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pls-hold-me-im-justa-weeb · 1 year

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How Law Treats Your Depression

Crossposted from my AO3 - https://archiveofourown.org/works/44915341

TW’s: SH (not explicit detail, but talked about, and checking the healing of it), mentions of manipulation, depressive thoughts, symptoms of anxiety and depression.

I wrote this when I was goin through a rough patch. No romance exactly, just fluff. It makes me want to cry every time I read it so I’m sorry in advance if it makes you feel the same way.

The symptoms Law lists are from the DSM 5 and my own experiences.

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You raised your hand, shaking from anxious hesitation. The door seemed to loom in front of you, being an impenetrable shield to your glimmer of hope for a cure.

“Oh, are you going to see the captain?” said a voice behind you. You nearly jumped out of your skin, spinning around with your fist still raised. You calmed once you laid eyes on Bepo. You exhaled with a small smile.

“Uh… I... I think… well, it can wait” you managed to get out, stumbling over your words. Bepo cocked his head.

“It’s okay, Come in with me. I just have a quick question and then you can talk to him.” His wide body was accidentally corralling you towards the door as he knocked twice.

“Come in” said a voice gravely with exhaustion. Bepo smiled at you and gestured for you to open the door. You gulped but followed his silent request. Will Law even help me? I’m not technically part of his crew. Still, he healed Luffy after Marineford. I’m part of the Strawhats and we’re allied but… your anxious thoughts garbled the mundane question and answer that occurred between Bepo and Law, and before you realized it, the bear was leaving the room with a small pat on your shoulder.

“So?” Law said, cocking an eyebrow at you. Your heart thudded.

“Uh… it… It’s not too big of a deal” you began, trying to scramble for words to voice your request.

“But you’re a doctor, right?” you asked. You cringed at the dumb question. This was why you proposed this whole internship in the first place! Sure, learning about the submarine would help your crew eventually somehow, but… you had to follow through on your real reason for coming here.

“Are you feeling okay?” Law asked. There was a tone of professionalism in his voice now, different than the regular voice he used as a captain.

“Yeah I’m fine!” you replied automatically with a forced smile. His brow furrowed.

“Then why do you need a doctor?” he prodded. You swallowed, looking down. Your heart thudded and your stomach dropped.

“If… If I tell you some hypothetical symptoms, would you be able to give m… uh… the patient, a cure?”

He leaned back in his chair, his hands steepled under his chin.

“Maybe. There may not be a cure exactly, but medicine or surgery could help. Or both” he said, shrugging. You didn’t like the gleam in his eye when he mentioned surgery.

“Oh” you muttered disappointedly. Law sighed and gestured to a seat.

“Sit. Tell me about the patient’s hypothetical symptoms.”

You sat stiffly in the chair, bouncing your leg nervously as you steadied your breath.

“Where should I start?” you asked, glancing at the captain. He hummed in thought.

“Start with the physical symptoms. Aching? Discomfort? Sweating? Redness? Exhaustion?” he rattled off easily. You furrowed your brow, thinking. Back to when your symptoms really acted up.

“Um… exhaustion for sure. They sleep a lot, and minor tasks seem to make them tired. Not like physically exerted, but just like they need a break mentally?”

“Any other physical symptoms?”

“Hmmm… does crying count?”

“From physical pain?”

“No… but sometimes it’s accompanied by a fast heartrate and hyperventilating. Oh, and a decreased appetite” you reported factually, gazing upwards as you thought. Law hummed.

“What about mental symptoms?”

“M-mental?” your heart dropped. This was the part you were worried about.

“Mental distress often leads to those physical symptoms.”

You held back a scoff. Mental distress? It’s not that big of a deal.

“Symptoms like what?” you asked quietly. You refused to look at the doctor.

“Low self esteem past the normal amount, feeling like a weight is holding you down, feeling worthless or guilty for things that aren’t your fault, decreased concentration, and loss of interest in things the patient used to like” he listed. He hesitated before he continued in the same even tone “thoughts of hurting themselves or others, and thoughts of killing themselves.”

You flinched at the last two. This guy really does not pull punches when it comes to medical stuff you thought with an internal shudder.

“It sounds way worse when you say it out loud” you muttered under your breath.

“I have a hunch this patient has a combination of two illnesses- depression and anxiety- which are very common together. Should I list the symptoms of anxiety, and you can tell me if it seems to fit?”

You sighed, but nodded.

“Worrying excessively about things and finding it difficult to control the worry, muscle tension, restlessness, easily mentally fatigued, mind going blank or difficulty concentrating, irritability, sleep disturbance…” he listed, trailing off.

“Basically, worry and stress that goes beyond the norms. So, like not about being embarrassed, or away from people, or during a panic attack. Of course, panic disorders are basically part of anxiety disorders and are just an intense episode of an accumulation of different symptoms, which you mentioned with the fast heartrate and hyperventilating. There’s also probably some other symptoms yo- uh- the patient doesn’t notice during the time, or doesn’t know it’s a symptom”

You tried to absorb the onslaught of information thrown your way. You rubbed your temples. Law seemed to notice your struggle.

“I know it’s a lot of information all at once” he said sympathetically. You sighed. There was only one question you had. You looked into the captain’s grey eyes.

“Is there a cure?”

The captain hesitated, but leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his desk and met your gaze resolutely.

“No”

Your heart dropped, and your lungs constricted. Your throat burned as you fought back tears.

“There’s no cure, but there’s medicine that can help.”

“Right” you muttered as you stood. You had your answer. You needed to leave.

“Wait.”

You paused, hand on the door. You didn’t look back.

“What’s been done to treat it before? It’ll help me narrow down a more effective medicine.”

You huffed, hiding your distraught behind a veil of humor.

“Nothing. Been rawdoggin this bitch the way God intended” you said, keeping your voice light. You heard a snort behind you.

“I’ll give you what I use then. We’ll start with that.”

You froze. I’m not alone? He has it too? You turned slowly in shock. He met your gaze.

“If it doesn’t seem to work, call me, and we’ll try something different. Eventually if we exhaust all the medicine, there is a more radical solution. It’s for treatment resistant forms of depression.” You took a few steps toward him.

“Why do you call it an illness? Aren’t I just weak?”

A small, soft smile escaped Law’s lips as he looked at you in a rare moment of gentleness.

“No. You’re not weak. It has to do with chemicals in your brain. Doctors aren’t exactly sure what triggers it, and it’s usually triggered by different things in different people. But it’s a chemical imbalance that occurs, and the medicine is to help correct that balance. Of course, talking to people is also incredibly important. Have you talked to anyone in your crew about it?”

You shook your head absently, mystified that there was a real reason you felt this way.

“No. They don’t know. They might suspect, but I’ve never said anything. I couldn’t bring myself to tell sweet, innocent Chopper that I wanted to hurt myself on purpose” you said easily.

“Have you?”

You flinched at the question, wrapping your arms around your middle.

“Does it matter?”

“Yes”

You glared at him.

“A little” you finally muttered.

“How?”

“Does that matter?” you said defensively.

“As your doctor, yes” he said gently. You bit the inside of your lower lip to stop yourself from spouting venom. He’s not attacking you or demanding to know for selfish reasons. He needs to know. You took a deep breath and slunk over to your previous seat to collapse in it. You held your head in your hands.

“I try not to, you know. I resist for as long as possible until I finally can’t find any logic against not doing it” you say eventually.

“How do you do it?” he repeats, softly. You sigh, looking to the side. You tell him. The words just flow out, accompanying the tear tracks down your cheeks in a delicate dance of pain and regret. When you’re done explaining, he stands slowly, approaching you slowly.

“I’m going to check the healing of it. That’s all. I just want to be sure it’s healing properly so you don’t have further issues when you’re better” he said softly, holding out a hand. I wish it didn’t heal you thought before pushing the negativity away.

“You sound so sure I’m going to get better” you said as his hands delicately grazed over the area.

“You will. Maybe not cured, but better.” You hummed, welcoming the companionable silence. A thought occurred to you, and you snorted. Law stepped back and raised a brow.

“Something funny?”

“Isn’t it ironic that the so-called ‘Surgeon of Death’ is helping me with… this?” you said, waving your hand in the air as if to gesture to your mental state. He rolled his eyes.

“Yes, yes. Very funny” he said flatly.

“Well at least I’m that” you teased.

“You’re so much more than that. If you can’t see it, trust those around you to. They see you the same way you see the positives in others” Law said, holding your gaze. You stopped breathing, eyes widened with shock.

“What, have you never had anyone tell you that?” he asked, looking at your expression. He leaned back against his desk, halfway sitting on it as he crossed his arms. You could only shake your head as you remembered to breathe. He grunted.

“Well. Remember it. Come back here same time tomorrow to pick up the medicine too. We’ll talk a little more too.”

You didn’t move, too shook that someone cared about you enough to do this.

“I’m sorry” you whispered. Tears gathered in your eyes again.

“Why?” Law seemed bewildered at the idea.

“I must’ve manipulated you somehow to care about me. To go through this… you don’t have to. It’s okay. I’ll be fine. I’ll live”

“I guarantee I am the last person on this ship you could manipulate” he said. Something warm and slightly heavy plopped on your head. A white hat brim entered your field of vision. You shrunk down further, starting to sob.

“You’re part of my crew, even temporarily. Even if I wasn’t your captain, I’m your doctor. You only told me the symptoms that you hide so well, not even saying at first that it was you who had it. How could you have manipulated me?”

He knelt in front of you, producing a tissue and handing it to you. He rested his hand on your head, securing his hat.

“If you see a good person who’s sick, would you help them if you could?” he asked gently. You nodded slightly, wiping the snot dripping from your nose.

“Then why wouldn’t I help you? You deserve basic human decency and respect, you know. Right now, you’re treating yourself worse than your enemies.” He said softly. Your sobs increased at his words. He sighed.

“C’mere.” He lifted you up bridal style and took your seat, holding you on his lap. You pushed him away.

“Hey. It’s okay. You’re not hurting me. You’re not manipulating me. I’m doing this of my own accord. When’s the last time you had a real hug like this?”

You shuddered in a breath, unable to speak through your sobs. His warm hand rubbed your back, and you let your head fall onto his shoulder.

“T-t-thank… you” you wailed.

“Always” he muttered.

“Are they okay?!” Shachi whisper-yelled as Law passed him the hallway with you cradled in his arms.

“They will be” he replied quietly. He didn’t want to disturb your tear-induced sleep. You looked peaceful, finally. He saw the pain in your eyes, the pain you had inflicted on yourself. Shachi nodded in understanding and continued on his way. Law carried you gently to your bunk and tucked you under the blankets. He removed his hat, knowing it would make you feel guilty if he let you sleep with it. Smoothing stray hair away from your face with his hand, he unthinkingly dropped a gentle kiss on your forehead. A light blush dusted his cheeks with the realization of what he’d done. He stood quickly and walked quietly from your sleeping form.

“Sleep well”

#one piece x reader #trafalgar law #trafalgar one piece #trafalgardwaterlaw #trafalgar d law x reader #one piece fluff #fluff #tw depressing stuff #tw self doubt #tw self harm #angst and fluff #feels #one piece feels #one piece fanfiction #no smut #romance if you squint #you're not alone

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aquilatempestas · 2 years

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Man Enough

SUMMARY: Voltaire convinces his old pal Boris to date again. Boris sets his eyes on a certain intelligent blonde...

PROMPT: Unpopular character

“Oh, nothing much,” said Boris, as he sat down besides Voltaire.

Barthez leaned forward, a mischievous grin on his ugly face. “We were just talking about you, Boris.”

Boris lifted a brow, confused. “I hope you were only speaking of good things.”

The grin remained. “We were thinking... that you ought to date again. You know, it’s been awhile since you were with anyone.”

Boris frowned. “I thought we made a promise not to speak about this again. You know that relationship I had with that woman was never going to work out.” Just the mention of it brought back bad memories. The fallout was one of the main reasons he turned ‘bad’ in the first place. The woman he was with cheated on him with Lee’s grandfather. Dirty old geezer.

Now it was Voltaire’s turn to speak. “You’re still young, Boris. You don’t want to end up like me. Sad and lonely,” he said, hanging his head down, hands placed on lap. Voltaire was only fifty-five but he seemed much older due to all the stressful life he lived. He was the owner of Hiwatari Enterprises, a multi-billion dollar furniture company. The man had suffered a lot of hardship in his life.

“I think you should go for it, Boris,” Gramps said.

The others nodded giving him encouraging smiles.

The story is complete. Reply if you're keen.

WRITING FORUM LINK: https://theartistszone.com

#beyblade #fanfiction #boris #mayblade 2022 #Judy tate #humour #parody #romance if you squint

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basment-bunni · 5 months

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Woman finds the light of Jesus through a cross, 2022, colourised.

#if you squint it kinda looks like a cross #mcr #my chemical romance #my chemical fucking romance #gerard way #mcr memes #mcr gerard #mcr return #mcr reunion

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thedomesticanthropologist · 3 months

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"You hide it from him,"

Halsins voice. Deep, warm. Mira looked up from where she had been gazing sightlessly into the fire before her.

"I'm sorry, Halsin, I was miles away. What was that?" She asked quietly, tone soft yet curious. The large druid stood a respectful distance away, but now gestured with a single hand to indicate if he could sit. Mira nodded.

"Forgive me for saying so, but I feel we are on fair enough terms with each other to ask. When Astarion is not looking, you cease to hide that sad expression of yours. Why not let him see it?"

In a bold but telegraphed move, Halsin slowly raised a large, calloused hand to her cheek. When she did not reject this, he gently thumbed her cheekbone, eyes searching her face for any sign of disquiet at this new contact between them.

"Hm... you're forgiven," the cleric murmured, leaning into the touch. The moment she did so, Halsin breathed in sharply, his movements stuttering. He swallowed audibly, breaking contact between them in the same slow and measured way that he had initiated it. Mira neither chased the touch nor did she question its end, returning her gaze to the fire in the space of the comfortable pause between them.

"He has enough going on." She answered after a few moments.

"We are none of us without our troubles. To unburden oneself with a loved one is to have such pains lifted, even in small measure. Do you think him unable to carry you, as you carry him?" The low rumble of his voice was so soothing. Mira smirked, blowing out a short breath as she shook her head.

"No. It's not that. I think I like it, keeping him believing that I'm..." she waved a hand.

"You are incredible, Mira. A blind man could see it."

"You flatter me."

"You underestimate yourself."

"Touché."

The fire crackled, small pockets of sap popping as they came to a boil from the heat. It smelled delightful, even if the freshness of the wood caused extra smoke to raise towards the sky. Thankfully, there was no wind to blow it to their faces.

"There, that's the look." He rumbled, "That one right there. The one that says you're hurting. I hope I do not overstep in saying that I ache to see it."

"... you're not overstepping. I don't think I have an answer for you, though. I think I just got used to putting on a brave face, honestly." She shrugged, posture tightening as she wrapped her arms around knees now drawn up towards her chest.

"You need not be brave with me." The druid offered, hand presented in the space between them. Palm up, resting on the ground. An offer.

Still gazing at the fire, Mira reached over to give that warm, large hand a single squeeze. Then she let go, returning to herself.

"... I know."

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Authors note: reblogs, comments and replies are appreciated!

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #astarion #astarion romance #halsin #halsin the druid #halsin x tav #halsin x tav x astarion #if you squint #mira the cleric #tales of mira #hurt/comfort #fluff fanfic #drabbles #shorts

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suncaptor · 3 months

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youtube

You Know What They Do To Guys Like Us In Prison // Sam Winchester

wary of triggers in the show / song and to note that it focuses on issues of abuse / violence / consent / addiction, some of which the show handles poorly || captions in youtube

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thestarwarslesbian · 6 months

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Okay but why does Iceman seem like he reads romance novels.

He seems like he would read a lot on carriers and on leave. Everyone including Slider thinks he reads action and true crime novels. I have this idea in my head that Ice would be reading at a social event like a medal cerimony that the '86 gang would all be at and there he would be reading his hardback novel with no name on it. Ice would probely leave for a few minutes to get food or go speak with someone and Mav and the others would grab his book to see what he was reading, and behold they look apon the sumttiest romance book any of them have read. But funny thing would be that Ice has read books that are more sumtty and dark conent wise. Ice is able to keep a straight face while reading it but the rest of the gang turn beatroot read after a single sentnece.

#mav would want to try some of the ideas from the books with ice later #this would also be how they found out he was gay #due to him probely reading a gay smut book on a carrier and leaving it open in his plane after being the spare one mission #top gun headcanons #iceman #tom iceman kazansky #pete maverick mitchell #maverick #top gun #iceman reads romance novels #icemav #but only if you squint #gay iceman

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ghostorbz · 10 days

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I'm going crazy

#I MADE MEMES YAAAYY #invader zim #nickelodeon #gaz membrane #dib membrane #zim iz #gir iz #minimoose iz #invader tak #almighty tallest red #almighty tallest purple #zadr #zim and dib romance #if you squint #red and purple romance #again if you squint

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crypticjackal13 · 1 year

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What about Red Son reacting to the reader being LBD's host and the aftermath?

Redson x LBD host!gn!reader + aftermath Headcanons (romantic??)

Okay so this boy will be stressed out of their mind. First his father has to play host(which was scary enough) and now one of the VERY few people he cares about has to do it too??? WHY CAN'T THEY HAVE ANYTHING THESE DAYS

You're at stake. That's plenty of motivation to want to team up with the Monkie Gang a little faster.

I Headcanon that those under LBD's control are aware of what they're doing--since when Wukong got possessed he moved as if it was a struggle. So you're forced to do all these terrible things because LBD needs a vessel and you're a good fit.

You see Redson fighting, fighting for you, fighting for their parents. And you feel helpless because it's not your fault she's so powerful, you don't want to hurt anyone, especially not Redson

The main battle happens, and you're yeeted away from her control. You're super weak from what little fighting against her you were able to do, but the last thing you see before passing out is Redson.

When you wake up, you're on Flower Fruit with all the others, post-battle. You're laying on the ground with something draped over you....it's Redson's jacket :D

He sees you're awake and immediately starts asking you how you are, do you need anything, are you in pain, etc

You're kinda amazed he's being this nice, especially in front of the others.

"Red." "I--yes?" "Relax." "yup you got it."

He's extra mindful of you for a bit. They let you sleep at their place, they send you with runes for protection whenever you're on your own, and perhaps the best privilege is getting his soft side.

Yeah, 10/10 :]]

#lego monkie kid #lmk #lmk headcanon #lmk x reader #lego monkie kid headcanons #gender neutral y/n #lmk red son #redson x reader #maybe romance if you squint??#headcanons #redson monkie kid #monkie kid redson #lmk red boy

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munsonbrackets · 1 month

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You were unsure of when you had first met Astarion. When had you first fallen in love? Maybe 200 years ago? Maybe last week? Maybe in another lifetime.

You could imagine it. You chasing for the train, Astarion yelling for you to pick up the pace, that the universe wouldn’t wait for the slow, not even someone as sweet as you.

But you would act like you didn’t hear the last part, you would watch as Astarion’s face switched to something between disappointment and relief. You might even pretend not to notice that. The outlaw criminal, Astarion, a wanted fugitive, running with you, a fugitive from your future.

Or maybe the two of you met at a masquerade. Astarion in a pristine white suit, tailored to him with red stitching and a silver mask adorning him along with silver jewelry additions, highlighting his bright hair.

He would offer you his first dance of the night. Something in you would scream that he would also offer you his last. His last dance of the night wouldn’t be spent figuring out your footwork and pacing, his last dance would be spent adoring you. Adoring you in your classical suit, a mask almost matching his own.

You could imagine the two of you falling. Hard and fast. Towards bowling blue waves that reached high than either of you could reach. You’d be in the embrace of him, clutching him to your chest as he held you for dear life.

That’s how he looked at you. As if you were life itself. Even if he hadn’t known the feeling of life for so so long. You made him feel like he was living, that he didn’t have to be afraid of the sun, especially when it would beam at him through your eyes each morning that rose outside of the safety curtains.

Even as you laid still, pretending to be asleep while he pretended he didn’t know, he admired you. The dawn you brought him that he wasn’t sure if he would ever live to see with you. This perfect forever. The exact way he wanted the two of you to stay. Forever, always.

Love, Astarion.

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frnkiebby · 1 month

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pls no~🎃

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sakialumei · 7 months

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Who'd you think you're kidding? They're the earth and heaven to you! / I wont say I'm in love!

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion #astarion romance #astarion x tav #astarion x mc #astarion x dark urge #astarion bg3 #bg3 astarion #lae'zel #karlach #shadowheart #wyll ravengard #gale of waterdeep #my art #its astalil if you squint lol #astalil

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sonofenki · 5 months

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rc characters that are simply other people (it was revealed to me in a delusion):

wdym jonas? i'd recognise mr toby cavanaugh anywhere 🙄

we all know where this vlad came from

now this theo face... i'll die on this hill

#pls ignore theo's crying face it was the only screenshot i had of this hairstyle #not as heavy but also dals noe and noe ponti (even the name sos)#you have to squint your eyes a bit to see this one tho #romance club #rc jonas #rc vlad #rc theodora #rc psi #rc dracula a love story #rc dals

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anathemafiction · 1 year

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Changed the Hadrian_Assertive variable from a true/false statement to a numeric scale... 🤭

#ehehe #so fun to finally begin to explore more complex sides of the romances #I keep changing variables on Book One tho #It's good you can't save at the end of the book yet because your saves would be broken T_T #sneak peek #Hadrian #The Golden Rose #omg why does the picture look so tiny on mobile!?#xD #it's ridiculous fjijfi #you'll have to squint darlings :(

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saccharineomens · 7 months

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I see a lot of people like “oh haha the dating Solas to Astarion pipeline” but if you think Astarion is the natural sequel to “a god of pride who suffers from his own hubris, appreciates that you care about helping the oppressed, and values wisdom and intelligence and a thirst for knowledge”, you’re thinking of Gale

#The Dating Fenris/Zevran to Astarion pipeline is real though. I’m on both. I’m also on the Karlach train. And the Withers. And the—#Anyway seeing those posts makes me squint my eyes like “….I think you and I interpret very different things from the solavellan romance”#(Withers is also Solascore btw. It’s the “oozing boundless knowledge and wisdom but very slow to actually reveal any” of it all)#Anyway I love bg3 but it’s making me miss dragon age 😭😔#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #op

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talons-and-teeth · 4 months

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Your Taste, Forever on My Tongue

Pairing: Elain/Lucien

Rating: M

Summary: Elain's office is running a Secret Santa event that coincides with the launch of the new website which she's leading on. She happens to get allocated the last person she could ever think of getting a gift for.

Merry Christmas, @makememakesense ! It's me, your Secret Santa!

Thank you so much being so lovely and giving me so many ideas for this AU, I really hope I got it (somewhat) right!

Thank you also to the @acotargiftexchange organisers for giving me this opportunity. This is my first ever fic and I've been so nervous about it, but I'm so glad to have done it for such a joyful community. Special thanks goes to my wife @mmiscbutterflies for helping me brainstorm and bring my 'Love, Actually' vision to life, and generally talk me down from the proverbial ledge when I became anxious/was not in the right headspace to write. Love you always.

Read on AO3 here

Snippet below:

Elain was late.

Not her usual, sorry I’m late-I couldn’t resist-there was a new cafe I just had to try on the way- late, but a fuck me-I slept through five alarms-maybe I spent too long watching reruns of Bake Off-or was it the bottle of Sauvignon?- tardiness, which left her cursing profusely while she tripped over her tights, slapped on eye cream and was out the door.

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revasserium · 10 months

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Hi rain, how are you today? take care of yourself, okay. May i please request prompt 88 for kita? Hope you're doing good, and if you're okay with the request. Thank you, have a great sunmer! Xoxoxo

hq reqs are open u__u

88. This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you

kita; 1,857 words; fluff and that's it -- happy bday kita-san! <3 may your rice harvest be plentiful this year!

“what does ‘beauty’ mean to you?”

it’s a question you’ve pondered, your skin smudged dark with charcoal and lead, your fingertips always ash-bitten, but sparrow-quick and just as flighty. when your art teacher had posed the question to the entire class, you’d been taken by it, held still by the vastness and the implication.

the first time you see him, you see him in brushstroke and paint, and it’s hard not to, what with his hair the exact imitation of an ink-dipped brush. but you see him in still-life and in motion studies, in the hard marble of renaissance sculpture, in the soft effervescence of impressionist painters.

beautiful, is your first and only thought.

but you are of the quiet sort of artists, the ones who, like truly dedicated nature photographers, have mastered the art of camouflage so well that rare birds and animals will crawl right up to their cameras. you are an expert at blending in, whether it be into the back of a classroom or simply to a park bench along a busy stretch of road to watch the street vendors hawking their wares, the tourists with their wide eyes and wandering gazes, always so unsure, the parents and children and businessmen in their ill-fitted suits.

you are of the quiet sort, and you’re content being as you have always been. but quiet artist girls don’t usually suddenly manage to find the gusto to talk to the beautiful boy who also just so happens to be the captain of their nationally ranked volleyball team.

it’s just not the sort of thing that happens.

until… it does.

“ahh… a model?”

you nod, your eyes flickering passed kita’s expression of tempered confusion, your fingers worrying themselves in the hem of your skirt.

“y-yes… it’ll only be for about an hour or so — and it’s on a day when you don’t have practice —” you frown at a fraying thread in the corner of your uniform and resist the urge to tug it till it unspools across the bright, paneled wooden floors of the hallway, cast brilliant in reflections of afternoon light. like this, kita’s face is lit up from below, his skin inked in orange and yellows. like this, he is nothing short of incandescent.

“sure. it’s no trouble.”

you nearly slam yourself into a bow of thanks, promising that you’ll find some way to repay him for this, turning on your heels and nearly galloping to the empty classroom where you spend most of your afternoons, sketching for your portfolio.

you run so fast that you don’t see kita’s lips twitch into the beginnings of a smile.

you don’t see the dark amber of his eyes track your form all the way down the stretch of hallway, till you turn and are lost to his sight. you don’t see him standing there for a long moment after, listening to the echo of your footsteps as they ring against the walls.

he arrives at the after school art club a bit early, intent on doing his due diligence, and he’d taken care to shower early that morning, to make sure this uniform is pressed and neat and tucked in at all the right places. he arrives at the art class to find the room bustling with activity, and the history teacher smiling at him genially from the front of the classroom.

“ah — kita-san, welcome, welcome. and thank you again for agreeing to model for us today.”

kita drops into a short, sharp bow before his eyes slingshot to you, sitting behind an easel that’s easily almost as tall as you are standing up. you’re busy with your supplies, but there’s a practiced nature to your movement as you methodically pull out all your paints and brushes, your charcoals and inks. it reminds him of himself when he’s in his element, on the court, or collecting all the scattered balls from around the gym after a good, hard practice session, pushing the cart, dragging the long mop across the wax-wooden floors.

you pause and look up, your eyes meeting his, and immediately again you duck behind the large easel. kita bites down a smile, makes note of the tight, tingling feeling in his chest and reminds himself to address it later. he tucks the thought away as he turns back to the history teacher as he begins to explain the specifics of being model for a day.

you peer out from behind your easel as kita turns away, the weight of his eagle-eyed gaze no longer pressed to your skin — like a pair of sun-warmed stones, they sit round and smooth and right and you’d felt them flicker over the rest of you before coming back up to rest on your face.

class starts and for the first time in your life, you find yourself hesitant to put pencil to paper, to dip your brush in ink and watch the darkness seep into the waiting canvas. you stare at kita, who is standing with a hand tucked into his pocket, the other resting by his side, his face turned at a 45-degree angle, looking for all the world as if he were in engaged in a phantom conversation, listening intently.

“1-minute poses please,” the history teacher says and kita bobs his head in a brief nod as the timer starts.

and this time, you don’t miss it — the way his eyes swipe towards you, lingering, lingering, and then he’s gone again.

you suck in a breath and nearly upset a jar of black ink coughing as it catches in your chest. flushing deep and hot, you mutter a soft apology to the people sitting next to you as you begin to draw.

it is mixed medium, so you pick a few of your smudgiest charcoals and set to work, your arm lissome and fluid as you sketch out the contrasting lines of kita’s face, his arms, the bend of his calves, even within the loose-fitted slacks of the school uniform — you can see their strength.

another blush threatens to overwhelm your cheeks as you squint at the page, eyes flickering up at odd intervals. and once, twice, three times, you catch him staring straight back at you. the air between you fizzles with unspent static electricity and you can’t help wondering if it’s all in your mind.

but of course it is, you think to yourself as the first half of the drawing sessions draws to a close and everyone stretches sore arms and stiff legs in their seats, chair legs scraping against the classroom floor. you frown down at the mess of sketches peppering your sketchpad. it isn’t until you feel his presence next to you that you finally lift your head.

“you do beautiful work.”

you gulp, blinking up at him. his face is gilded gold from the setting sun and you feel your breath soften in your chest.

“it helps to have a beautiful subject.”

you want to swallow back the words almost the second you say them, but then kita is laughing, a light laugh, a warm happy laugh. and you look back up to find him smiling. it’s a brilliant, beautiful thing.

“well… thank you.”

the second half of the drawing session is a reclining pose, and you pick pastels for this, rendering him in soft colors and even softer lines. except for the deep amber of his eyes, the ink-dipped tips of his hair. time shifts itself around you and before you know it, the session is ending. and everyone is packing up to go.

you finish packing your art supplies to find kita by the door, his eyes downcast at his phone screen, but when he looks up to find you watching him, he offers you a smile, pushing himself up from the doorframe to the rapidly emptying classroom.

“th-thanks again for agreeing to this…” you say as you both head out into the darkening hallway.

“i had a good time,” he says, and you think this is the most you’ve ever heard him speak.

the quiet stretches, taffy thick between you as he walks you to the school gates and you turn towards him with another shy smile.

“maybe… you could do it again sometime?”

kita cocks his head.

“if it’s alright. i’d like to.”

you nod, pleasure twining up your chest till you can almost taste it on the tip of your tongue.

“i’ll talk to takigawa-sensei again and i’m sure he’d like to have you back just as much as i —” you cut off with a hiccup, realizing how much you’d said out loud and judging from the small grin tugging at kita’s lips, he’s not hard of hearing.

“ah… so you spoke to sensei first about me modeling?”

you have to physically fight the itch in your arms, to bury your face in your hands and perhaps press your back to the school’s red-brick wall and hope that it swallows you whole.

“i — well — he was asking if we knew any — anyone who’d be good and i — i immediately thought of you…”

“immediately, hm?”

there’s a soft iambic hum to his voice that washes shivers down the length of your back, like stepping into a hot shower after a day spent out in the cold.

“sorry… i should’ve asked you first but…”

kita shakes his head, brushing a strand of hair from his eyes before tucking his hands into his pockets.

“you live down that way, right?” he tips his chin in the direction of the street behind you.

nonplussed, you nod. he readjusts his school bag on his shoulders and starts to walk.

“c’mon. i’ll walk you home. it’ll be dark soon.”

you stare after him for a solid ten seconds before stumbling into a jog to catch up to him, chewing down a smile that breaks over your lips anyway.

“so,” he says, letting his eyes slip towards you for a second before he focuses back on the road, “when did you start drawing?”

“i… i’ve been drawing as long as i can remember… ever since i was old enough to hold a pencil…” you take a breath and kita waits. you breathe out and let yourself smile.

“i think i’ve just… always been attracted to beautiful things… and i want to take them and keep them for myself, y’know?”

kita nods, once more casting you a side-long glance, “yeah. i know the feeling. quite well, actually.”

he doesn’t tell you that like this, with your cheeks washed in a delicate blush, either from the cold or something else, your jacket pulled high over your untucked school uniform, your thick, thigh-high stockings offsetting well-shined shoes he thinks that you’re nothing short of beautiful.

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