted to do was to go home, hit the bed, and wallow in sadness for the grave mistake you committed today; if only this man left you alone. . . Sighing heavily you finally broke your silence. “I’m really sorry. I just had a really bad day today. And instead of thanking you for your help, here I am. Ignoring you. I’ll return your handkerchief after cleaning it. So, would it be okay if I ask for your address?” When you waved your hand out of the wool serape to get a hold of your purse, your heart stopped doing its work. You rushed towards the same restaurant again, ran through that lonely corridor, and entered the dining lounge with an abrupt swing of the glass door. Seeing your purse intact on the table, the cogs of your heart were alive again. Had it been not there, your world would have surely capsized. Your oh-so-small, little world that was devoid of any trace of him.

As you turned on your heel, you came face to face with that man again. He walked towards you steadily and paused when you backed away. His lips went flat. “Please. Have something before you go. I'm. . . just worried about you.” You nod and look around for a seat only to find most of them being empty, just the staff doing the closing chores. Ran walked past you dragging a chair from the nearest table. “What do you have in mind?” He asks as you sit, adjusting the frills of your dress. Stunned by his display of dominance you blurt out, “But isn't it the closing hours?” Ran licks his bottom lip, holding his laugh. He thinks it would be really rude to let it out. His hand is on the back of the chair, inches away from your bare back. He could touch you, just to assure you that it's okay, it's gonna be fine but he really does not want you to know that he is the one who owns the restaurant, that he is the one who is the anonymous buyer of the meal you had with that handsome guy. You do not need to know. The less you know about him, the safer you are.

“Oh yeah?” He looks around as if he is just another customer, not the owner. “Then, I'll go talk to them. Meanwhile, why don't you go and freshen up a bit? I'm sure they will help you.” Though unconvinced you hit the washroom. The cold water on your skin felt refreshing. Just when you were about to wipe your face with a napkin, your eyes landed on his handkerchief. R.Haitani was stitched in a cursive form. The back of the stitch was a little loose to call it professional. Either it was done by an elderly person or gifted by his mother, which might also be the reason why he asked back for it. There is no chance of this being a handiwork of young hands. You clicked your tongue to think in that direction. So, what if he has someone who could give him this? It does not change the fact that you were still an insect in the web of your husband begging for his mercy.

Ran was sitting, talking to the phone as you walked towards him. There was a glass of strawberry shake, and two chocolate cupcakes each garnished with chocolate ice cream. They looked delicious. Your flabbergasted glance fell on him. His teeth-flashing smile washed all your misery in an instant. “Eat. Eat slowly, please,” he remarked leaning into the table keeping his elbows on the table to balance his face on his palm. With enthusiasm and hunger sparkling in your eyes you enquired, “How did you even make them agree to this, Mr. Haitani?” Ah! If only she knew. . .

“Ran. Just call me Ran.” He added watching you eat. He is not at all surprised that you noticed his last name on his handkerchief. It is expected from a girl like you, from a wife of an upcoming minister, witty and curious. Whatever little free time he got after meeting Hanma at a nearby cafe, he kept thinking about why the face of the guy from his restaurant seemed so familiar. When a name popped up in his head, it was not hard to find out more about you. Just a few taps at most of his recent photos in the tagged section were only about you. He did not take any interest in other things like bio, posts, or photos that did not include you. His only interest was you, like a spotlight on a stage for a solo performer.

While your eyes were on him, his eyes were occasionally meeting yours. “I just asked what sweets they can serve at this hour. And since I paid for them in advance they seemed to agree easily. Plus, they have a lot of chores to do so . . .” He is so persuasive and involuntarily kind. Not only did he make you eat but also managed to convince the staff to work during closing hours. You finally smiled at him. “So, Ran . . . do you mind sharing your number? I would pay the bill for my meal as well as return your handkerchief.” Bingo. Just what he calculated. Even though Ran wanted to ask about your date, tell you about his anonymous help, and see your reaction, something held him back from doing so, a hope, a good deed. He did not have to since you were going to meet him soon, and this time he will be careful not to be so casual, this time he will be prepared.

“Ah. Okay.” He replies keeping up his neutral tone and being careful to hide his excitement just like tucking a child in bed. While saving his number on your phone you received a message from your husband, Taiju. “Did you reach home? It's been an hour. You should have been home. Where are you?” There is no point in lying. He is going to find out about this one way or another yet you did. You lied.

Yeah. Just freshened up. Going to bed. Your phone vibrates again. It is him, again.

“Anything bad?” Ran asks, seeing your face go pale in an instant.

“Nope. nothing bad.” You shoot him a smile, keeping your phone away and concentrating on the food.

The message read: Let me know when we can meet again. . . or you can move in again. If you'd like. You can respond to him later. Right now, you need to eat so that you can go home before anyone spots you and endangers both of your lives.

part three ┊summary: Ran's heart starts to unwind, starts to overlook all the possibilities of obstacles he might face to have you. With his heart in a bind, he starts to seek ways to connect, ways to have you, see you, taste you, feel you. word count — 1,6k┊

“If you’d like.” If you’d like. It has already been Friday and you did not reply back to your husband. Tomorrow morning, you would have to be ready by 11 o’clock in the morning to be present at the party hosted by the current minister, the current family head, Shiba Taiju’s father. You would have bailed on it, but along with numerous prominent guests from his political circle, your parents are gonna be present there too. It is for the sake of your parents that prevented you from seeking a divorce from that hypocritical bastard. With a divorce, you would surely gain your freedom but would definitely lose your parents either by death or by them disowning you. The former was more plausible than the latter. And, inviting your parents is nothing but a masking agent for the deadly chemical reaction that could happen if any of you managed to cross the boundaries set by your husband, Taiju. Moreover, your husband was making sure that you do not get a chance to bail from this party and embarrass his family in front of the press and all these prying eyes that are waiting for an opportunity to stain his reputation of a few months of service to mankind. Still, when he got busier you excused yourself by conveying that you needed to be somewhere else, a place that would soothe your nerves yet would not have his skeptical eyes on you as you leave. Perhaps, a doctor’s visit.

The moment you reached the lower next floor you heaved a sigh of relief. Any place would be better than by your husband’s side. This floor was occupied by less number of people but they were clustered in batches, here and there. It was an art exhibition. Maybe all the wheels of fortune were not against you after all. It surely would not hurt if you spent a few minutes before going home. The doctor’s prescription can easily be obtained. With brimming tension in your mind, you walked into the hall full of paintings and sculptures. You walked around the hall looking at the paintings, trying to understand as much of them as you could get. But there were myriads of unspoken lines that touched you and you made a hollow attempt to seek comfort.

There was a sculpture in the middle of the hall. A girl and a wolf. The wolf is laying its head on her lap while she is patting it— at least that is what it looked like. She is crying but then again she is not. The wolf seems to be sleeping but then again, it is not. The whole sculpture was of pure white with such fine ridges and grooves. The one thing that surprised you the most was that one of her legs had a chain that was tied to a pillar. Somehow it defies the laws of nature— it is the beast who needs to be chained, not the master. For it can cast his beastly shadow upon others. But, a beast is never a beast until we, the mortals or humans, label it as such. Humans have always been afraid of things they can not control and thereby ended up chaining those creatures that did not fit the shallow realm of reason. But to think a beast would empathize with humans when they were punished, chained, or banished is nothing but a mirage.

Your phone rings. . .

You let out a short-lived gasp as you fidget with your bag to find the phone. Was it him? Your husband? Scratch that; people were already starting to stare. And of course, why would they not? Only a moron would forget to keep their phone on silent before entering here. Ran almost felt bad seeing you like this, clueless and messy— like a creature being hunted, but the hope of hearing your voice seemed to overpower his thoughts; before they could bundle into something that he would regret later—like hanging up the phone and leaving without saying Hi you received the call.

“Hello,”

“Hi, this is Ran Haitani. I’m sorry to disturb you but I would— uhmm like my handkerchief back if — like maybe you can make some time — tomorrow perhaps?” Great. Just Great. He really did not ask you to meet out of the blue and that too for such a trifle reason. Truth be told, Ran just missed you. He knows he is incapable of love, or any sort of heavy emotional attachment. But it really boggled his senses when you kept lingering in his mind. He was missing you. And this blabber just proved it.

You get out of the hall away from those glares. And that was when it all began: the fireworks of emotions. There were so many colors that you could barely recognize. Not even an artist could. Not because of the blending but because of the pace. Any sane mind would be jumbled up with all the adrenalin rush through your veins. Ran Haitani was standing at the door leaning against the wall, holding his phone by his ear fidgeting with the ring on his index finger with his thumb.

“Well, this is awkward.” He turns, slipping his phone into his slacks. So did you. Awkward? More like a prayer. Ran thinks about how he can explain his situation. It is not like he was following you but silence can weave more lies than truths. He was aware of that more than anyone. “I’m just here for the —

“The handkerchief?”

“Ugh. no-no. I mean yes.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, scrunching it a little, and licks his lips. “I’m sorry. It’s just that, it's important to me.”

“How much?” You asked, seeing his face turn pale. He did not expect that. Could it have been you lost it? It is really annoying how Ran feels his blood boil for a mere piece of cloth but not for the dear ones in his life. Are they important? Sure. but then why is he so attached to the things that had not mattered to anyone else, had not mattered to you? “How much was the bill?” You prompt again.

Ran raises his eyebrow. Slightly; barely visible. Tilting his face barely trying to hold his remorse within himself for misunderstanding you. He clicks his tongue. “I told you. It’s fine. You don’t need to pay.” followed by a heart-warming smile.

“Please. Let me. It would bother me later. And I’ll meet you tomorrow — with the handkerchief. I’ll text you the address.” You insisted on going through the contact list, ready to leave this place before you cause trouble. Seeing your earnest plea, he caved in but not in the straight route that you wanted it to be.

“How about a walk in the art gallery? That would square it.” Ran exclaims as his eyes meet yours momentarily. Your eyebrows grew closer due to confusion. “The bill.” He supplied with a quirky smile pushing your cloud of confusion. It would not hurt in any manner. You did not have much to do when you go home. So, spending some time with him would not hurt, really.

Ran walked by your side as you two walked past the paintings. It did not feel familiar like you expected. You have already walked through these panels of colorful thoughts before but all seemed so unfamiliar. Perhaps it was because of Ran talking. He is quite distracting. He told you that he is here with his brother. His brother was invited as one of the chief guests. He also mentioned that he is going out of town for the next few days which is why he was in a hurry to get that damned handkerchief back. Even though you had a chance of getting caught you did not feel any danger lingering around you. Yeah, him. It is definitely him who keeps you distracted enough not to feel unsafe.

You were just about to ask him where he would be going. But Ran stopped walking, abruptly. He was now looking at a seven to eight-foot-tall acrylic knife painting. It was an erotic painting. The girl was standing, with her head arched and hands gripping the edge of some sort of table, and the guy was seated at her knees with his hands clamped around her thighs. He had a knife in his pocket. There is a door at the corner of the painting and a feeble shadow can be visible. Even with that, you could tell that shadow belonged to a girl. It is a pretty basic painting you think except for the colors used in it. You think it is the color that makes this painting so catchy. The signature was K.Hajime in a beautiful cursive style. When you turn to look at Ran, he is already looking at you with amethyst eagle eyes. “What—”

Ran sways his head forward and starts to walk again. He says he knows the artist which is why he was a little shocked to see that his friend was capable of drawing something like that. Erotism was never his niche. He said. What he did not tell you is how much the girl in the painting has a resemblance to you. How could you not see that? It is a good thing that your mind was heavy with other things to see through him. For a moment, Ran almost thought that you knew this friend of his but if he really did, Ran had greater chances of running into you. He would have liked that, perhaps.

After you left for home, he thought of buying the painting. It would hurt him but connecting to an old friend would put a lid on the jar full of scars. It already hurts unable to fathom why he is so drawn to you, why is it that he cannot mask his true self around you? He is slipping through the cracks and maybe he cannot fix it, not anymore. He has been wanting to set free for a while now. Maybe it is time.

part four. ┊summary: There is a jinx that Ran heard when he was eight years old, from his nanny. "You lose the people with whom you share your handkerchief." Now, he is not much of a superstitious person but when he saw his favorite handkerchief in the fist of his father who was intimately clung by his mother in the newspaper picture, he started to believe; he started to experiment word count —1,1k┊

Another week. Another futile attempt to get rid of his gnawing paws off you, another day full of dread, devoid of hope and warmth. You were checking your phone every ten minutes. You neither messaged nor called Taiju; you could not— something else was occupying your mind. Maybe it would be different if he got a second chance, maybe you could have a happy married life if you could make him repent by making him wait and ticking off his patience. How long a tortoise lives till it begs for death? The sudden whiff of strong spicy cologne brought you back to reality from your reverie of thoughts.

“I — Ran dragged his chair swiftly while his other hand went to his coat to unbutton it. He looks at you, blessing you with his signature warm smile. It is perfect— not too much, not too little. He flicks his vest coat before taking a seat. “— apologize for being late. I met someone on my way here.” He, infact, did and he did not .

You checked your phone again. Thirty minutes left before Taiju comes. “I hope. . .” he pauses, seeing you rub your palms and drink water again. He has been watching you from the window of the building in the opposite wing. It is funny to him how you asked him to meet him in one of his restaurants. Maybe he has a connection with you, or an effect of connection or a result of an action. He does not know which it is. “I hope your health is okay now. Did you see a doctor?” He throws a question to divert your attention.

“A doctor? Ah! Yes.” You respond but he does not seem too convinced by your answer. You slide a small paper bag that has an envelope and his handkerchief. He bites the inner flesh of his bottom lip thinking how precise and neat you are about everything. The dress you are wearing has a floral pattern with a long overcoat and a matching hat. The hat is tucked on the backrest of the chair over your long overcoat. There is not much jewelry on you except a simple gold nose pin. You look like an angel with your hair flowing down to your waist. Part of him wants to believe that you dressed up just for him, but another part knows that this is your style: minimal and elegant . And now that he is here, he knows why are you so dressed up. Why are you so anxious? It must be the other man, the one he saw on that lazy evening dining with you where he first spotted you.

“Ah. thank you for giving this back.” He chimes as he takes out the handkerchief out of the bag. “I don’t need the envelope.” He looks up at you while your eyes are set on the opposite side of the street,in the pavement where you spot your husband walking with a bunch of Chanel and Gucci shopping bags. Your throat dries as you try to speak up. “Umh. . . I would have loved to spend some time with you but I'm meeting someone. So, please excuse me.” You leave your seat but do not forget about taking the coat and the hat in such a tense, hurried, and horrid situation. Something tells him that you are accustomed to it or just very nitpicky about time or perhaps too eager to meet this man but that is clearly not the case here. You stroll out of the restaurant meeting your husband at the doorstep.

“Woah, woah slow down babe. Where are you going?” Taiju asks, gripping your arm. You are still in the maze of guilt for walking out on Ran like that. He does not deserve such kind of rudeness, whatever the bind you are in. You gulp thinking if he has spotted you with him while crossing the street but judging his soft hold on you, his tender voice, and hopeful smile he is not aware of Ran, not yet.

“You’re early.” Your voice is barely a whisper. He smiles thinking you must be surprised but you are not. It is the fear that makes you whisper. “I think I was waiting at the wrong restaurant.” You swallow your fear feeling nauseous due to his long-lasting grip on your arms. “That’s why I was hurrying to the restaurant we were supposed to meet.” His hand caresses your face. He seems to be satisfied with your explanation. His hand slides from your face to your palm as he takes you to the supposed restaurant.

The meeting went well. He seemed like a different person. He had no clue what was happening around him as you remained seated in front of Taiju, all dolled up and pretty. If he had, he would have gauged out Ran’s eyes. Even though your eyes were fixed on your husband, you could feel Ran’s intact stare on you. You were surprised when he walked into the same restaurant and sat diagonally to you two tables away from yours. Maybe he was meeting someone too, a friend or someone dearer than a friend but nothing really happened. He sat and enjoyed his whiskey. Whenever you sneaked glances towards him you would find him checking his tablet but as soon as your eyes were back on your husband, Ran’s amethyst eyes were back on you. You could feel it. You were sure of it. His constant attention was bugging you so much that you excused yourself for a bathroom break. Whatever happened next not only turned your life upside down but created all sorts of chain reactions in your soul: guilt, betrayal, sadness, longing, and anger.

Guilt because of your betrayal towards yourself, lying to yourself to keep up the smile on the faces of your dear ones around you at the cost of yours.

Sadness because Ran looked at you with so much pity, with so much empathy it made you long for him, for yourself that you were trying so hard to suppress just to get along with the man you took vows with. It felt wrong in so many ways when he kept staring at you with such earnest eyes as if it would spill any moment. And if it did, it would be all because of you .

Anger because even if you craved to be saved, even if you could ask him. . .Ran is not the kind of man who likes to play the hero for a damsel in distress, let alone do it for someone who already has ties with another man. He is the type to watch, observe, and serve, to be the least mobile pawn in a board game of chess waiting to pounce on the queen when everyone has already died fighting for jewels and other silly stakes. What other choice does the queen have to survive than to surrender, to be freed from pretense? It is a pity, really.

part five. ┊ summary: It has been almost half of another month since his last encounter with you. Ran has thought of his second encounter with you way too many times that it lies heavy on his eyelids, on his fingertips, creating goosebumps on his skin. It tingles his soul. He replays that particular memory in a loop until he gets drunk on it, until he gets what he is promised. word count —0.7k┊

“I knew you would follow me here,” you stated, closing the tap, and dabbing your hands with your handkerchief. Ran stood at the common corridor that parts at the end into two washrooms. His eyes scanned you from head to toe and then toe to your head — but it got stuck on your palms, on your fingers. They looked soft and lonely. You did not know what his deal was, what he wanted to say, why he was here, and why he followed you up here. You tug on your wedding ring as he parted his lips for something to say. He didn't really look you in the eye. He never does; he just looks somewhere else in your face, always. Ran does not remember seeing a ring on your finger when he first met you. He does not remember when he met you at his restaurant this morning, not even when he met you at the art exhibition. He does not remember seeing those posts on your husband’s social media. It does not take him much to do the math. He is a clever man.

Panic attack. Regular meetings. Expensive gifts. Fear and silence. Secrets and Sympathies. A sorry attempt for reconciliation with your husband . Most men would back away from you being in his position, especially knowing what kind of man your husband is and more importantly, who he is.

You tuck your hair behind your ear giving him a proper glimpse of your ring. Yeah, that should do the trick, that should make him run away from you and he would be safe. He does not deserve the cloud of ill-fate that you carry with you. It is yours, only yours to carry.

Ran walks towards you closing the gap. You think he is going to walk past you into the washroom unable to process all of these at once. You think you have scared and hurt him enough for a stranger. His expressions are not hard to miss. Was he really hoping for something? Why is that? “what’re you doing?” he coaxed, standing close to you looking you in the eye with his hands hanging outside his pockets. There is so much sincerity in his sadness that it almost makes you cry, you want to but you do not know why you would cry for him.

“What do you mean?” Your voice was like a prayer to him. Ran takes a few steps forward towards you but you step back. He pauses as you back away. His eyes are so full of questions. Hence, he pursues those. He keeps taking steps one after another until he has your back on the wall.

“What are you doing to me?”He uttered, keeping his hand against your ears, on the wall. You suck in a breath and do not release it. You can not. You can not since he seems too fragile even to withstand your breath. Ran clings towards you as you keep your palm over his chest. While you remember the night you met him, he takes the liberty to lean his head towards the crook of your shoulder. You close your eyes, unable to keep up with his proximity. You hear him opening his mouth, and the ‘pop’ sound of his lips seems too loud as if he has been silent for way too long.

“I’m doing my best to keep myself safe,” you whisper feeling his lips graze your neck or was it your imagination? You could not tell. Ran chuckles at that tickling you. You curl your head; ‘And you.’ you think. You feel him retreat since the strong spicy aroma wears off. When you open your eyes you find no one, not a single soul on the end of the corridor. You rushed into the washroom again, tears washed over your eye-banks and a prayer escaped your pitiful curved lips.

Now he goes to his restaurant where he first met you every weekend, waiting for another chance to get a glimpse of you. “I’m doing my best to keep myself safe.” He uttered to himself scanning the next customer who walked into his restaurant. It rings in his ears. There is a promise in the way you said it.

part six. ┊ summary ~ to be updated soon.

───❪ NOTES❫ ⋮ read on ao3.

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This is for my beloved dawnie. @lalunanymph . ( kindly check her rules if you wish to read her works. )

Dawn baby, I have read your works when I'm happy, when I'm sad, when I'm angry, and whenever I missed you. I have kept coming back to read your works, again and again, especially during my exam season. And one day I reaslized that you and your writing has become an integral part of my Tumblr. Not only that, it has also shaped my writing and reading experience. Needless to say dawnie baby that I admire you a lot. So, this is a little gift from me to you for creating such a brilliantly bright trajectory in my writing journey. Tokyo Revengers has always been my staple fandom. Even being a multifandom blog it is the tokyo revengers’ masterlists which is most stacked. At first I thought I should write on Kakucho for you but didn't feel confident about it so I went with Ran Haitani. This is probably the third long fic on him and second series work. I don't generally write on my favs because I don't know what to write and how to write. It is always a struggle but I hope this scratches the right parts of your brain. Take your time, read it in a one fine afternoon all of a sudden or somewhere in next million years. I'm not in rush :’))

Love you,

paradis.

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